Author's note: Woo! I'm back with the second chapter! It would've been up sooner, but school and university applications caught up with me. Anyway, many thanks to everyone who reviewed, it's very much appreciated.

This chapter continues to set the scene, and also contains this fic's first action scene. I'm not too confident about my battle-writing skills, though, so I'd really appreciate it if anyone has any pointers on how to write a decent action sequence.

So, on with the show! Enjoy, or don't, but don't forget to leave behind some concrit.

-

Chapter 2

It was practically a ritual now. As soon as it was over, Reno would pull away and fish his trousers from the floor, then he'd make his way over to the window, light up a cigarette and smoke it while looking out. It was usually - uh - entertaining to see who was hanging about outside. Today it was one of the Honeybee Inn's girls, pressed up against the wall with some john in a feverish clinch. A feverish clinch that was obviously going for free. No whore anywhere, not even at the Honeybee, was that affectionate with a guy, not even if he was President Shinra himself and paying his weight in gil.

He watched with amused curiosity for a few seconds - they were really going at it - then he tapped his cigarette and watched the ash scatter down towards the two lovebirds. They didn't notice, so he decided to try a different tack.

"Yo, buddy," he shouted, leaning out the window, folded arms resting on the sill, "I'd try eatin' a decent meal from time to time if I were you."

Priceless. The whore and her man jumped apart as if electrified, heads darting round wildly as they looked for the owner of the voice, before they finally looked up, consternation written all over their faces. Reno gave them a cheery wave, flicked the rest of his cigarette out, and ducked back inside.

"Who're you talking to?" Cassie asked. She was up now, clothes thrown on haphazardly in the knowledge that they'd be coming off again soon, probably even in less than an hour's time.

He chuckled quietly as he bent down, retrieving the rest of his clothes from the floor. "Just one of your lot and her boyfriend, yo."

"Oh."

"Anyway -" he delved into his pocket - "what do I owe ya? Usual, right?"

"Right."

He counted out the gil and tipped it into her palm before heading for the door. Then an afterthought occurred to him, and he turned back to her. "Oh, yeah, before I forget, yo: they're auditioning for Loveless at the theatre up in Sector Three. Might wanna check it out."

The deep-set weariness on Cassie's face lit up with a ridiculously hopeful smile. "Really?"

"Yeah."

"I'll definitely check it out. Thanks so much for telling me, Reno."

He grinned back. "What can I say? I'm feelin' generous. Just remember to reserve me a front-row seat on opening night, yo."

"Yeah, yeah." She was trying her damnedest not to smile, and failing. She waved an impatient hand towards the door, bangles jangling musically. "Now get the hell out before you jinx me."

"Going. See ya round."

"Bye."

When he'd shut the door behind him, Reno finally let the grin twist into the grimace that had been hovering behind it through them whole conversation. He remembered the smile on Cassie's face and felt almost guilty for telling her about the auditions. She was only at the Honeybee in the first place because she couldn't get anything but "Don't call us, we'll call you" from every theatre she'd ever auditioned at. Which was sad, really. She had the talent - there were times when she almost had him convinced that she didn't actually resent him for walking through that door - but she just didn't have the looks. But she'd been in born in Gongaga, so she'd told him, so she also didn't have that inborn, Midgarian gene that told you to quit when you were behind.

"Christ! There y'are. What kept ya?"

Reno looked up. There was a familiar figure hovering in the doorway, arms folded impatiently. Jonsey. One of the seven others Reno shared a poxy bedsit with in Sector Five, and the nearest thing he had to a best friend. Or at least something loosely based on a best friend. Drinking-and-whoring-buddy was probably nearer the mark.

Jonsey took a couple of steps in his direction, running one hand through his long, straggling hair. "What kept ya?" he repeated.

Reno smirked. "Well, y'see, there are some of us who are virile enough that we can actually last beyond five minutes, yo. Though I know you might have to use your imagination for that, pal."

"Geez, you should have your own stand-up show."

Reno laughed. "Now there's an idea. Imagine me up on stage, can you?"

"I'd be the one in front with the tomatoes."

"Whatever. You're just jealous of my gift, yo. Anyway, let's get the hell outta here. Others out yet?"

"Yeah. Just you we're waitin' on."

Reno shrugged and flashed Jonsey a lopsided grin. "So, I'm a stud. Sue me."

He led the way out the corridor into the main foyer of the Honeybee Inn. After the dimness of the bedroom and the corridor, the bright lights and garish colours of the hall made his eyes hurt. A painfully skinny girl in one of the Honeybee outfits hovered by the door and said goodbye and told them to come back soon, her smile painted on as bright and fake as her make-up.

The others were standing in one corner, a knot of grim-faced punks with bad hair or no hair, weapons deliberately visible to shout, "Don't fuck with us!" Among them was Shun, another of Reno's roomies, and some others he knew vaguely, like Vance, Mirk and Gregor. Members of PHANTOM, of course, and while the rich businessmen in their nondescript but high-quality overcoats might not have known that, and passed them by without even looking, the slum johns definitely did, and were giving them a wide berth.

The man in the middle of the pack, the tallest, with a mane of tawny hair and a mottled scar almost bisecting his face, caught sight of Reno and Jonsey and called, "Took ya long enough."

Reno gave his easy smirk. "Sorry, Samson. Didn't mean to make you feel inadequate or anythin', yo."

Samson's lip curled and he jerked his thumb in the direction of the door. "Get yer smart ass in gear before I kick it, Reno."

"Would it ease the pain any if I offered to pay for the first round as soon as we're outta here?"

"Be my guest."

Reno would have replied, but he was cut off by a sudden rasping sneer: "Busy day at the dungheap, Samson?"

The members of PHANTOM turned. In the entrance to the Honeybee hulked a group of figures with the same grim-faced, dead-eyed menace as Reno's comrades. Except these ones weren't his comrades. He recognised the speaker instantly. He was as tall as Samson, with muscles like boulders and a face that looked as if it had been smashed into a brick wall while it was still warm.

Flint Malone, a prominent member of VENDETTA, the biggest thorn in PHANTOM's side. The two gangs had been warring over territory long before Reno had joined up with PHANTOM, but even after all this time, they had achieved nothing but a bitter stalemate.

Didn't stop the members of each gang beating the shit out of each other whenever they met, though.

Flint strode forward, a leer twisting his smashed-in face as he made eye contact with each and every one of the PHANTOM guys. He whistled. "Fuck's sake. Fancy seein' you here, Samson. Who'd you have to mug for a member ticket?"

"Think you should be here, Flint?" Samson retorted. "Would've thought this place'd be a bit old for you."

"Nah, he's cool," Reno smirked. He cocked his head in the direction of one of the many doors leading from the foyer. "Mukki and the hot tub are through that way, Flint. Enjoy your stay, yo."

The leer dropped from Flint's face to be replaced by a scowl that didn't improve it at all. "And just who the fuck are you s'posed to be, kid?"

Reno smirked darkly. He'd never spoken to Flint before, only knew him by sight and reputation - but, hey, he was feeling lucky. Winking conspiratorially to his comrades, he stepped forward with just enough swagger to make a muscle in Flint's face jump.

"Name's Reno," he said cheerfully. "Thrilled to meet ya. I've never met a celebrity before, yo."

Flint growled. "Run back to your mum, kid, and let the big boys play - yeah? - before I rearrange your face for ya."

Reno heard his comrades tense behind him and saw, out the corner of his eye, hands reaching for weapons. Insulting or threatening a member of PHANTOM was kind of a package deal: insult one and you insulted the entire outfit.

Further emboldened, Reno decided to see just how far he could push Flint. On the edge of his vision he could see people gathering to watch the showdown, whores and punters alike, the doorman in his straining maroon waistcoat hovering anxiously, little piggy eyes darting from him to Flint then back again.

An audience, huh? This opportunity was just too good to pass up. Chuckling, he said loudly, "What, so I'll look like you? Thanks, but I think I'll pass, yo."

Flint's eyes darted to Samson long enough for him to sneer, "The hell'd you find this little wise-ass? You that desperate for men?"

Reno grinned. "Nothing 'desperate' about me, man. I'm one of the best PHANTOM has to offer."

Flint returned his attention to him, a smirk plastered over his anger. Reno guessed he wasn't used to being sassed by kids half his age and height. Oh, well. First time for everything, right?

"That a challenge?"

Reno patted the retractable metal rod at his hip. He'd bought it with his cut of the Mako profits just the week before, from one of Wall Market's more expensive weapons dealers, and he was dying to try it out on something. Or someone.

"Might be," he said casually, shrugging. The crowd gathering in the foyer were starting to get edgy, shifting and shuffling, goggly-eyed with the fear and fascination of watching a showdown between PHANTOM and VENDETTA.

Flint started to laugh, a low, incredulous, unpleasant laugh. His cronies, encouraged by this, let loose a few sniggers of their own. Flint's fighting gloves made a strange squeaking noise as his fists clenched. Reno refused to be intimidated, his smirk still on his face and one eyebrow arched. He waited till the last uneven strains of the chuckle had died away before adding his own note of defiance to the silence:

"You finished, yo?"

The last traces of the laugh died from Flint's face. The next thing Reno knew, he was flying backwards, pain shearing down his spine as it dragged across the floor. He came to a stop in an ungainly sprawl of arms and legs, blinking away stars, his cheek throbbing. Looking up, he saw Flint with a raised fist and a smug look.

"Bastard!"

An instant later, he was leaping forward, making a sharp lunge for Flint. He found the catch on the rod, felt it spring open, and swung. Flint fell to one side with a wounded bellow, while he landed nimbly on his feet and made a show of dusting himself off. He raised his head and grinned cheekily at the other VENDETTA punks, who all looked decidedly wrong-footed.

"The hell you waitin' for?" Flint snarled behind him. "Get the little fucker!"

They went for him like a pack of Bandersnatches. Reno felt his grin wobble; his hand tightened on the rod. A huge hand pitched towards his throat. He side-stepped and brought the rod down hard, cracking the punk on the back of the skull and kicking the prone form away. He was dimly aware of Jonsey and the others making their own charge. The two sides met with a resounding clash.

Screams rent the air; the spectators were now piling over each other in their desperation to get the hell out the way, fighters and onlookers suddenly one giant swarm. Reno fought like a madman through the struggling press of bodies, trying to work out who was who. In front of him, a Honeybee girl fell to the ground, screaming. She immediately disappeared from sight as one of Flint's punks cut through the fray and planted himself in front of Reno, wielding what looked like a length of lead piping in scarred hands. Crap. Reno shifted his weight on one foot, swinging the rod to re-affirm his grip on it.

The pipe cut through the air, aiming straight for him. Not a moment too soon, he threw up his arm, jarring the attack with his rod. The punk pressed down on him, undeterred, harder with every second, until Reno could feel his back protesting, and his arm started to feel the strain of keeping the attack at bay. He gritted his teeth, trying to gauge some way to shift the balance, but the punk only applied more pressure, forcing his arm back by slow, tortuous degrees.

The strain turned into full-fledged pain.

Desperate, he dug his heels into the floor, trying to regain some kind of leverage - but while one half of his brain was calling for him to counterattack, the other was screaming for him to let go.

Another bolt of pain had him hissing. Instinctively, he knew he wasn't going to last much longer.

Shit. This isn't good.

He was suddenly aware of a movement behind him. Laboured breathing. Familiar. Flint.

Oh - fuck. Fuck!

Pipe-man was still bearing down on him. And he could hear Flint just behind him.

"That's it: hold the little bastard there. I wanna get a good crack at him."

Sweat prickled his forehead. There was only one way he could possibly get out of this - and it would be damn difficult.

Now or never.

He felt Flint's shadow fell over him - and gave way. He dropped his arm, and the unexpected momentum carried Pipe-man forward, Reno only just managing to hop out of the way in time. Almost in the same instant, he spun round and lashed out as Flint struck out.

A split second too late. He missed - just - and he was forced to take a jump back to avoid a punch which would have surely split his face open. But he misjudged his landing, stumbled, and fell back. He went down hard. His eyes snapped up immediately to see Flint towering over him, a slow leer spreading across his face as he cracked his knuckles.

"Bark worse than your bite, huh, brat? By the time I'm done with you, there won't even be enough of you to send home as a warning to yer buddies in PHANTOM."

Oh, no, you fucking don't...

Reno's grip tightened on the rod. His body was protesting with sharp barbs of pain, but, gritting his teeth and willing himself to move, he forced his smirk back into place and regained his footing -

- only to be shoved back down. Surprised, he looked up - to see Samson. Their eyes met for a brief moment, long enough for Reno to see the strange blaze in Samson's eyes as he said, "Stay the hell outta this one, Reno." Then he threw himself at Flint.

Reno was too busy being indignant to really see what happened next. All he was aware of was a flash of white light, a blast of bitter cold, then Samson was on the ground, twitching. Reno stared in confusion, then he saw a green-white glow - which disappeared under Flint's sleeve.

Ice spell.

The bastard had materia.

As Flint turned back to him, Reno's mind immediately jumped to the materia on his own wrist. Lightning, All - fuckfuckfuck! Just when he thought he wouldn't need his Fire materia...

A rush of cold hit his face, and he only just managed to leap to one side. The spell slammed into the wall, spreading a tracery of jagged, frosty patterns up the paintwork.

Now was his chance. With Flint wrong-footed from the failed attack, Reno jumped, swinging his rod at the thug's head. Flint's hands shot out, grasping the weapon and one of Reno's wrists. He sneered. Reno snickered back.

His feint had worked.

Next moment, his foot slammed into the side of Flint's head. Flint's grasp on Reno and the rod gave away as he staggered back. He growled, then made another lunge. Reno aimed, socking Flint a good one in the cheek. Flint's head snapped to one side; Reno struck out with the rod. There was a sharp, sickening crack and Flint Malone - top thug of VENDETTA, one of PHANTOM's worst enemies - crumpled to the floor with a broken neck.

Reno panted, wiping sweat from his forehead and waiting for the adrenaline rush to assuage. He'd done it. He'd fucking done it. He'd just beaten Flint Malone of VENDETTA. Straightening up, he glanced around his surroundings. The foyer was nearly empty now, save for the fighters themselves. The ground was littered with bodies, not all of them gang members. He saw the Honeybee girl who'd fallen earlier, surrounded by a gaggle of her colleagues. Besides Flint, five other VENDETTA thugs had been taken down, and the rest of them were taking off as fast as they could.

And on their side...

Jonsey and Mirk were supporting Shun, who was utterly limp, his eyes closed and face pallid.

"Shun!" Reno rushed over and dropped down next to the prone form, grabbing a wrist and looking for a pulse. He didn't find one. His heart skipped a beat; he grasped the thin shoulders and shook them, calling out: "Shun, Shun, buddy, wake up - speak to me, yo..."

Jonsey was shaking his head, wiping sweat and blood from a scalp wound out his eyes. "No good, man," he said ruefully. "We already tried that. He's a goner."

Reno cursed. His elation died completely when he saw that there were a good few PHANTOM members on the floor, including Vance and Gregor. The ones who were still standing looked like they were going to collapse at any moment.

"Shit. This was a bad one, yo."

Jonsey nodded. "Didn't expect to see them here."

"Yeah..." Despite himself, he chuckled. "Bit classy for them, ain't it?"

Mirk spat on the floor. "Bastards'll pay for this!"

Reno looked around at the fallen VENDETTA members. "Looks like they already did, yo."

It was then he caught sight of Samson staggering to his feet. Leaving Jonsey and Mirk with Shun, he ran over to him as Samson clutched at the wall for balance. Reno offered a supporting hand, but it was knocked aside. Samson glared at him, dark eyes venomous, scarred face twisting in a snarl.

"Nice mouth, Reno."

Reno frowned, confused. Then he got it. Samson was blaming him for the fight. Anger flared up under his numbness and he hissed back, "It woulda happened anyway, fuckwit. Admit it, if I hadn't pissed off Flint, you would've."

Samson cast a dark look at Flint's body before aiming it at him. If looks could kill, Reno had no doubt he'd be joining Flint on the foyer floor.

"You've had your fun for today, kid. Now get the hell outta my way."

Heaving himself up, Samson marched, with ill-disguised difficulty, across the foyer and out of the building. The doorman made way for him sharpish. Reno watched him leave, frowning long after he was gone. He should be revelling - he'd just taken out one of Hark's top ten enemies - but Samson's hostility had him furious - and perplexed.

What the hell was that about?

-

The door caught the strategically-placed chimes and they rang cheerily as Rude entered the shop. The place was empty, with no customers and not even anybody behind the counter; but he heard an exclamation of surprise from the back room and, just a second later, a portly man in a green shirt bustled through, wiping his hands with a grimy rag and fixing a salesman's smile on his tired face.

"Afternoon, sir, and what can I do for y...?"

Abruptly, the smile fell away and his voice died into silence as soon as he saw Rude. Or rather, Rude supposed, as soon as he saw his suit. Most people in the slums, especially Wall Market, knew a Turk when they saw one. He watched as the shopkeeper fought to regain his composure, terror turning his face ashen, his white fingers twisting the rag in his hands, his mouth opening and closing silently a couple of times before he managed to squeeze out, "Uh... y-yes... sir? H-how can I help you?"

Rude stepped forward and, for the sake of professionalism if nothing else, laid his ID on the counter. The shopkeeper looked down at it, then back up at him, wide-eyed.

"Y-yes...?"

"I'm conducting an investigation on behalf of the Shinra Corporation."

"Investigation?"

"Yes. There are some things I'd like to check in this shop. And some questions I'd like you to answer."

He didn't miss the man's reaction: he was visibly trembling, small eyes darting here and there as if looking for an escape route, body tensed as if ready to run.

"I... I don't know what kinda help you think I can be..." His voice was shaking more than his body. The rag was nearly fraying beneath his fingers. "I'm just a shopkeeper... don't know nothing about crime."

Sure, you don't.

"In that case, you should have nothing to worry about."

He wouldn't relax, though. Rude could see in his face that he wanted to run, and fast, but just didn't dare. Nothing inherently suspicious about that: he had seen the same kind of reaction on countless faces before him in the past, whether they were guilty parties or not. But, an investigation was an investigation, and the shops in Wall Market were the ideal place to start tracking any unauthorised suppliers. Especially since he'd learnt that this particular shop had recently started selling materia at rates much lower than those designated by Shinra.

"Shut the shop," he said. "This won't take long." When the man hesitated, he added, "I'd recommend you did as I told you."

The shopkeeper was almost petrified with fear, but somehow he managed to acquiesce, ducking out from behind the counter and scurrying to lock the door. He turned back with the air of a condemned man. Rude waited until he had returned before commencing.

"You'll have heard of the recent rise in Mako prices."

The man nodded, trying to look sincere and regretful and overdoing it. "Yeah. Not good, to tell ya the truth. No disrespect to them at the top, sir, but it's gettin' hard to afford the prices they're offering for materia and the like now."

Rude glanced around the shop, at the rows of materia and restorative items on sale. He reached over to open the till, taking a quick but thorough look inside before replying. "And yet you seem to be managing to keep up a substantial business here."

Aha. As soon as he'd spoken, the shopkeeper shrank away from him. His face flushed; he whimpered like a sick dog. He took a couple of frightened steps backwards, even though Rude knew he had shown no sign of moving. Instead he stood in silence, studying the little man from behind his glasses, watching him get more and more agitated.

His interviewee couldn't meet his eyes. His words seemed to have scattered in his fright, and when he finally spoke, it was only in fragments: "Well... yeah, sir... y'see, it happened like this... I... I got in a... a delivery from the suppliers - y'know - just before the... the prices went up..."

The prices had gone up at least a month ago.

"One delivery was enough to last you a month?" Rude allowed his incredulity to creep into his voice. This man was running down a dead-end and, what was more, he knew it. Rude could see the sheen on his forehead. The terror was almost tangible.

The man didn't even try to speak, just looked up at Rude in gape-mouthed terror.

Rude drew himself up to his full height, tightening his gloves as he did so.

No point in beating about the bush.

The shopkeeper now looked like he was trying to merge with the wall. Rude walked over, slowly, menacingly, and towered over him.

"Now," he said, voice coldly calm, "I want some names."

"W-what names?"

That the way you want to play it? Fine.

His hand shot out and seized the man by the shirt, shoving him against the wall and lifting him until his feet were dangling off the ground. He leaned in, close, uncomfortably close, and spoke in his softest, most dangerous, voice:

"If you want to keep this business, you'll give names."

"I... I don't know -"

"Yes, you do." Rude's free hand found the gun tucked inside his jacket. The man uttered a trembling cry as the cold metal pressed into his temple.

"Talk."

"I don't know who they are! They just came in one day and said they could sell me cheap materia! And they've been comin' back ever since!"

"Who?

"I don't know! Bunch of punks from the slums. One of 'em was just a kid."

A kid...

Rude dropped the man, who simply curled into a shivering ball at his feet. Something like a sob wheezed out his throat. Rude reached into his breast pocket, drew out the photograph Veld had given him, and pressed it into one hand. The cowering man peered at it for a long moment, eyes slowly widening with recognition, then nodded vehemently.

"Yeah... yeah! This could be him! Skinny, red hair... I recognise him - yeah!" The sobs had cleared and been replaced by a look of almost pained relief.

Not that he was off the hook yet. Far from it.

"When was the last time he came in?"

The vendor's face screwed up as he tried to remember. "I think... it was last week. Yeah, that's it. Last week. There's always two of them. One's a gangly kid with red hair - just like the photo - and the other's a guy with long, dark, straggly hair."

"And do they have names?"

"I told you! I dunno what they're called."

Rude didn't argue. He simply cocked the gun. The man whined and drew as far back as he could.

"You were saying."

"I didn't get their names!" He was almost crying again. It was pitiful. "They didn't tell 'em to me! But I heard 'em talkin' to each other, quiet-like - if this helps - and... I dunno if I heard right... sounded like their names were Jones and Reynold, or something..."

"You're sure?"

"No, I'm not, I just told ya!" The shopkeeper's voice was getting shriller. "But that's what I heard. Please, man, I don't know anything, I wouldn't even have bought their stuff - but - y'know - it's hard to make a living down here under the Plate... you know... you must know..."

Rude tuned out the rest of the breathless pleading as he considered his options. If the man was telling the truth, then the Mako thief and a crony had been selling their illegal materia for a while now. It was likely there would be a good few more shops involved, too, especially in Wall Market. This wasn't going to be easy.

Still, he had descriptions, and possibly even names. And he probably wasn't going to get much more out of the gibbering wreck before him. Time to cast his net elsewhere.

He turned away, hearing the barely-suppressed sigh of relief as he did so. Then an afterthought occurred to him. He turned back.

"You do know," he said, "that buying stolen Shinra products is a criminal offence."

The shopkeeper looked panicked again, but started nodded vigorously and gabbling. "Uh-huh, uh-huh, but ya know, man, it'll never happen again. Hand on heart - I'll swear it in front of President Shinra himself if I have to: I'll never do it again, never. Never." He was smiling, a pathetic, pleading smile, but Rude could see the desperation behind it, the fear clouding his eyes.

He raised the gun and stood over the grovelling figure. "That's right. You won't."

The scream drowned out the shot.

-

"Whoa! Easy there, buddy! Soon get ya patched up. Look, just in here, yo..."

The members of PHANTOM who had survived the skirmish had had their work cut out for them. Mirk had disappeared shortly after Samson, muttering darkly about needing a stiff drink and leaving Reno and Jonsey to round up the others. Four dead, including Shun, and Gregor was barely conscious. The rest of them were in bad shape, hobbling out of the Honeybee Inn in search of Potions, or booze, or both. Reno and Jonsey had to support Gregor out between them. The dead were left, just as they always were.

Now, half-dragging, half-carrying Gregor, Reno could feel his already sore spine complaining, and the perspiration stinging his eyes. Gregor was a big guy, as much fat as muscle, and Reno was surprised he and Jonsey had managed to get him as far as they had. The item shop was just a few yards away, though, and they eventually managed to haul him through the doorway.

"Hey!" Reno called as they entered, propping Gregor against the wall. "Yo, Marty! We still good for that discount you offered us last time?"

There was no one behind the counter, nor was there any answer from the back of the shop. Frowning, Reno tried again.

"Marty! You in? We're buyin' today, not sellin'..."

Silence. He and Jonsey exchanged a glance.

"Maybe he's out?"Jonsey suggested, shrugging.

Reno scoffed. "Out cold, more like. He's probably in the back, pissed out his face, yo." He nodded towards the back of the shop. "You go check. I'll look out the stuff we need."

Jonsey nodded, and headed behind the counter. Reno ambled over to the shelves of restoratives on display, but a loud "Fuck!" almost made him drop an armful of Hi-Potions.

"Jesus fuck, Jonsey! Wanna warn me next time you're gonna do that, yo?"

There was no reply. Reno looked over. "Jonsey?"

Jonsey's face was tight and pale. "I found Marty."

"Huh?" Ditching the Hi-Potions next to Gregor, Reno walked over and followed his friend's finger. Then it was his turn to curse.

Marty, the owner of the shop, was lying in a heap in the corner, a bullet-hole in his temple. Reno bent down and sluiced at the blood leaking from it. It was still warm, and hadn't had a proper chance to clot. Fuck, it must've happened just before they'd arrived.

"Who d'you think did it?" Jonsey asked.

Reno shrugged. "Fuck knows." This wasn't the first time he'd seen a shopkeeper gunned down in his own shop. It could just have been a punk who couldn't be bothered paying for a Potion.

Could have been. But something told him it wasn't.

Jonsey exhaled loudly. "Hark ain't gonna be happy about this." Marty had been one of their biggest buyers in Wall Market.

"I know," Reno said grimly. He knew he should just get up and leave - but something was bothering him. He turned the body over. The face was frozen in a look of utter terror. He didn't know why, but it made him shiver.

He heard the noise of the till opening, then Jonsey's voice: "Reno..."

"Yeah?"

"The till's still full."

Reno stood, shocked to see that Jonsey was right. The till hadn't been broken into. He looked around the shop, biting his bottom lip. Nothing seemed to be missing at all. He could see none of the usual signs of a struggle that accompanied a killing like this. From what he could see, the only thing that was out of place was the body behind the counter. It was almost as if there was no motive for it. Someone had just come in, shot Marty in the head, then walked out again.

It was totally unlike anything Reno was used to. It was cold. Deliberate. Precise.

And he had no idea why, but it scared him to death.

-

Author's note: Damn formatting problems. Oh, well. Third time lucky, eh?