Author's Note: Here is an inspiration I had for Hojo when he comes in Chapter 2. See Final Fantasy VII: All About the Random Battles
short flash movie created by Joseph Blanchette(Legandry Frog). I STRONGLY encourage it!

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Chapter 1

The large room was dark except for the small bit of streetlight that leaked in from the streets below casting abstract shadows along the length of the abandoned room. Glancing over his shoulder once more, he rolled the small cart that carried a garbage can and several bottles of cleaning chemicals.

The room was under restoration, leaving the room in shambles. The project was then halted for the summer for unknown reasons. Sheets of plastic hung over the towering windows that faced the east and south while piles of rubble and debris laid in scattered piles along the floor. Plans laid on makeshift tables while another blue prints were nailed or strapped to the remaining plaster and drywall.

Removing the janitor's cap he wore on his head, he wiped at his forehead briefly with the back of his hand. Replacing the cap, Vincent turned his attention to the can and the couple bags of trash that sat inside. Moving the bags, he produced a large, black case and a small bag. Leaving the cart, he made his way to a brick wall that faced the north part of the city sector. He removed a pair of thin latex gloves from his pocket and quickly pulled them over his hands.

Setting his gear down at the wall, he crouched down and ran his hand over the coarse grained, bricks and then stopped. He wrapping his fingertips around the edges he slowly removed the brick and set it on the ground. The trained assassin had spent the better of part two months preparing the very place so only brick separated him from his target so the origins of the shot would be hard to place.

Vincent peered out of the hole and only saw immediate darkness and the lit windows from the surrounding skyscrapers as well as the colored clouds that hung in the late night sky. Marcus had stressed that this job had to be done with the greatest precision, as there would be no chance of a second attempt. Vincent smiled recalling his reply to Marcus's concern. He knew this hit was no different from any other he had performed other then it was the longest distance he had ever aimed from. Marcus knew of one person, who enjoyed a good challenge Vincent was it.

Turning his attention away from the brick hole, he opened the large case to reveal the disassembled sniping rifle, each piece tucked neatly in its own customized place in the foam. Removing first the main body of the gun, he then attached and locked the bi-pod into place followed by the barrel. Finally he attached the high-powered scope to the top.

Vincent gave a quick once over the gun before taking his place on the ground near the trigger. He had the rifle for some time, ever since he first began his work with the Turks. It was as familiar to him as one may feel with a loved car or favored chair.

Lying on the ground, he focused his scope on the target; the latitude and longitude numbers spun as the satellite tracker helped grant an immediate focus on the target almost a half-mile away. The blurred image of a man dressed in a blue dress shirt and black tie finally came into view. So much that he could make out the color and pattern of his loosened tie. Smirking, his target locked into place and all he had to do was pull the trigger. Adrenaline surged through his body as he inched his finger further on. Vincent slowly inhaled as he curled his index finger against the cool, smooth surface and pulled. The only sound heard was the click and whirl of the bullet that shot from the throat of the barrel.

The man fell against his desk and did not rise. The faint red blur spread across the paper-strewn desk and the nearby wall. Allowing a cocky grin, he exhaled. Wasting no time, Vincent disassembled his gun and placed it back into the black case. He then replaced the brick into the hole. Rising to his feet, he dusted off the jumper suit and casually walked over to the janitor's cart and placed the case back underneath the paper trash and readjusted his cap.

Closing the door, Vincent walked down the hallway toward the elevator. An old security guard walked past him, carrying a large metal flashlight. The guard paused for a moment, squinting at the faded nametag.

"Good evening,… Bob."

"Sir." Bowing his head briefly so he could hide his brown eyes from the man. He had forgotten for a brief moment the nametag of the suit had such a name on it. The guard relaxed and continued walking, swinging his flashlight.

"Don't work too hard, Bob. It's a three day weekend."

Vincent stopped infront of the elevator and pressed the arrow that pointed down.

"Of course, Sir." Vincent offered a brief wave of his hand as he rolled his service cart into the elevator. Then the doors shut.

The stainless steel door of the building opened to the 40th floor. Whistling, Vincent stepped out on to the carpeted floors, carrying his gun case in one hand while the other carried his janitor's hat. Several lab workers walked past, two of which were women.

"Good night, Bob." They chimed as they approached the elevator he had just left.

"Ladies." Vincent turned the corner and went down toward the end of the corridor where Marcus's office was located. Producing a keycard, he swiped it through the reader above the doorknob and walked in, closing the door behind him. There he left the case and janitor's suit before heading out of the night. Glancing at his watch, Vincent smiled realizing he would arrive just in time.

"Hey, we've been waiting for you! Save ya a seat, my good man."

Vincent hesitated to approach and took his seat quietly. Four other Turks sat the table; alcohol was already flowing freely among them. A shot glass was slid over to him, already filled with a dark drink. He glanced down at the small glass and sighed. There were several reasons he avoided drinking. The sense of losing control brought him little pleasure were as it appeared other did. Laughter broke out as a joke reached its punch line.

'Sometimes I wonder why I still come to this.' Vincent pondered. He was not much for one for socializing. He preferred more the solitude and quiet of his place. It seemed it was always lively down at the small bar and lounge known as the Blue Lizard, a block down from the main Shin-ra building.

"You are supposed to drink that! It's on me." The man stated next to him. The man was known as the Tank; no one got past him, and tended to bull right over anyone that got in his way. Vincent nodded, accepting the man's gift, but still hesitated to take the drink to his lips, knowing what was going to happen. Taking a deep breath, Vincent lifted the glass and threw back the drink. Tank cheered and slapped Vincent on the shoulder.

"That's the spirit!"

The sniper shot forward, nearly shooting the drink through his nose. Wincing, he swallowed feeling the burn of the alcohol in his throat as well as in nose. He glanced over and saw that there were already three empty glasses. Tank was a respectable man, when taken to the drink, turned into nothing more then a careless man.

Another man came and sat down in the last empty seat at the round table. Removing something from inside his jacket, he produced a pack of cards. Tonight was poker night, and Vincent knew with most of the players were already half-drunk; the take home for him would be good. Everyone settled down with their cigarettes and drinks as the dealer dealt out cards to each person at the table.

The small pendulum clock ticked in the quiet of the small studio apartment. The sound a turning lock echoed loudly followed by a turning doorknob. Vincent stumbled through the door and shut it behind him. Reaching over to a small table, he turned on a small lamp lending him light to navigate around the few pieces of furniture within the place.

Locking the door behind him, Vincent dropped down into the overstuffed couch. Reclining his head, he closed his eyes and listened to the droning sound of the ticking clock. After meeting with Marcus and giving him a report, and then dropping by the Blue Lizard for a rousing round of poker, it was nearly one in the morning. At least this past game, he walked out with most of the winnings.

Sirens wailed in the distance. Vincent smiled knowing this time; it was not of his work. He reached up with his right and combed his fingers through his rakish jaw length hair only to have it drop back down over the left side of his face. After a moment, Vincent hauled himself up and walked past a small eating bar that was attached to a small cooking island. The small dried up remains of a plant sat in the middle, neglected and dead. Vincent looked it over and sighed. 'So much for keeping plants.' He thought.

Despite his inability to keep living things, he still strove to bring the plant back to life. He pulled the dead leaves off and found new shoots were working their way from what seemed dead. Taking a small drinking glass, he filled it with water from the sink tap and then dumped a small amount onto the soil. Setting the glass down next to the sink, Vincent removed his jacket and tie and folded them neatly over the back of a chair. He then removed the gun holster and hung it on the back of the chair. Taking the gun from its home in the left holster, Vincent went into his bed and slipped it underneath the pillow in the bedroom. Vincent left his bedroom and then lumbered over to the bathroom door while unbuttoning his shirt. The light turned on and he shut the door.