A/N: Just so you know, this chapter gets gory at one point. As it more prominent than previously, I was advised to add a warning to the beginning. You have been warned.

Chapter 5

West Town Bazaar wasn't particularly busy, but it wasn't exactly deserted either. The road was a parade of shops well within gangland territory, though the word 'shop' was a generous term for the somewhat questionable kiosks where men, women, and their families sold whatever wares they could scrounge in small, dingy rooms of dubious sanitary conditions. That wasn't to say that some weren't better than others, though; the store at the end of the road was owned by a man who swept the floor every day, cleaned the walls, and actually took the time to make sure the roaches and rodents stayed away. It was better kept than the brothel above it, for which everyone who shopped there was thankful.

Running one of these shops was a risky business, and was normally a two-man operation. The shopkeeper would man a desk and a calculator, with a safe located nearby to secure the day's intake. His or her partner would stand nearby with a gun (or whatever weapon was available to them) to support their colleague in case some of the local heavies tried their luck. That said, most of these shops were food stalls that took little profit, and as such were more likely to fall prey to hungry children than greedy toughs.

A woman with a small child stepped around them, giving the five-person group a wide berth as she hugged her young son to her. Most people (barring the suicidally foolish ones) knew to do so when a group practically wore the word 'gang' stamped across their chests. There were signs, if you knew what to look for, that signified a person's involvement in a gang; a certain fashion quirk, distinctive scarification, or perhaps a tattoo, something that marked them as belonging to one group and not another. Lifetime slum dwellers knew these signs as well as the backs of their hands.

In the SeeDs' case, it was the excessive use of belts. Squall hadn't intended for such to be the case; the trait had come about completely by accident. Squall had taken to wearing more belts than were strictly needed whilst reinventing himself – originally it had been for the convenience of having somewhere to holster all his weapons, and then because he found that he actually liked the look. As the gang's members multiplied, the others began imitating his style and soon it had become the distinguishing mark of his mob, as well as a show of hierarchy. It was strange how such things formed all on their own, but soon he realised that he was the only one who wore three belts, while his closest friends wore two and everyone else wore one, which they would sit diagonally across their hips. It was obvious what had happened, but Squall simply shrugged it off. It was as good a system as any.

Squall led them off the main road and onto a quieter street, away from the main shopping drag. They stood out a little more here; he had perhaps brought more people with him than he normally would have, but he really didn't want anything to blow up in his face by only taking one other person. He just wanted to drop the girl off, pick up his payment, and wipe his hands clean of the whole stupid affair. The sooner he was free of this the better and, judging by his charge's mood, the feeling was mutual. She was clearly excited about being reunited with her father, and he got the impression that she was constantly resisting the urge to ask how far it was to their destination.

She was odd, that much was obvious. However, he hadn't spoken more than five words to her since the incident last night, which still set his teeth on edge when he thought about it. She seemed normal enough today, observing their derelict surroundings though the wide-eyed gaze of one born to a privileged life. Occasionally, however, he would catch a glimpse of the girl walking behind him and her eyes would be glossy again, her lips moving while no sound escaped them. It was disturbing, how she swung from one personality to the next; but then, as long as she didn't cause trouble, he couldn't complain. If the others noticed anything, then they didn't say so.

"You're looking at her a lot," Quistis leaned in to speak to him, keeping her voice low.

"I don't want any surprises."

"Are you sure that's it? She's pretty."

Squall didn't dignify that with the answer that popped into his head. Quistis laughed softly and looked back at the girl, walking in front of Irvine who had his arm slung round Selphie's shoulders.

"Strange, isn't she?" Again he didn't reply, and she turned back to him, expression curious. "What happened last night?"

"Nothing."

Quistis raised an eyebrow, showing her blatant disbelief, but didn't push the matter. If Squall didn't want to talk about it, he wasn't going to talk about it and she knew better than to try.

They continued walking as they were, the only comments coming from Irvine and Selphie, until Squall turned down a narrow alleyway which forced them to fall into single file. The alley ended in a small courtyard, the long grass growing through the fractured paving stones a sign of just how infrequently the hidden area saw guests. The calm, still silence was a sharp contrast to the atmosphere on the other side of the buildings, but rather than putting Squall at rest, he felt the beginnings of unease creep in. This quiet seemed unnatural within the city, though he couldn't deny that it was a perfect hiding place. The only other exit was a pair of rusty iron stairs leading to the first floor of one of the side buildings, which Squall made his way towards.

"Squall," Irvine called from behind them. "You sure those are safe to use?"

Squall looked back to his friend, resisting the urge to frown. Until he could be sure there were no surprises waiting for them, he would have preferred everyone to remain silent.

"Scared?"

The long haired man grinned. "Not a chance, but I'm thinkin' our new friend won't be so happy."

The gang leader looked back to the girl in question to see that she was indeed looking rather nervously at the stairs.

"No choice."

"They don't look very safe," Rinoa agreed, slightly timidly.

Squall turned, speaking directly to her for the first time that day. "Then follow behind me."

He crossed the remaining distance to the steps, not bothering to wait for her. He had barely rested his weight on the second stair, which creaked ominously, when he heard her directly behind him and felt her presence. She was right, they weren't safe. It was nothing a little caution and light footwork couldn't take care of, though.

The door at the top of the stairs was little more than a thick slab of metal. No keyhole, he noted, which meant it had to lock and open from within. He knocked on the door, loud enough to alert those inside of their presence, but hopefully not escaping the yard. He waited a few moments, watching a few flakes of red paint fall away from the door, but nothing else happened. He didn't like this. That nagging feeling he'd had since the raid on the club yesterday flared up again, but stronger this time. He knocked again, on the off chance that they simply hadn't heard him. He knew it was a long shot, and was proven right when the door remained steadfastly shut.

"Why don't you try opening it?" Rinoa's question was obvious and stupid. He doubted her father would go to all that trouble to remain hidden, just to leave the door open for anyone to enter as they pleased. Still, with no windows nearby through which he might climb, he saw no other options.

He ran his finger along the gap between the door and the frame. It was far too narrow for his fingers to fit through, or anyone else's for that matter. How the hell was he supposed to try and open it? Leverage, of course. Digging in his jacket pocket, he pulled out a pen knife. Flipping out the blade, he slid it into the gap and began trying to pry the door open. The well oiled door swung outwards with minimal effort.

Every instinct in his body screamed at him to turn and run. This whole setup was suspicious in the extreme, but somewhere on the other side of that door was their prize. They'd come this far, and to turn tail and run now seemed ridiculous. He had no idea why the door wasn't locked; it might simply have been left open for them, as unlikely as that seemed. The thought didn't comfort him, but what were his options? Leave without checking, like a coward, or go in and take a look? Hardening his resolve, he slid Revolver from its holster and swung the cylinder out briefly, making sure the weapon was fully loaded. Slapping the cylinder back into place, he flipped the safety off and glared through the opening. His people needed what Caraway had to offer, so there really was only one choice. Besides, he thought sardonically, Im only gambling with my life. Nothing he didn't do on a regular basis.

"Quistis, look after her." He didn't need to turn to see her nod, or know the others were drawing their own weapons.

He listened carefully. He couldn't hear anyone on the other side. He pulled the door further open, ready to fire. The room started to fill with light, and he scanned the room for signs of life. The doorway opened fully, revealing a couple of small wooden crates and food packages, and a complete and utter absence of human life. Holding his breath, he stepped into the room, Revolver straight and steady in front of him, exhaling in relief when nothing leaped from the corners to attack. The others filed into the room behind him at his wave.

"No one 'ere," Selphie announced, peering around her.

"I don't like this," Quistis declared behind Rinoa.

Neither did Squall. His instincts were shrieking at him louder than ever to turn and leave, but his eyes were rooted to the door on the opposite side of the room. They could still turn back now, but he wanted to know what was going on. What was the saying? What you don't know can't hurt you? It wasn't being hurt by knowledge that worried him; it was being killed by ignorance. If they were in deep shit, then he'd rather know just how deep. That way, he might be able to prepare for it.

He crossed the room in four strides, turned the handle of the door, and threw it open, ready to attack. It wasn't, however, a fight that he found.

The smell hit him first, a thick, fetid stench he was unfortunately familiar with. The stink was followed within a second by the sight of what lay inside the room, causing his stomach to twist even further and bile to rise in his throat, threatening to evacuate right then and there. Blood – a hell of a lot of it – coated the room. The red liquid pooled around the bodies, or what remained of them, creeping towards the door and sprayed up the walls. It hadn't quite reached the door yet, and nor had it dried – which, Squall knew, meant that they'd been killed fairly recently. Spent bullet casings cluttered the room.

Whoever had done this had obviously enjoyed it. The three men inside hadn't been killed with a single bullet to the head; someone had had a field day in here. The man in the centre of the room had been on the receiving end of a face full of bullets, disfiguring him beyond recognition, but judging from the looks of the other corpses, Squall had to guess that this was the ex- (in more ways than one, now) General Caraway. Though it was hard to tell, because whoever had decided to ruin the man's face hadn't stopped there; they'd continued further down the body, as if trying to see how much of the corpse they could destroy with a single gun. Around him lay chunks of flesh and … well, he didn't particularly want to think about what else. The body to the left looked as if it had been stabbed to death, his chest riddled with holes while the offending dagger still lay firmly lodged where it had been rammed up through the base of the skull. The man on the right had been beaten to death, if the bloody pole resting beside the body was anything to go by. The skull had been shattered, and the jaw hung grotesquely from it. Broken teeth littered the ground beside him.

A strangled noise came from behind him. He whirled round to see Rinoa standing a step or so away, brown eyes wide as her face crumbled in a mix horror, grief, and a hundred other feelings while her body trembled uncontrollably. She drew another rattled breath, letting the gang leader know just what was coming. His arm snapped forward, clamping a calloused hand firmly over her mouth to muffle the scream that desperately tried to escape. The knowledge that these men were freshly dead brough with it the horrible realisation that whoever had done it could very possibly still be in the area, and the last thing Squall wanted was for their attention to be caught by a hysterical girl.

He turned back to the other members of the party, who looked as disturbed as he did by the sight inside. Quistis looked dangerously close to being sick, while Irvine's complexion had taken on that of the bodies inside, his eyes wider than normal and his face a deathly pale colour. It was Selphie who looked the least disturbed out of the lot of them, pinching her nose with her thumb and forefinger as she looked over the bodies with mild disgust. Damn, but the tiny girl freaked him out sometimes.

He spun Rinoa round, pushing her into Quistis' arms. "Take her and get out of here. All of you get back to the warehouse quickly and make sure you aren't followed."

"What about you?" Quistis tore her eyes away from the scene, still looking dangerously nauseous.

"I'll be right behind you. Just go." He pushed Rinoa towards them as the screaming died down. "We do not want to be found here, so go. Now!"

Selphie took Rinoa's hand and pulled her from the room, Irvine following closely behind.

Quistis took one last look at her leader. "Don't hang about either."

"I don't plan to."

Giving him a curt nod, she spun round and ran after her friends. As she disappeared down the unstable iron staircase, he turned back to the death room and stepped inside. He wasn't going through all this for nothing; if their reward was still in here, he was taking it.

An initial sweep with his eyes showed nothing in sight that could be his prize. The desk to the side seemed his most likely bet. He quickly crossed the gap, carefully avoiding the corpses with his eyes and feet while trying not to breathe in too deeply. He tore out the top drawer of the desk and emptied the contents onto the floor. It didn't matter if he made a mess now; whoever discovered the bodies would assume that it was done by a gang looking for valuables. It would fit with the murders; vicious, chaotic, and utterly uncaring of human life. He ripped the middle drawer from the desk, tipping the inside on the ground. It looked like the work of a common street gang, but it didn't ring true for him.

He emptied the last drawer onto the growing pile at his feet. Nothing, it was all crap. He yanked the table away from the wall to find an empty space. Shit! The bastards, it wasn't here.

He hit the desktop in frustration and paused. He tapped it again, then moved his hand along the surface to the other end and tapped again. He smiled. The desktop was too thick and, more to the point, it was hollow, at least on one side. He squatted to look at the joining and, finding an irregularity, lifted the top. Inside lay a thick metal briefcase. He snatched up the case; the heavy weight in his hand seemed to confirm his hopes that this was indeed what he searched for. He dropped the false top back into place and, finally listening to his instincts, turned and fled the room like a bat out of hell.

He slammed the heavy door of the bloody room closed as he passed, sprinting across the room and closing the front door as well. The rusty stairs swayed precariously as he half ran, half slid down them, threatening to break free of the wall at any moment. They didn't. He was across the yard and out the other end of the alley within half a minute.

He knew it! He just knew this was a bad job.

What's more, he had a feeling that this was just the beginning.

(&)

Blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood –

The word chased itself around her head. It was everywhere, the floor, the walls, her fath –

A sob broke from her throat. Why? What had she ever done to deserve this? The last five years and now this. It wasn't fair. It was cruel to give her hope just to have it torn away in such a brutal manner and oh God the blood. All her father had been guilty of was trying to do the right thing. To go in such a way, with so much violence and his face–

"Hey, Princess."

She looked up, realising that they'd stopped in the middle of the pavement by a large four way crossing. Only the very occasional car went by, but despite this the air was heavy, thick with pollution, nothing like the clean inner city air. She shook her head. That wasn't the point. The point was that they were free of that small dark room. When had they left? She didn't remember leaving, or running down the street, though they must have run. All she remembered was staring at the bodies and the blood and her father's face carved to mincemeat –

"Princess," she recognised Quistis' voice this time. It was Irvine last time, she thought hazily. Maybe. "People are staring at you, you have to stop it."

She looked up at the blonde blankly; she didn't understand what she was talking about.

"Ya mutterin' to yourself," Selphie explained for her, "Ya keep sayin' 'blood'."

She blinked in surprise, looking between the three friends. She had no idea that she'd been mumbling the word that plagued her mind. It was like the blackouts all over again, but at least she had the small comfort that the cause this time was more 'natural', a small comfort indeed.

"I know this is a shock," Quistis continued, "But you've gotta try and act normal."

"I'm sorry. I didn't know. I just, it's –"

Selphie put a hand on her shoulder and smiled. "We know, but Squall weren't happy 'bout this in th' first place. So now more'n ever, we don' wanna 'tract 'tention to us. Don' wanna end up like daddy now, do ya?"

She shook her head mutely.

Quistis turned to Irvine. "You see Squall yet?"

"Nah, but chill, he'll come."

"We can' wai' 'bout for him, he won' be happy about tha'," Selphie adding, turning away from Rinoa.

Quistis frowned and made a noise that clearly showed her aggravation. "What the hell is he doing?"

Beside her, Irvine shrugged. "You know Squall. He does some weird shit sometimes, but never for no reason."

She didn't seem any happier.

"Come on," Irvine said, pulling Selphie into motion.

"Oh," Selphie exclaimed. "Squall."

They turned to look in the direction they'd just come from. Rinoa's heart lifted a little upon seeing the surly gang leader, relieved to see that he was unharmed. He ran towards them and she realised that he now carried a briefcase in one hand. She was certain he hadn't been hauling that about earlier. He slowed down as he approached them, frowning openly between them.

"Why'd you stop?"

"Sorry, it was my fault," Rinoa tried not to waver under his stern glare, but it was so much harder now than it had been last night. She was relieved when he looked away.

"Fine, come on then." He started off down the street again.

"Hey, what's in the case and where'd you get it?" Irvine called, following after him.

"Doesn't matter," Squall threw back.

"Doesn't matter, my ass," Selphie retorted as she lead Rinoa down the street.

The leader didn't respond and he obviously wasn't going to illuminate the situation. Rinoa stared down at the case as it banged against his legs. It looked heavy, tightly locked as well. Not like the nice smart briefcases the businessmen in the city centre carried, with their smooth leather coverings and gold lettering. No, this case was a thick, ugly steel construct that looked as if it was designed to carry valuable cargo. The ever present hum in her head grew and for once she welcomed it. She wanted the distraction the case provided, needed it. The container looked military … yes, definitely military issue, a bog standard secure case with thumb print recognition to open it. An older model, discontinued in 1785 after it was decided that the print recognition was no longer safe enough for classified documents after spies stole secret papers and a street gang jumped a man transporting a million gil to the central bank. The youths cut off his thumb, which they used to open the case in a more private loca –

"Rinoa."

She blinked when Selphie nudged her. "Yes?"

"Ya talkin' to yourself."

Oh no, not again. She was going crazy, she knew it. Whatever had been done to her was driving her insane. She was talking to herself about stupid secure cases. At least she thought it was about the case, she wasn't sure what else she could be muttering about, but then, maybe this was just a sign that she was further gone than even she supposed. She was just thinking about it and the flow of information just came to her from God only knew where. Why would she even know the history of –

"Hey, Princess," it was Irvine again, "You're zoning out on us again."

She realised they'd all stopped now, watching her as she faded in and out of reality. She clutched her upper arm with one hand, looking at the ground. "I'm sorry."

"This isn't working," Squall suddenly announced.

Quistis frowned across at him. "She's had a massive shock; you can't expect her to be as cool about it as us. I don't think you'd be any better if it was your father lying there."

There was a sternness in her voice that Rinoa had never heard in anyone else's when they spoke to their leader. Squall didn't bother holding her gaze, turning on his heel and matching off.

"Go Quisty," Selphie muttered to the blonde who smiled in return.

They watched as Squall walked along the street to a child with a large bag over one shoulder. He stopped in front of the boy, who looked up at Squall.

"Give you a fiver for ya bag," Squall proposed.

The kid gave him a discontent scowl. "Gonna 'ave to do betta then tha'."

"Okay, then. Give me your bag or I'll beat you to death with this." He lifted up the case to efficiently emphasis his point.

Rinoa felt her eyes go wide as she watched the two. He wouldn't, she was sure of it. He was wouldn't be so mean to such a small kid, he couldn't be much older than ten. The boy didn't seem so sure though as he shoved his bag at Squall.

"Selphie." The petite girl practically skipped over to her leader when her name was called. She took the case that was held out to her.

Unzipping the bag, Squall emptied the contents of the backpack onto the pavement.

"Oi, tha's mah stuff!"

The gang leader ignored the boy who scrambled about to collect up his possessions. The young man took the case and shoved it into the now free bag, making sure the backpack was firmly closed. With the case hidden from view- it was generally a bad idea to flaunt that you were carrying something value while in the slums- he looked down at the kid who was collecting up the last of his things.

"Tell anyone about this and I will personally find you and throw you off the tallest building I can find. Now scram."

The boy did as he was told, running across the street and down a passageway, getting away as quickly as his legs could carry him. Squall turned to join the others, Selphie on his heels.

"That was mean," Rinoa found herself saying, "He's just a kid."

"You'd rather be dead?" She was taken aback by his harsh response, unsure of how to reply to such a comment apart from to shake her head, but he didn't wait for her come-back. "We'll split up. Irvine and Selphie, take the princess and stop her from …" he paused and looked at her "… doing whatever the hell she does. Don't worry about doing it quickly, I don't think we're bein' followed, but I'd rather make sure."

Rinoa felt Irvine wrap an arm around her shoulders, cutting off her indignation at the leader's off-handed comment about her. "Gotcha Squall."

Selphie slipped beside her and linked her arm through Rinoa's, pulling her away as Irvine started talking.

"You're lucky Princess, to have the pleasure of my company, and Selphie's, could be stuck with Squall instead."

She tried to crane her neck round, but only caught a glance of the man before he took off down the road with Quistis. "He's not that bad."

"Not always, but ya should see some of the ways he turns down girls. 'Course, most've 'em deserve it."

She turned her attention back to the man who towered above her. "How so?"

She wasn't really interested to know how, but once again she found herself welcoming the distraction. There was something comforting about Irvine's relaxed attitude and Selphie's boundless enthusiasm amongst all of the chaos in her life. They managed to push the blood in her thoughts away for the moment, back to a dark corner of her mind, where it would wait to spring on her again. But for now, at least, she could pretend that she was free of it.

(line break)

A/N: And after a long break, another chapter. Sorry, my life did a complete flip around in the last few months (in a good way), as some of my readers will know.