Before Crisis: The Beginning

By DarkAngel

Disclaimer: I don't own Before Crisis or anything of the Compilation. The only things I do own are the names for characters that didn't already have them.

Author's Notes: The last chapter before we get into actual plot. This chapter's on (Twin Guns) whom I have named Rafe. On with the show!

Chapter 4: The Beginning (Rafe)

They met in an out of the way bar above the plate. It had been easy enough arranging leave with the Don, and certainly easy enough to arrange an excuse since nobody bothered to ask what business he could possibly have up here.

Rafe coolly eyed the agent sitting beside him. The other man was wearing the dark suit that identified him as a Turk. His expression was neutral, his eyes hidden behind sunglasses which he wore even indoors. He called himself Rude. Rafe wondered where he had gotten a name like that.

"…you've decided?" Rude rumbled. He didn't speak any more than was necessary to get his point across, which was fine with Rafe.

"Yeah." Rafe lit up a cigarette. "Just so we're clear, I get a 35 pay increase and you'll keep the Don and the underground cartels off my back, right?"

Rude nodded.

Blowing a stream of smoke out, Rafe tapped the cigarette, letting the ashes fall into the tray. "When do I start?"

The taller man shrugged. "Anytime you want."

If it was going to happen, it was going to happen soon. It would only be a matter of time before all these trips to the upper world got someone's curiosity piqued, and anyway, Rafe was more than ready to move on. Guarding the Don had given him experience, money and a certain cache in Wall Market, but the backbiting had got to the point where enough was enough. He had taken to carrying his guns even to bed. A man just couldn't tell anymore whether he'd live to the next morning of whether he'd be disposed of in a scrap heap, slit from ear to ear.

"I'll call you again," Rafe said at last. "I've got some things I need to take care of down there."

Rude nodded. They adjourned their meeting with the ordering of another round of beers.

Rafe moved quickly. He'd already been preparing to leave since he had first been scouted by the Turks. There was never a question of him refusing the offer – only a matter of timing and condition.

That night after he finished his work, he waited until the first trains to Midgar's upper plates started running. Grabbing his duffel bag and making sure his guns were fully loaded, he waited.

The denizens of Don Corneo's underworld went to sleep early in the morning. The Don was by his nature and due to his business most active around night, and so consequently was his retinue of bodyguards. Rafe knew the schedule; he waited until he was sure everyone had settled before making his way out of the palatial grounds.

He was almost out of the precinct when he was caught. Turning around, Rafe faced the belligerently suspicious voice behind him.

He almost sighed. Kotch. The man had had it in for him ever since he'd been upbraided by the Don for a minor skirmish of which Rafe had been a part. He'd gotten off free, Kotch hadn't.

"Where're you going?" Kotch was looking at him through narrowed eyes, his hands not quite on, but close enough to his own firearm.

"I've got business in the market," Rafe answered.

Kotch eyed the duffel, his expression clearly saying that he didn't buy it. "This early? Right after your shift?"

"That's right. I made a specific time with a buyer, not that it's any of your business."

The other man spat in his direction. "The hell you are. Let's see the bag."

Rafe raised his eyebrows. The guy was asking for trouble.

Kotch stepped forward, one hand out to take the bag from Rafe, the other drawing his weapon. Before he could complete the motion, Rafe had drawn his own weapon.

"Don't try anything."

"You wouldn't."

"Try me." Rafe adjusted the bag over his shoulder, nonchalantly clicking the safety off his gun. "Besides, whose word do you think is going to stand up when the Don hears about this? Yours or mine?"

"You gonna tattle? Like some brat?"

"You're assuming a lot," Rafe replied. He raised the gun. "Just back down, Kotch."

The man appeared to give this some thought. Suddenly, he whipped out his gun. Not fast enough. Rafe quickly fired off a round, glad that he had had the foresight to equip a silencer earlier. Kotch dropped to his knees, clutching his arm.

Rafe held his gun on Kotch. "This time it was your arm. The next one will go through your head."

Kotch hissed in pain, his eyes narrowed. He didn't say anything. Carefully, Rafe bent down to retrieve the gun that had slipped out of Kotch's grasp when his arm had been compromised.

"Stay there a while. If you try to attack me, I'll kill you."

The two men stared each down. Finally, Rafe turned away.

"I'll get you for this," he hissed. Rafe shrugged. That was far from likely. Where he was going, Kotch couldn't follow.

Rafe never saw Kotch again. What became of him, he didn't know, nor did he particularly care. The dimly shaded world of the Wall Market slums was behind him. The Turks had ensured that that was the way things would be. And that was something that the gunman remembered every day he woke with his neck intact.

Afterword: As I said in the author's notes, this is the last chapter before going into the main story. I'll be starting (naturally) from Episode 1. The way things will work, I'll have each episode running primarily from one character's point of view, with the other characters acting as secondary throughout. The other BC Turks will be introduced around the time they're supposed to come in for their respective chapters – I haven't forgotten them. :)

I'm excited! Now that the background stuff's out of the way, let's get this show on the road! See you next chapter.