Blood: 5

Knifepoint revolution

Trey was restless, practising every kick he knew on the concrete wall in front of him. Marlon watched him, absently picking at his nails with one of his knives. Vincent ignored him, checking over his quicksilver for what felt like the hundredth time.

The three of them were on assignment. Since Daniel's swan dive two weeks ago, Heidegger had been going through the Urban Development files. He had insisted, claiming it was the least he could do as Daniel's friend.

In the process he had discovered some very interesting things, namely that documents had gone missing. A little spying here and some ruthless torture there and the Turks had discovered that certain members of the department had been selling off the papers in question to a particular individual.

Daniel had chosen the number five warehouse on the partially completed sector two plate as his shop. Funnily enough, even after his death blueprints had gone missing. A tip off by one of Trey's associates told them that there was going to be a meeting there again. The exact time and date had also been given, so now the three Turks were waiting patiently to launch an ambush and put a stop to this unauthorised business.

Unfortunately, waiting was one of Trey's pet hates and he intended to make the biggest nuisance of himself he could in the time available. He had done his bit so far and set up the sinney camera. The President wanted to watch his Turks in action and get a look at his newest of enemies.

"Stand still, Trey." Vincent commanded him at last, allowing his arms to loll by his sides, tapping the muzzle of his pistol against his thigh, "You are annoying me."

The red head looked at him, frowning, "Well that's a damn shame for you."

"Stop it."

Although Vincent's pushing him around annoyed him, Trey did as he was told and stood straight, shoving his hands in his pockets and ruining the line of his uniform. "I wish these guys'd hurry up. There's only so much waiting a man can do before he shuts down."

"Your brain expiring, Trey?" Vincent asked him, swallowing his smirk before it became visible.

"Damn right."

Marlon remained silent, engrossed in picking his fingernails. He was bored also, but saw no point in aggravating Vincent. He snapped to attention, keys grating in the warehouse lock sending him and his colleagues behind a stack of metal crates.

Four men entered the building, three of them dressed in Military Police patrol uniforms, one wearing a sharp black suit and carrying a briefcase. Without a word, he set it down on a crate and flipped up the catches to begin rifling through the papers inside.

Vincent looked at Marlon and uttered the word 'amateurs', nodding towards the three men in uniform.

Trey watched them also, acknowledging that they must have attacked some MPs to get the uniforms, then setting eyes on the rifles they held. Those were the new GN4 range. They weren't supposed to be issued to troops yet. His eyes travelled down to the night-sticks at their belts. Extendable. Hmmmm. Military Police were given tonfas, extendable versions were Turk issue. Perhaps they were real MPs. "Somebody's been robbin' stores." He murmured, Vincent waving his hand at him to shut him up. Without another word, Trey reached over and turned the sinney camera on.

The odd man out finished going through the case, shutting it with a satisfied grunt. "It's all there."

"Of course." An MP answered him, "What did you take us for?"

"One can never be too careful in this day and age, Mr?"

"M. My associates are J and R."

"I see."

M shook his head, snatching the briefcase from the crate. "So let's discuss the fee."

"Daniel never said anything about money."

"That's because Daniel was a moron. He didn't need money. "

Vincent and Marlon looked at each other, neither one sure where this exchange was going. Daniel had accomplices in the forces? Clever.

The man in the suit, named Baske according to the briefing Heidegger had sent them, looked rather amused, holding out his hand for the briefcase, "All right. How much?"

"Twenty thousand for the blueprints, forty for the weapons."

Trey looked round at his two friends with raised eyebrows, "Weapons?" He whispered in surprise. Vincent nodded, adjusting his grip on his quicksilver. This whole thing had just got a lot more serious.

"All right." M handed the case back to Baske at that, taking his assault rifle in both hands once again.

Something was wrong, Vincent could feel it, the hairs on the back of his neck prickling. Good at talking he was not, but he could read men like books. Baske was up to something, that much was clear. The question was, what?

"Thank you for your time gentlemen. The cheque is in the mail."

M stepped forward, raising his rifle a little, "No you don't. We have an agreement."

Baske chuckled, neglecting to even look at M. "I assure you, Mr. M, verbal agreements aren't worth the paper they're printed on." H pressed a button on his belt, dashing behind a crate as ten heavily armed men kicked the door open.

Trey collapsed behind his crate, looking at his two friends with wide eyes. "How the hell we supposed to do this thing now?"

"We've handled worse." Vincent answered in a deadpan tone, checking his pistol once more for luck.

"Buena pena ."

The MPs were unsure what to do faced with so many enemies. They thanked their lucky stars when Vincent opened fire, taking out two of their adversaries with as many shots.

Trey leapt out from his hiding place, kicking one of the crates across the floor to knock down another two men. "Get the hell over here!" He yelled at M and friends, thumbing over his shoulder at the crates where Vincent and Marlon were. They obeyed without question, glad to see more Marlon, bringing the Turks up to three.

"What are you guys doing here?" M questioned Vincent, ducking down beside him.

"Talk to me again and I'll ensure it is the last thing you ever do." Vincent replied, picking off another two men.

There were four left now, Marlon taking care of them with some knives. Trey finished off his two victims with a knee to the nape of the neck.

He stood straight, brushing off his jacket. "That wasn't so hard." He bit his tongue hard, more men crashing through the windows upstairs and rushing forward to point their assault rifles at him. "Oh para el motivo del dios."

Trey wasted no more time, darting across the warehouse floor and leaping behind the crates. Vincent was waiting for him, "How many?"

"I dunno, twelve, thirteen max."

Marlon checked his knives, satisfied that he had brought enough. "What do we do, Vince?"

"Deal with it." That said, Vincent nodded to Trey, the red head taking the hint and leap-frogging the crates.

He ran, not particularly happy with the plan, calling back over his shoulder 'I have a kid y'know!' before diving into a forward roll behind the same crate as Baske. "Hello there." He greeted him with a diamond smile.

Baske said nothing, just looked back at him in surprise. Trey introduced himself, "Name's Trey, of the Turks." He thumbed at his uniform. "I think you have something that belongs to us Shinras."

"Fuck off."

"That's not very nice. You smoke?" Baske shook his head, "Didn't think so. Bye bye!" Trey was gone from there, racing across to the next handy crate and ducking down, only his flyaway tuft of red hair visible over the top, but enough to draw fire.

"You think it's very fair, Vince," Marlon found himself asking, "that Trey's always the bait?"

Vincent shook his head, "Of course. He's faster than the both of us put together."

Unaware of the two Turks lurking downstairs, the upstairs gunmen began jumping down onto the warehouse floor and advancing on Trey's position. Unable to deny himself a smile, Vincent knelt up and began firing on them. "Run Trey, run!" He called to his friend, straining to keep a laugh out of his voice.

Trey did as he was told, getting to his feet and bolting across the floor to the ladder and making a climb for it. He hid behind another pile of crates, holding his jacket closed against the thumping in his chest. Outraged, he stamped his boot on the floor, "Vincent! Tú cabeza muda muda!"

"Don't yell at me unless it is in a language we can all understand, Trey." The dark-haired Turk replied with a smirk, picking off five men in quick succession, Marlon kneeling up and killing four.

"Go to hell!"

Vincent shook his head, snatching M's rifle and tossing it to Marlon, "Present for you, Marlon."

Happy with his new toy, Marlon grinned, "I'm getting you something good this Christmas, Vince!" and opened fire, taking men down with inaccurate limb shots.

Vincent reloaded, booting M roughly in the shin to move him over. He had no love for snakes, and sharing his personal space with one under any circumstances was not welcome.

Trey found himself sharing his personal space also, a couple of brave men scaling the ladder after him. Not about to get 'nailed', the speedy red head leapt to his feet and threw himself into a handless cartwheel, booting two of them in the chin. He hit the ground, sweeping their legs out from under them and jumping to his feet, ripping his jacket open and sliding out of it to swing it round in front of himself and draw fire from the remaining man. More than a little angry, Trey turned a twirl with his jacket, snatching his combat knife from his thigh in the process and diving into a forward roll to come up behind his last victim and bury the blade in the back of the man's ribs, giving it a twist for good measure.

Snorting, he kicked him away, throwing his jacket back on and peering over the guard rail to see that Marlon was on the floor, having abandoned his assault rifle in favour of his little knives. Vincent was covering him from the crates and he was using that to the full, moving like a hurricane through the remaining men.

Between the two of them, they were soon all alone with the three traitorous MPs. Trey slid down the ladder, fishing in his jacket pocket for his cigarettes. Vincent stood beside the crates, Marlon sitting on one and indulging in a cigarette of his own. "All cleaned out." Trey remarked, lighting his cigarette off Marlon's and taking up a seat beside him.

"That was unexpected." Vincent murmured, keeping an eye on their prisoners. "It seems we don't know everything about our friend."

"You thinking he's with the so-called 'rebels'?"

"Possibly."

M and his friends remained quiet, their initial relief at seeing the Turks faded away in favour of utter dread. Vincent, Marlon and Trey would only be there for one reason, and that was to take them in.

"Uh, Vince." He looked round at Marlon's voice, frowning to see his friend pointing at the warehouse doors, standing ajar. "I think we forgot something."

The hairs on the back of his neck prickling again, Vincent chased across the warehouse to the crates where Baske had been hiding. There was no one there. Vincent froze, icy fingers running up and down his spine. He was in charge of this mission, he would be held responsible. "Shit." He cursed under his breath, glancing back at his two colleagues. They both stared back at him, waiting for orders. They couldn't very well sit there all night, "We'll get these three back to Headquarters, then we'll see about chasing down Baske."

Marlon and Trey nodded in unison, standing and saluting Vincent before turning on their captives. Neither of them would change places with their friend right then. This was a serious assignment, and they had blown it. Unfortunately it would be Vincent that shouldered the blame.

Vincent shut his eyes, taking a deep breath. How was he going to explain this one?

(Note: Here we go, Vinny's in trouble. A lot of Spanish in this one, which is the language I'm using as Costa – what I imagine to be the language of Costa del Sol. It might not be perfect because I got it off Google translator, which is better than nothing. If you're wondering, Trey calls Vincent a dumb dumb head of all things. He comes up with the best insults.

I'm going on holiday for three weeks to Montenegro soon, so I thought I would put up a couple chapters in one go as some substance in my absence. Take care!)