Chapter Three; Mission complete

Rude closed the phone and turned the open-topped car's ignition on. It was a very old car, only a double-seater, useless but for the remarkably robust bodywork, and with a rollcage and a very accommodating trunk. He drummed his gloved fingers on the steering wheel and tried to suppress the knot of uncertainty he felt in his stomach. It was just that he didn't really trust Reno yet, but they were Turks now, after all, and Reno would never have let him come with him anyway. Still…he was worried. He didn't want to lose a friend. And he didn't want to have to repeat that hackneyed phrase to himself again.

Shots rang out from around the corner. He gripped the steering wheel and instinctively reached for his own little-used gun. Reno appeared round the corner. Rude felt his heart lurch, an emotion which alarmed him, to say the least, but the sight was alarming. Barely keeping a reasonable distance from his pursuers, Reno gathered himself up for a leap, still running. Rude relaxed slightly; Reno was the master of acrobatics, he could handle a jump from there straight to the car. They were going to be okay.

Sears collected himself as he saw the Turk ready himself for what he judged to be a jump down the flight of steps. He smiled beatifically and took aim.

Reno's right foot left the ground, briefly shifting all of his miniscule weight onto his left.

Sears squeezed the trigger.

Ten.

The shot ripped through Reno's earthbound leg. The sound and the result were almost indescribable. With a noise that was somewhere between a snap and a thud, the leg gave way. Rude saw Reno's expression change from desperation to pain, and then to downright fear, as he realised what was going to happen. He guessed that the same expression was plastered across his normally immobile face.

It seemed to happen in slow-motion. Reno left the ground as he had meant to, but he had none of the spring that could have carried him cleanly down to the pavement. He landed a few steps down, and bounced. Not dramatically, not in the manner that the spectacularly-murdered politician is thrown down his marble staircase in bone-shattering, skin-breaking jolts by a team of hired killers in all the terrible films Midgar had to offer.

He simply landed on his front, one arm crooked in a futile attempt to protect the rest of him, and rolled, the cracked and cement-patched steps making him rattle almost comically in his descent, were it not for the steady stain of red that each jolt left on the fractured stone. Rude caught him by his collar before he had reached the bottom of the steps. Reno looked up, dazed, from behind the black-gloved hand.

'Got it.' He choked.

Rude pulled his gun out of its holster and looked up for the assailants. His eyes narrowed behind their sunglasses as he saw the leader of AVALANCHE gazing, unmoved, down at him.

Sears frowned, appraising the shot. Rude shouted at him to go back – in rather more graphic terms. The revolutionary snarled and levelled his gun at Rude, who in turn fired a resounding shot into the darkening sky, raising a clarion-rattle form the web of scaffolding that laced the rooftops of the alley. Elfe smiled and turned, brushing Sears' sleeve. He nodded and turned back into the darkness.

Rude turned back to his fellow Turk, bemused in his own emotionless way at his enemies' actions, only to find that he had dragged himself up into the passenger seat of the big black car. His head was leaned back against the low headrest of the seat, a vermillion stain dripping from his forehead down his somehow paler face. His eyes, barely open, flicked to the taller man. Rude jumped back into the driver's seat and set the already-started car rolling at a desperate pace down the winding road.

He wondered if he could say anything. Usually so silent, he found it hard to think of anything that wasn't obviously stupid. So, 'are you okay' was out of the window, for a start. It had happened before, he had to remind himself, getting one's head kicked in was a hazard of the job…he shouldn't feel scared…he had dealt with this a thousand times, even in the short time he had been with the Turks, and been dealt with for the same reason just as many times. He'd just…never seen his partner fail that badly before. Or maybe that should be 'fail that well before'.

He felt he had to say something, just to know he was still alive; the evidence of his eyes wasn't enough. Reno mumbled something. Perhaps to ask where they were going, but that should have been obvious, even in his state.

Rude felt something slump against his shoulder. Not wanting to take his eyes off the road, not wanting to panic, not being able to stop himself form doing just that, he pulled the car over onto a deserted pavement, making the wheels scream in protest at the sharp turn. Now he just felt angry. Bloody AVALANCHE. Bloody Reno had to go and get himself bloody well shot. He didn't want to deal with this.

His thoughts fumed and whimpered alternately, but outwardly he was calm, as always. Allowing himself a frown, he pushed the boy back into his seat, his slanted eyes flickering open and shut behind shuddering rice-paper eyelids. Still alive. But his crumpled shirt was developing an ungainly patina of spreading crimson now.

Rude jerked the car back into first gear and slammed his foot down on the accelerator. The stench of melted rubber lingered in the air behind the car, mingling with the heat haze from the engine made Rude felt suddenly ill. Or maybe he was just frightened. Taking a hairpin bend on two protesting wheels, the car shuddered to a steaming halt outside the municipal hospital. Pocketing the keys he scooped Reno up in his arms, really not caring at this point how ridiculous he looked; like some kind of strange hero in a fairytale, not caring about having to carry a fully-grown man like some kind of child, not caring about all the sodding rumours that had hounded the Turks for as long as he had been one. Literally.

He shouldered the doors open, ignored the staring eyes of the three secretaries seated at their post behind the expansive counter, and ran down the familiar network of gleaming halls. His heart pounding, but not yet out of breath, he rapped loudly on a door holding a gold-plated sign bearing the name 'Dr. Lorraine'. He waited for a few excruciating seconds, his blood hammering in his ears; deafening him. The door was opened by a small, freckled woman with wavy auburn hair tumbling from its loose ponytail to rest on her white lab-coat. She seemed startled at first, and then her grey eyes widened as she took stock of the state of the pair, Rude's normally impeccable suit dusty and crumpled from the break-neck journey, his sleeves stained dark from the stick-figure being held by them. Rude spoke breathlessly,

'I'd like to call in a favour, doctor.'

Doctor Lorraine nodded. This hospital was a central guard shift for the Turks, and Rude had helped the staff out of many tight spots concerning the city's less honourable denizens.

She turned back to her room, grabbed her phone and punched a speed-dial button. She exchanged a few urgent words with whoever was on the other end, and flipped the phone shut. Taking off her coat hurriedly, she turned to Rude for the second time.

' Helen and Divine will be here shortly. We'll take him to emergency surgery. Don't worry, Rude.'

The stretcher arrived in under a minute, a commendable time, even to help a Turk. The doctors' assistants strapped Reno to the flat, rickety trolley and careered off down the long white corridor.