(Edit: I got a little lost on the continuity problems, so the story needed to be changed slightly. Thanks to the people who pointed that out to me.)
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"He's
good."
"Many
are."
"True, but
he's…exceptional."
"Let's find out for
sure. Test him."
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The Valentine Chronicles
Episode 5 – The Duel
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I had been summoned back to Midgar.
That was unusual. It was one thing to return to Midgar after an assignment, for debriefing and a retrofit. But this time, it was mid-mission. I was working a potential spy stationed in Kalm, who had reportedly been passing classified info onto the syndicates, when the order came signed and sealed to return to Midgar at once, top priority. I'd never seen anything like it.
I passed the word on to continue the investigation in my absence, and hopped my bike, headed for the center of civilization. As the spires of Midgar crested the horizon, beckoning to me, I let my mind wander. What the hell could this be about? What could possibly warrant such a breach of protocol? By the time I rolled through the main gate and was speeding through the streets, I'd narrowed it down to two options. Either they were gonna promote me, or they were gonna shoot me. I wasn't sure which one I deserved more.
I parked my bike in the garage and headed for the elevators, sliding my ID card out of my wallet on the way. From there it was a quick hop up to the 67th floor, past the big bronze D. I. I. (Helping Midgar stay Safe and Secure) plaque in the lobby, through three levels of clearance (Operative, Agent, Special Agent) and finally into a small reception area. The probably-was-cute-ten-years-ago receptionist flashed me a smile and waved me through the door on the far side, and I stepped through and into the Office. I immediately snapped to attention, back ramrod straight.
"Sir."
"At ease, Agent Valentine," said Carze, director, D.I.I., director, Shinra Military Intelligence, Agent-in-Charge, Turks.
I dropped my shoulders, although only slightly. A face-to-face meeting with Director Carze was no time to relax.
He waved me to a chair. "Have a seat, Agent Valentine."
"Thank you, sir," I responded, sitting. Carze was seated behind a giant mahogany desk, with two computers framing him on either side.
He regarded me for a moment, then settled back in his chair. "I suppose you're wondering what you're doing here, hmm?"
"Yes, sir."
"It's quite simple, really," Carze said. "You're being considered for promotion. Your performance up until now has been superlative, and myself and the other officers of the corporation believe you have what it takes."
"Thank you, sir." So I wouldn't be shot. Phew.
"However," he waggled a finger. "We're not sure. Your fieldwork has been excellent, your completion of assignments without flaw. What we want is a firsthand assessment of your combat abilities."
I controlled a smirk with difficulty, managing to keep a straight face. "Certainly, sir. Any time you wish." My combat abilities? My combat abilities! If that was the only contentious point, then that promotion was practically in the bag. The pay hike, the increased benefits, the increased seniority, the…
"Confident, are we?" He must've seen something in my face.
I didn't seen any reason to hide it. "Yes, sir."
"Good." His impassive features split into a subdued, but undeniably feral, grin. "Because you'll be tested against someone else who's vying for promotion. Your opponent will be going for his SOLDIER 1st Class ranking. The duel is tomorrow morning, 9 AM, on Parade Ground C. Good luck, Agent Valentine."
"Sir." I rose to my feet. Back straight, heels touching, I saluted my boss, the director of the Turks. Then I got the hell out of there and went to find something to drink.
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I can't drink aboveground, I don't know why. Too classy for me, maybe, or too illuminated. Down in the slums, in the shadows, surrounded by the cornucopia of bottom-dwellers and their dirty yet ingenious lifestyles…that's where a real man does his drinking. I'm a Sector 5 man myself, although I'd be happy to debate the topic with you over a cold brew any time. As long as you're buying.
I was hunched over the bar, smoking, drinking. My body language discouraged local patrons from attempting any sort of conversation, and on the rare occasions where that failed to dissuade them, my utter lack of responses usually did. That night there had been no attempts, and I had been left to my blissful solitude.
A beautiful woman sat down next to me.
I don't normally notice women. Not that I'm not into them, or anything, but my chosen profession just doesn't allow for any sort of interactions with the fairer sex, other than maybe a quickie with a Sector 3 prostitute on an off night. But when it comes to meeting women, getting to know them, buying them flowers, taking them to dinner, etc. etc…I just don't have the time. So unless the woman is offering me gratification within the next half hour, she just isn't worth it.
This one was different, though. Jesus H. Christ, was she different.
Blond hair, pale skin, and green eyes…man, what eyes. They were big, almost luminous in their design, and they threatened to envelop you if you looked for too long. She wore a dark green dress, expensive in its simplicity. She sipped a martini like she could take it or leave it.
I figured I should probably stop staring. I stared at my beer, instead.
"Excuse me," came the voice, soft and low and full of delightful promises. "…But are you Vincent Valentine?"
I blinked and looked up, startled. She was watching me with a faint smile, as if she already knew the answer.
"Yeah, that's me," I growled. "How'd you know?"
The half-smile became a full smile, sending all sorts of unexpected feelings bouncing around my body. "They sent me here and told me to look for the cute guy in a suit," she murmured, eyes sliding from me to her drink and back again.
I felt the blood heat my face, realized I was blushing, and blushed more. She saw it, too, her smile widened, my blood pumped faster.
"My, my. You are cute."
I stared at my drink, furious. "And who would 'they' be?" I nearly snarled, unaccustomed to this lack of control over my bodily functions.
"Why, the company, of course," she replied. "I work for them."
"I see," I muttered, refusing to look back at her. This was ridiculous. She was playing me like a violin. Then, suddenly, her tone changed.
"I'm sorry, Vincent," she murmured softly. "I didn't mean to embarrass you. I just came to wish you good luck tomorrow. I'm really…I'm really rooting for you." I looked up at that, and saw her biting her lip, her eyes downcast. I can't even begin to explain how beautiful she looked to me at that moment, how wonderfully hesitant, how perfectly innocent. I'm not going to spout clichés like "it was love at first sight" or anything, but…but…
She abruptly got to her feet. "I have to go."
I was paralyzed. There was so much I wanted to ask her, so much I wanted to say to her, but I couldn't find the words. She paused, almost as if waiting for me to say something, then gave me a small smile and headed for the door, vanishing from my life as quickly as she had entered it.
God, I'd wanted her to stay. But what should I have said? What could I have said?
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The next morning, there I was. Standing in the middle of Parade Ground C, one of Shinra's wide-open stretches of concrete, used for training and marches. The observers weren't physically present, but could see the action from four remote aircams that were buzzing around, tracking the action from all sorts of different angles. And, facing me, about thirty paces away, was my opponent.
He had short red hair, wore a cocky grin, and was decked out in the traditional SOLDIER uniform. But the thing that kept grabbing my attention was the sword. Easily six feet long and a little under a foot wide, checkered with battle scars, this thing was MASSIVE. I couldn't imagine lifting the thing, let alone wielding it in any sort of combat-effective way. Yet there this guy was, looking as though he fully intended to split me in two with the thing. My confidence level dropped a bit.
He put a hand on the hilt. I lowered mine to my pistols.
A voice rang out over the P.A.:
"Begin."
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…………..the man
charges, leveling his sword,
Vincent sights and fires several rounds with both pistols, but the man
whips his sword around to deflect the bullets, and suddenly he is in
the air, descending upon Vincent with his blade
poised...
...
...
...
...Vincent
whirls, the blade whistling by his left ear as he desperately searches for an
opening, the man reverses his grip and slashes horizontally...
...
...
...rolls
frantically to the right as the man plunges his sword into the spot where
Vincent was, the blade sparking and ripping through
concrete...
...
......
......
...neatly pierces his left shoulder, blade digging into bone, blood dripping down the battle-scarred blade as...
...
...
...
...
...
...barely
manages to deflect the shot as Vincent presses his advantage, pumping the last
remaining shot from his left pistol into the SOLDIER's
kneecap, who cries out in...
......
...
...
...
...Vincent's
head is snapped back as the hilt of the huge sword breaks his jaw, he staggers
and falls to...
...
......
...
...allows the blade to skewer his arm in exchange for a clear shot at his opponent's...
...
...
...his
blood sprays all over the
concrete...
...
...there
is nothing left...
...
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"Enough."
I tried to push myself up from a prone position but my ruined arm wouldn't allow it. Out of the corner of my eye I could see the SOLDIER about five feet from me, on both knees in a pool of blood, only the sword keeping him from collapsing. Our blood seeped and ran together.
He spoke, spitting lifeblood with each word.
"What's your name, Turk?"
"Vincent." Hardest word I'd ever had to speak, it sent rivulets of agony ricocheting through my broken jaw.
Then we fainted.
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Author's Note: From here on out the story will be less episodic in nature and more tied towards one cohesive story. I hope you liked, read and review, save the whales! Better dead than red!
