AN: This fic is a Resident Evil/ Final Fantasy 7 crossover, involving the Turks. This was inspired by HHOD and Desertcross4 from there brilliant Resident Evil novels.

Obligatory Disclaimer: Don't own Resident Evil characters or settings. Or Final Fantasy 7 characters either. I only own David Gilligan and Jane Scott.

This is written for HHOD, my inspiration.

Resident Evil: The Turks mission

Chapter 1: The prep talk

Date: 15/9/98. Time: 16:10

Sun shone through the city of New York, illuminating the buildings and casting shadows over the streets. The bustling metropolis was at its peak, the traffic weaving its way throughout the enormous roads, and people rushing towards there destinations. During the frantic morning rush, a man gets into a heated argument with a hot dog stand owner over the amount of onions on his hot dog and knocks the vendor over. Amidst the chaos, a dog runs off with a string of dogs, frustrating the owner even more, and he runs after it, yelling at the dog in Spanish. When he was clean out of sight, the man picks up another hotdog from inside the overturned vendor, and walks off, two hot dogs in hand. Despite the little mishap, the city seems to be running normally.

Among the citizens walking down the sidewalk (and there were hundreds) a man who looked like he was in his mid 30s was walking against them. He was dressed in a pristine purple jacket, which covered a lazily buttoned white shirt. This was tucked into a further purple pair of trousers, to which a holster was attached, containing a single silver gun. He wore black boots, which pointed up at the toe, and had a red rag covering the bottom part of his face. His blood red eyes, a feature that was striking among his pale face, noticed an avenue and he walked down it. It lead to a four-story massive building that looked abandoned. Its white paint had turned grey over time, the windows were broken, and the door was old and rusted, and covered with cobwebs. Surely, to the passing eye, this would just be another run down building that would contain nothing more than rats, dust, and maybe the odd homeless person or stray dog.

How wrong they would be.

The man walked towards the door, his boots causing echoes that reverberated across the walls of the alley. Before he reached the door, however, he was approached by a gang of three teenagers, equipped with knives. One of them was a gangly looking guy, with blue eyes and brown hair, and he was wearing a Led Zeppelin t-shirt and faded and ripped denim jeans, and black converse. The other was a fatter one, who had brown eyes and greasy blonde hair, with his fringe falling over his eyes. He wore a black shirt, that was clearly stretched over his enormous size, causing rips amongst the joints, and black cords were tight around his short, fat legs. The last one wore a black t-shirt and a leather jacket. He wore jeans and looked a bit muscular. He had his hair as a blonde mowhawk.

The man was not shaken by these thugs; instead he brushed away a strand of jet black hair out of his eyes and asked,

"May I help you three circus freaks?"

The mohawk was angered by this.

"Yeah, you can give us all ya money, and we wont kill yo ass!" he demanded, readying his knife.

"Do yourselves a favour and leave, before you get hurt," the man replied trying to move around the gang. The fat one blocked him and looked to the mohawk one. Clearly THAT one was the leader.

"You want me to take care of him, boss?" the fat one asked.

"Yeah. Teach him a lesson Joey." The mohawk one laughed.

"You guys asked for it." The man sighed and rushed at the fat one. He landed his fist right into his gut. Fatty doubled back and collapsed in a heap, unconscious.

The Mohawk one suddenly grew a lot more angry. "Tony, take him out!" he yelled

"Sure thing boss!" the gangly one replied, and lunged at the man with his knife. The man grabbed his arm and jerked it upwards. He then brought his free arm down and hit the gangly ones arm hard. The sound of a crack indicated that he had broken it, and the thug let out a scream of pain and fell to the floor, clutching his arm in agony. The man then stepped forward and shot his fist at the mohawk thugs face, breaking his nose and sending him flying into the trashcans. He walked over towards him, and stooped down to meet him face to face.

"Never mess with a Turk." The man warned and walked onward to the building.

He knocked on the door and awaited a response.

"Password." Was the low grumble that came from the other side of the door.

"Quicksilver." The man replied monotonously, and the door slid open.

The inside of the building looked strikingly different from that of the outside. The walls were white and seemed to glow, causing the mans eyes to hurt. There were a lot of turn-offs leading to different rooms, but there hardly seemed to be anyone else there, apart from a few new guys wearing the same uniform as the mans. He walked straight ahead to the silver doors of the elevator and pressed the button, causing the doors to open. He stepped inside and heard the doors close behind him. He fingered the "Basement: 5th floor" button and pressed it.

The music started to play.

"That's the last thing I need right now." He thought to himself. He pulled out his gun, aimed it at the speaker, and fired. The speaker exploded, and fizzed a bit, then silence.
"Thank God." He said aloud and waited patiently for the elevator to reach its destination.

The doors opened with a ping, and the man stepped out. He walked forward towards the double doors in front of him and waited for the guard's approval before walking in.

The room was huge. It had metallic paint over the walls, and huge drapes of purple strung across the pillars, which were made of black marble. There was a huge white table in front of him with chairs all along the side of it. The floor was solid granite, and littered with the Turks logo, which was a purple flame.

The Turks. The organization that this man worked for. It was an underground team of elites that specialized in kidnapping, murder and extortion. A freelance team, The Turks were effectively a "Professional hire" organization that only the most wealthy, and most of the time, most corrupt businesses could afford.

"You're late, Vincent!" a voice rang from the end of the table

At the end of the table were several people wearing the same uniform as him, and one who wasn't. The first one on the left was Reno. His jacket was slung over the back of his chair, and his top button of his shirt had been undone, and was not tucked in to his purple trousers. He had spiked up red hair and dark brown eyes, and he had a stone cut face. Across his chest was a black scabbard, which held his infamous weapon, the electro-mag rod, and he also had a small holster, to which a standard 9mm was placed in. He was carrying two hot dogs, eating them both at the same time. In Vincent's eyes, Reno was an arrogant little fuck, who had nothing better to do then to crack jokes about him all day, and that pissed him off. He was a womaniser too, and that pissed him off even more He remembered once when they were on a mission to retrieve a certain individual from the U.N, and Reno had blown it by flirting with the ambassador of Thailand, and they were forced to evacuate immediately before they were captured by the security. In short, Reno hated Vincent, and Vincent hated Reno.

Opposite Reno was Rude. Rude was a quiet, sullen man, who was bald, apart from the shaven stubble left on his head. He was dressed very much like the professional Turk should dress, with his shirt buttoned fully, and tucked into his trousers and his jacket on tight. He was tall and very muscular, and was a master of several martial arts. He was never seen without his shades on, and he hardly ever said a word to anyone apart from his partner, Reno. To Vincent, Rude was alright, as he often acted like the professional. He could take out a man with a knife from over 100 yards (a statistic that he took pride in) and could kill someone in 38 different ways with his legs and arms. He was, put bluntly, the ideal Turk. He carried a Sawn-Off Shotgun in a huge holster that seemed to fit perfectly within his jacket.

Just further on form Rude was the only top female Turk, Elena, thought how she got there was beyond Vincent. She was clumsy, she always rushed into danger, and she was always fawning over Tseng. She had short blonde hair and blue eyes, and was dressed much like Rude, except she had a long purple tie draped round her neck. The only thing she was good for was the fact that she was an expert in explosives, and was also a brilliant shooter. Not as good as Vincent, of course, as he was the marksman of the team, but good all the same. Her preferred weapon was a 44. Calibre Magnum and she had it with her at all times.

Then, of course was there newest recruit, sitting next to Elena. His name was David Gilligan. An Ex-Marine at just 25, he was a talented soldier and a loyal companion to have on the team. He is an expert with weapons, and uses his own, customized Desert Eagle, he named "The Prometheus" According to his boasting, this gun can shoot through two slabs of marble, and that bullet could still travel on to kill someone, landing at any point. Because of his ability to customize and upgrade weapons, and also being an amazing healer, The Turks chose him. His suit was immaculate, his blonde hair was gelled upright, not a strand out of place, and his grey eyes were stern and fixed on Vincent as he approached the chair.

And finally, at the head of the table, there was the leader of the Turks, Tseng. He was the ideal soldier, with a calm attitude to all situations, and a good head on his shoulders. He was an expert with computers, and was also a master of all martial arts. He could shoot as well as Vincent, disarm a bomb, and take out several enemies at once if he chose to. He was a tall, lean figure, with long brown hair and dark green eyes. He was the best aspects of each of the team personified, but he was mostly in charge of operations now, staying behind the scenes. Even behind the scenes, however, he carried a silenced 9mm. His was the mouth the statement rang from.

"So sue me." Vincent replied calmly. He looked over at the man sitting next to him. He wore a black suit, and had short blonde hair. "Who's the suit?" Vincent asked.

The man was ruffled by this statement, but regained his composure and extended his hand.

"George Remington. Head of Bacterial Labs of Umbrella Inc. A pleasure to meet you, mister…?"

"Valentine." Vincent replied. "Vincent Valentine. You said Umbrella? They're a pharmaceutical company aren't they? What do they want with us?" Vincent asked, somewhat perplexed.

"If you take a seat, I would be happy to explain!" the man replied, smiling. Well, at least his mouth was smiling. His eyes weren't.

Vincent chose the seat next to Rude and sat down.

"Alright, now that you're all here, I'll explain why we have come to ask for your services. If we could just get the lights…." He looked over at Tseng, who merely shrugged and clapped his hands. The lights went out instantly. Reno looked over at Rude and smirked.

"Okay." The man continued "This is the town of Racoon City." He shouted, a projection of a map coming up on the wall. They all turned to face it, and saw a detailed map of a small town situated in the middle of a ring of mountains. Alongside the inside of the ring of mountains was a large forest, with many trails leading from the town to the mountains.

"And this," the man continued "is the Spencer Mansion."

He pointed to a ringed area around a certain point in the forested area. It was a clearing with a large building situated in the middle of it.

"Mansion?" David thought to himself "That's a fuckin' palace."

"Truth be told." The man continued uneasily "Umbrella is also the developer of biological weapons. Our experiments soon caused a mass outbreak among our staff, causing them to turn into hideous monsters, due to a thing called the T-Virus. This virus, put simply, raised the dead. We wanted to use this virus to make soldiers literally invincible. We all thought it was good news, until we found out that the only thing the creatures felt was the uncontrollable urge to feed. Soon they escaped, and the whole staff was consumed." The whole room fell silent. Elena was the first to speak.

"So you're saying it turned them into zombies?" she asked in disbelief.

The man nodded.

"In a manner of speaking, yes."

The room fell silent again.

"Whoa" gasped Reno, finishing his hot dog.

"Indeed." The man said "Eventually, the place was bombed to hell by S.T.A.R.S operatives, and the case was closed. Now here's where you come in."

They all perked up, and listened intently to the next words that the man was saying.

"As I just said, S.T.A.R.S operatives bombed the place, and they have more then enough evidence on us to put us out of business for good. We CANNOT allow that to happen. At the moment, they have only tried to convince the citizens of Racoon about us. We aren't particularly worried about that, but we need you to stop them before they leave. We need you to go undercover in the RPD and destroy all evidence of there ever being an outbreak. Then, we need you to take out S.T.AR.S operatives Jill Valentine, Chris Redfield, Brad Vickers and Barry Burton."

"That's a lot of people." Reno said breezily. "Don't know if I can kill 'em without the proper….motivation." he concluded with a sly smile.

"We know your demands, We are willing to pay you each $50,000 dollars each."

"Nice." Reno replied

"Yeah think about how many hookers you could buy with that, Reno." Vincent laughed.

"Fuck you, Dracula!" was the retort that came from Reno.

"Hey, you wanna make something of this, faggot?" Vincent threatened.

Rude sighed into his hands, while Elena rolled her eyes. David however, found this little charade very amusing.

"Calm down you two." Tseng shouted. "Well what do you think team?"

Elena was the first to respond.

"Yes sir, I'm in!" she exclaimed excitedly.

"…Me too." Rude muttered.

"Yeah, I guess." Reno said, seeming like he didn't care.

"Yeah." Vincent replied

"Yes." Was the monotonous response from David.

"Alright then, it's settled." Tseng said. "Team, strap up, we move out tomorrow."

This was the start of their nightmare……