Title: Boy Soldier
Author: Neldluva FFVII
Pairings: None, or lots, depending on how you look at it.
Rating: NC17
Don't read this if you don't like: Angst, sex (of the m/m and m/f sort), foul language, underage sex, questionable consent, masturbation, voyeurism (sort of), violence, blood, drug and alcohol use, prostitution
Disclaimer: Reno and FF7-verse are definitely not mine. Please don't sue, I have negative monies. The OC's are mine, though. Don't steal.
What you can expect from the fic overall: This is my version Reno's backstory, or how he got where he was in the various FF7 games and movies. It is a long, difficult journey, sometimes funny, sometimes sad. But hey, that's life.
What you can expect from this chapter: More Turk tests, and helicopters at last!
Author's note: As promised, a little more. Sorry for the short filler chapters. There should be stuff with more substance coming up soon. Thanks again for putting up with me!
"Good morning and welcome to today's lesson."
Reno's eyes followed Monty as he paced before the line of Turk trainees, a small smirk on his face and his posture slouched. It had been months since he'd last seen his smoothtalking buddy, and he was looking forward to the lesson. Whatever it was, it required his gun, so he was there. His gun was a sweet little piece too, not crappy like his old gun had been – she was all sleek and shiny and didn't aim just a little to the left.
"Over the past few months, you have all been tested for skill and ability. Those who are left are those who have shown themselves to have the technical ability to be Turks. Today's lesson is a different one from what you are used to. We know that you are able to shoot a gun. What we want to find today is if you are able to shoot a person."
Monty pressed a button, raising the screen to the shooting range. At the far end sat a sweaty and frightened-looking man, his mouth shut with thick tape. "Shoot this man," Monty instructed calmly.
Reno's gun was the first to go off, followed by several others. All bullets hit the man, though some students had clearly been made nervous enough to be slightly off on their aim. Some of the trainees hadn't even fired their guns, and were staring with perplexed looks on their faces.
Reno felt a thrill run up his spine in time with the snap of the gun. There'd been a corresponding red splatter on the man's white shirt, and he'd slumped down, crying out through the gag. The blood flowed down, joining with the blood loosed from the other bullets, until at last the man stopped moving. Reno watched, dispassionate, though he heard gasps. Perhaps he had just killed one too many guys, but he honestly didn't care about the man sitting in the shooting range. Probably matched with whatever they meant about "sociopathic tendencies" or whatever.
"Those of you who didn't fire your guns, you are dismissed," Monty informed them, opening the door. "The Turks have no need for those who will let their morals get in the way of orders. Those of you who hesitated, which sounded like most of you … you should think long and hard about whether or not a position as a Turk is appropriate for you. Often your assignments will involve taking care of business that your morals may or may not agree with, but above all a Turk is loyal to ShinRa and does as he or she is ordered. If that does not sit well with you, then feel free to join your comrades and exit this room."
Approximately half of the trainees had left the shooting range. Among those left were Reno and Jenkins, though Jenkins was looking a little green around the edges. Reno scoffed quietly. Killing guys wasn't such a big deal; he'd been doing it since he was little. He shared a wink with Monty. It felt good that the older Turk had had faith in him.
Reno chewed on a cigarette, happily flicking through all of the various switches in the helicopter. After weeks and weeks of training, he was finally going out in a real ride. He didn't even care that much that they were making him go out with an older Turk. He knew how to fly the big machine inside and out, how to check it for sabotage, and especially how to land it. All of the simulations had been especially particular on that point.
"Are you ready, Reno?" the Turk asked, rustling the papers on his clipboard.
"Whenever you are, yo," Reno answered, tossing the cigarette out the window. He left the standard-issue goggles where they were, perched in his hair. It looked stylish, and anyway, they kept the hair out of his eyes. The older Turk made a quiet disapproving noise, but didn't stop Reno from switching on the engine and taking off.
It was just about the best thing ever. Once they got out of the hangar, all Reno could see was land and sky and water and city. He had always wondered what it was like to be a bird, and this was the closest he had ever gotten. He was free and clear and high, and he never wanted to go back to the ground. He had even forgotten about the other Turk in the cockpit before the guy tapped his shoulder and made him adjust his altitude.
Not surprisingly, it turned out Reno had a real knack for flying helicopters. He was given more extensive training so he might someday be fit to run missions that required a helicopter. Reno was just happy that he got to spend so much time up in the air.