Before Crisis: The Beginning
By DarkAngel
Disclaimer: If I owned Square-Enix, the first thing I'd do is publish a Compilation Ultimania. And then release that durned Last Order/Before Crisis soundtrack.
Chapter 20: Stepping Down from the Throne
It had been evening when they'd returned to Midgar. They had all been debriefed then given time to rest up until they were needed once again. As far as Rafe could recall, they hadn't really had a chance to rest since their respective patrols of Sector 8, and in Rosalind's case, she hadn't been able to rest at all since signing up. He felt a little sorry for her, though she hadn't once complained.
Right now they were sitting in a lounge in one of the residential areas of the Shin-Ra complex. This part of the residences was reserved for the Turks, higher ranking army officers without families, and assistants to executives. It was a quiet block in the city, just minutes walk from headquarters itself. The Turks all lived in the same building, which meant that any Turks not on missions usually spent their time in this or another lounge – assuming they got much free time at all. Rafe rubbed a hand over his eyes wearily. Maybe it was the stress of the recent situation that was giving rise to these thoughts, but life with Corneo seemed far more relaxed in comparison with his life now.
Well, mostly.
Sitting back in an overstuffed chair, St. Andrew groaned, throwing his cards disgustedly on the table before him. "You win again," he said. "You sure you aren't stacking the cards, Rafe?"
The gunman coolly raised an eyebrow. "What makes you think I would? We aren't playing for cash."
St. Andrew snorted, running a hand through his hair. "Whatever," he muttered. His eyes flickered to Rosalind, who was seated in another chair beside his. "Well? What's your hand looking like?"
Rosalind shook her head, her brow furrowed, her face perplexed. She'd never played poker before, and they'd been taking her through the game. Self-consciously, she placed her cards on the table. "Do I have anything?" she asked.
Rafe's eyes flickered to the cards. So did St. Andrew's.
"Two of a kind," Rafe said, shaking his head. "No. That doesn't beat my hand."
St. Andrew groaned again. "I swear, he's stacked that deck."
"You're getting better at the game," Rafe said to Rosalind, ignoring the other man. He pointed. "You've definitely got a better poker face than him."
"Hey!" St. Andrew shouted indignantly, sitting right back up. Rosalind laughed softly.
"That's it. Give me that deck," St. Andrew demanded. "This time I'm shuffling."
Rafe raised his eyebrows, but gave the man the deck as requested. St. Andrew began shuffling. As he did, Rosalind spoke up.
"Have either of you heard from the other team?"
"No." Rafe shook his head.
"We were with you, remember?" St. Andrew said, now tossing out cards to each player. "You'd have heard something same as us."
"…I guess you're right." Rosalind picked up her cards. "I wonder why they aren't back yet."
St. Andrew shrugged. Rafe didn't bother to answer. Reno and Rude were on that team. The chances of something they couldn't handle cropping up were slim.
While they played, they talked. Rafe explained a little bit about his work with Corneo when asked. St. Andrew wanted to know why he'd left his job, and Rafe explained in brief terms. When he shot the same question back at the auburn haired man, he shrugged, grinning easily.
"I'm gonna be the best there is," he said with a definite swagger in his voice. "Best damned Turk there ever was."
"Don't you miss your gang, though?" Rosalind asked, taking a card out of her hand.
St. Andrew shrugged. "Well, yeah, but there's more to life than the gang." He shook his head, laughing. "That's what I was told, anyway."
Rafe turned his attention to Rosalind. "What about you? Why did you join the Turks?"
"Well…" Rosalind shook her head. "It wasn't really a choice. I mean, it was."
Well that was a good non-answer. She didn't seem like the type to get caught up in something she shouldn't, and from what he'd seen of her, she was too serious and naïve, almost to the point of painfulness. So there had to have been some other reason.
St. Andrew seemed to think so too, because he snorted. "So was it your choice or wasn't it? Come on Rosie. Out with it."
She raised her eyebrows at his choice of name, but said nothing. She threw some chips into the pot. "That's your bet met. I raise 50."
Rafe looked at his cards. They weren't spectacular. Still, he picked up his chips and tossed them in. "I'm game."
It seemed as if St. Andrew wasn't going to let the subject slide, though. "Hey come on. We've told you our stories. What's yours? It can't be that bad, right? I mean, look at you."
Deep inside, Rafe winced at the choice of words. That was going to get him shot if he wasn't careful.
"What do you mean by that?" Rosalind's voice hadn't changed in tone, but there was a definite drop of temperature in the air.
"I mean," St. Andrew said, apparently not picking up on the change, "you don't look like the kind who'd join up because you ran into trouble. You don't look as if you've lived on the streets either. So why did you join?"
She watched him for a long time, as if trying to gauge his intentions. Finally, deciding he wasn't being malicious, she answered. Rafe relaxed. St. Andrew, he'd noticed, had a tendency for running his mouth off without really stopping to think of the consequences. And Rosalind being, to work off of St. Andrew's idea, the type of person she was, he doubted she would take even his jesting lightly. Rafe didn't think he'd ever met someone quite so literal or straight-laced in his life.
"I was offered the job before I graduated," she said, shrugging. "I didn't know what I wanted to do with my life, and this seemed just as good as joining the army." She shifted uncomfortably, and Rafe got the distinct impression that there was something she was excluding from her explanation. St. Andrew however, seemed satisfied, and nodded.
After that round, Rosalind stood up to go back to her own room, claiming she was sleepy. Although it was only ten to nine, Rafe couldn't blame her. They had been on the move for six weeks, and unwinding in bed sounded really tempting to him just now. They returned to their respective rooms. Rosalind bid Rafe and St. Andrew both goodnight before letting the door to her room click shut behind her. St. Andrew waved carelessly before retreating inside his own. Rafe swiped his cardkey through the door and entered his own small apartment. He went through the motions of preparing for sleep. Settling back at last on his bed, Rafe stared up at the ceiling.
AVALANCHE… the Gaeans for Planetary Restoration. Tomorrow Rafe would be headed back to Junon to gather some more information. Although neither his time at the church or visiting the Gaeans' website had yielded direct evidence of the group's connections with AVALANCHE, they were still interesting enough that Veld wanted someone out there to perform reconnaissance.
Rafe's eyes slipped shut. Things were never quiet for too long, he mused. He wondered if they would ever be.
Giving up on thinking about it any more, he rolled over, letting sleep drag him down. Tomorrow was a full day, and he needed all the energy he could muster.
-----
Samantha had to admit, if only to herself, that she was feeling just a teensy bit worn out. Successive fights with the men who stood between her and King had been challenging. She'd had to resort mostly to magic, as she found her shotgun just wasn't effective in a situation like this. She'd taken a lot of ethers to restore her magical energy, but even with those measures, she was certainly far from being fresh as a daisy.
Of course, image was everything, and she'd be dead or pretty close to it before admitting that she was anything but sure of her victory. Turning to King, she smiled. "Now it's your turn! Give me your best shot!"
King stepped into the ring. "You're a strange one," he said. "I didn't expect you to get this far." He bunched his hands. A series of cracking and popping sounds filled the hall. Ugh. She hated it when people did that. Raising his fists, King grinned, a vicious showing of teeth that told her he expected to win. Well, he was wrong.
"All right, let's go," he said. "I'm looking forward to this."
"You won't even get my knee to touch the ground," Samantha tossed. "Come on, then. Show me what you've got!"
The fight was brutal, and by far the most difficult she had fought in the club. King was fast, his punches and kicks crippling. Her body ached as she absorbed the blows, but she refused to collapse. Halfway through her last battle, she'd discovered that with her materia slotted in her weapon, she could bring the attribute of that materia to bear on her bullets. And so the bullets that left her shotgun were encased in a controlled fire. Not enough to melt the casing and powder down, but certainly enough to make any shots taken that much more painful. She used this to her advantage. She also used the tactic she'd used with Vartan, encasing King in ice before shattering the magical cage with flaming bullets.
In the end, it was a moment's brilliant mental flash that assured her victory. It was tricky, but she knew it could be done. Backing away so that King was nowhere near her, she snapped her fingers. "Fire!" she yelled.
An arrow of flame sped toward King, who moved to dodge – but not quickly enough. Within moments he was surrounded by a ring of magical flame. She intensified the flame so it rose to waist height. When he was trapped, she quickly called up her Shield magic, encasing both him and the flames inside. And then she waited.
The patrons in the club roared their confusion. A few of them broke loose from the ring and made to confront her, but she extended a second barrier around the ring with a thought. She winced, feeling a sharp pain behind her eyes and a definite slump in her energy. She was running out of magical energy again. She hoped this would be over soon.
Within his double-enforced cell, King struggled. He couldn't get too close to the flames, and he certainly couldn't put them out. The shield encased him, the flames – and the quickly exhausting air supply inside that closed space. Samantha waited, watching the huge man struggle. He sank to his knees. She could see him struggling to breathe.
All at once, the magic cut out. The ring of fire and the shield both disappeared, and King fell to the ground, unconscious. The barrier surrounding the spectators also dropped. Immediately, several of King's lackeys surrounded him.
"He's alive!" one shouted.
"Is he out?" another voice called.
"Like a pole axed cow," the first voice answered.
"Get a Cure materia!" a third voice snapped. Samantha closed her eyes as the noise and exhaustion threatened to overtake her. Breathe in, breathe out. Keep breathing. Don't slump over. Don't show them any sign of weakness. She only had to wait a little more.
Within moments, King had been roused. He blinked up groggily. With the others helping him to sit up, he looked around. His eyes fell on Samantha.
"W… What… I lost…? How could I…" He seemed at a loss for words. Samantha straightened her shoulders.
"That's right." She stepped in front of him. "You lost. I'm the new King." She turned to the crowd, raising her voice. "If any of you have objections to that, I'll be happy to take you on. Anybody?"
Nobody said a word. The expressions in the room ranged from fear to awe to hatred. None of them, however, looked as if they would protest. Good.
"So we understand each other then," she said. "All right, then. All of you, come with me!"
It took some work to herd everyone along to the ship, but eventually she'd gotten them up the gangplank and put safely in the containment pen where all the SOLDIER candidates they'd gathered were waiting. Samantha stood back, proudly admiring her handiwork. Her eye caught King's – or rather, the ex-King's.
"You're right where you belong," she said, smiling benignly at her trophy, "the prize specimen amongst this hallowed assortment of warriors."
He said nothing, his expression closed off. He allowed the gate to the pen to be shut behind him. After securing the gate, Samantha came up on deck to join Reno and Rude. The bald man nodded when she drew near.
"Samantha, good work. You've brought more candidates than we expected."
"Not as many as us, but you know… you are just a rookie now. I'm sure one day you'll catch up with us," Reno teased, grinning at her.
"Of course I will," Samantha said, tossing her hair, placing her hands on her hips. "The two of you have already hit your peak, I'd say. At this rate I'll have you beat in a matter of months."
"Confident," Rude rumbled, his mouth twitching.
"Well…" Reno said, stretching, his mouth opening into a big yawn. "I'm gonna go take a nap in the hold 'til we reach Midgar. It's nice and cool down there. Don't wake me until we've reached the city, got it?" He sauntered off.
"…we'll take care of it," Rude said to his retreating partner's back. Reno waved idly, and disappeared into the hold. They watched him go.
Rude turned back to her. "How was it?"
Samantha shrugged. "Well, the whole operation from start to finish has been rather forceful, hasn't it?" It bothered her a little, but she was determined not to let on. She still remembered Tseng's blunt words to her at their interview and was determined not to let Rude or Reno get wind of any perceived weakness on her part.
Whatever she may have been trying to hide didn't seem to get past Rude. "Sometimes the use of force becomes unavoidable."
"Why?" The word was out of her mouth before she could stop it. "I mean," she said, steadying her voice. "We've gathered all these candidates, haven't we? We've been at it for weeks and from what I've heard SOLIDER numbers haven't been increasing. What's going on here?"
There was a pause, as if Rude was considering just how much he should say. Samantha waited impatiently, hands on her hips. Oh, come on. Did he really think she couldn't handle the answer? Finally, though, she got what she wanted. It was, Samantha thought, somewhere in the back of her head, the lengthiest sentence she'd heard coming from his mouth.
"You have to be strong to enter SOLDIER. Only a handful of those people we've gathered will make it into the ranks."
"So," Samantha said, picking her words deliberately. "We're collecting people who will be separated like raw materials – wheat from chaff."
"On top that they're strong," Rude said, ignoring her analogy, as if she'd said nothing at all. Be careful."
At that moment there came an anguished scream from below deck. Samantha jumped, startled. What were those people doing down there to each other?
"What a ruckus! I'll go down there and see what's happening." She moved quickly. The last thing she wanted was for all those people she'd worked hard to bring here killing each other.
"Hey! Wait!"
Samantha turned around. "Yes?"
He looked uncomfortable now. "Be careful. There's one guy down there that you should specially watch out for."
She waited for him to elaborate. When it was clear that he would say nothing more, she paused. What was so bad that even Rude would be concerned? She smiled reassuringly. "Don't worry. I'm prepared for whatever's down there!"
Only she wasn't. A hitched breath that was just short of a gasp escaped her. This was the work of the devil. It had to be. Nobody but a demon could possibly wreak this kind of havoc.
Inside the pen where the SOLDIER candidates were being held, men and women were scattered, as if something had rampaged and knocked them about inside the confines of the enclosure. Many of the candidates were unconscious. She heard several groans, and from somewhere in that mass of jumbled bodies, weeping. She blanched when she saw that one man, closest to the front door of the electrified pen, had had his neck snapped. He stared blankly in her direction, the whites of his eyes far more visible than Samantha found tolerable. In the centre of all the carnage was the devil himself.
He was as tall – taller even than Rude. He was, to put it bluntly, thick. Everything about him screamed big and thick, from his massive arms bulging with muscles to his feet, which looked as though they'd been hewn from the trunks of thousand year old trees. And at that moment, he was lifting King up by his head without any apparent effort. With a satisfied laugh, the huge man hurled the ex-King at the electrified barrier. The sizzling crash and the roaring laughter of the monster filled Samantha's ears.
"This is just atrocious," Samantha breathed out. There was no way one man could do this. He truly was a monster. Standing up straight, readying her shotgun, she raised her voice. "You! You did this, didn't you?" It wasn't that she needed the confirmation, since she had just witnessed him toss a seasoned pro fighter as if he had been nothing more than a toothpick, but she needed to see this fiend's reaction.
The fiend, monster, brute, abomination – whatever he was, kept laughing, as if he hadn't heard her. Fear gave way to overriding anger. Suddenly she was slapping the button that kept the electric current running around the pen, shutting it off. At this, the fiend stopped laughing, observing her with interest. Samantha suppressed a shudder. Those eyes were watching her with a calculated sort of cunning. He was an animal on the hunt, and he was just waiting for her to show some weakness.
No sooner had she opened the door to the pen when the fiend came running at her, roaring. Samantha had been prepared for just such an attack, and fired her weapon.
What she hadn't been prepared for was the bullets bouncing off her adversary as if they were kernels of popped corn and scattering. The fiend continued his forward momentum. Samantha shrieked as she was tossed up into the air. She came slamming down hard upon the metal floor of the ship. For a moment she was blinded as pain blossomed in her skull and shot down her spine. She tried to get up, but found her body wasn't able to: the impact had shocked her system into immobility.
When she could finally move, she got up shakily, ignoring the pain and nausea she felt. Blinking, trying to get her bearings, she found that she'd landed several feet away from the enclosure. Her eyes widened, and she hissed at the pain the movement caused her.
She spotted the fiend standing in front of the pen, holding –
"Hey, that's mine!"
He had her shotgun in his hands. Samantha tried to hold down her dismay at seeing her weapon dwarfed in his huge hands. It looked as if he could easily crush it in his palm.
"Get up!" the fiend roared.
Clutching her head, Samantha concentrated on the bangle on her wrist. There was a pale orb set in there, and she mentally directed its energy so that within moments, the shooting pain subsided and the abrasions she'd gotten from skidding across the floor faded. The headache was still there, but at this point, she didn't care. All she cared about was getting her weapon back and showing this guy who was boss.
"That was rude of you, you know," she said, pulling herself up to her full height. "You don't just attack a lady without giving due warning!"
"Fight me!" he roared, tossing her shotgun at her. Samantha caught it, fumbling before she got it firmly in her grip. Was he mad?!
"The only time I truly live is in the heat of battle. Come! Fight me!"
He was mad, all right. "I don't know what's going through your head," she declared. "Nor do I care. At any rate, you're going to stop this childish stamping and get back in your cage!" He might have been mad, but even madmen sometimes listened to reason.
The fiend threw back his head and laughed.
"You presume to give me orders? The only people worthy of giving me direction are those who prove their strength to me in battle. The only way of proving your strength is by fighting me."
This was so aggravating. Now that she had gotten over her fear and shock, anger once again bubbled to the fore. Anger, and a determination to show this monster up. I've mounted bigger brutes than him on my wall, she thought. I've always won in the end. This time will be no different.
"Fine then. We'll do things your way. You'll stop your gloating when I'm through with you." Suddenly the mental image of him kneeling before her was there, and she held onto it. That was the prize. It would be difficult, no doubt about that, but the rewards for her success would be immeasurable. She could do this. She was a Turk, after all. Moreover, she was Samantha Hartigan.
"I am called Azul," the fiend declared. He held out his hand as if making an entreaty. "We will fight to the death."
Well. That was a new one. Samantha raised her eyebrows, her mouth involuntarily working up into a smile. Uncharted territory. She loved this kind of thing. She could feel her heart working double time, could practically hear the blood coursing in her veins. This was what she excelled at. It was probably going to be one of the bigger challenges she'd faced to date, but what fun would it be if it wasn't?
"A fight to the death, you say? Well, I have no plans on dying today, and I've got every intention of paying you back for that bit of cheek earlier."
She hefted her shotgun. The guy was big. He was surprisingly fast. And he was definitely strong. Smart, too. It would do her no favours to underestimate him. Experimentally, she fired a shot at him. That got her nowhere. Azul dodged the bullets, laughing derisively. She tried magic. The heat from the magically created flame didn't seem to have much of an effect on him either.
Azul launched a punch at her feet. Samantha jumped back, keeping a tight grip on her weapon. She barely got out of the way as Azul smoothly transitioned from a punch into a run, lowering his head, his arms behind him as if he was trying to head butt her. He skidded to a stop and turned around, grinning.
They were back once more to circling each other. Samantha backed up, trying to put more space between him and her. Her mind scrambled through her other options. She still had bullets, though their effectiveness depended on her accuracy and his skill at dodging them. She also had those sleep shots and… her eyes shot open.
"Fire!" she yelled out, followed quickly by "Shield!"
For a wild, elated moment, she thought it had worked. She could hear Azul roaring in surprise and pain inside the magical barrier, and then, the barrier cut out and that roaring was one of pure rage.
She didn't have time to dodge the blow that came her way. He punched or kicked out – Samantha wasn't sure which – and as she flew into the air a second time, there was a sharp blow to her chest, and she was slamming down hard onto the ground. The impact jarred her, and she bit her tongue, wincing at the pain and the taste of blood filling her mouth.
When she got up, body shaking from the impact, Azul was standing over her with that awful grin. He was singed, and there were a few blisters where the heat had gotten at his skin, but if anything, he seemed even more invigorated than he had before. Samantha's heart wavered. He really was a monster.
"So you can fight a little," Azul said, his deep voice booming down to the very floor. Samantha felt her knees tremble as she put weight on them. "But in the end, you are the one who will lose here, not me."
"You're wrong!!" Samantha snapped. Anger was bubbling through her, giving her the strength to stand, to pick up her weapon. She would wipe that grin off his face. She would wipe the floor with him. "You're the one that's going down." And she called upon her magic again.
This time she hemmed him in, giving him no room to move forward. No sooner would he break down the shield than she would put it up anew, increasing the strength of her attacks. She used that time to change clips so she was back to using tranquilizer bullets. Now she was taking shots at him in the small intervals between the barrier breaking down and her putting it up again. Azul was roaring again, and this time she knew he was frustrated. When he broke through the shield again, Azul sneered at her through bubbling, raw lips.
"What's the matter? Done already?"
He got points for bravado. "Far from it," she said, tossing her head. "This is where it really gets fun." And she redoubled her attacks.
The trouble with magic, though, was that sooner or later it ran out on you. The only thing left to do then was to wait for one's natural reserves to recuperate or else boost them with ethers and elixirs. After letting off her last shot, she dipped a hand into her pocket. Damn. Looks like her luck had run out.
Azul, breaking through the final barrier, seemed to sense it too. He grinned, a horrible expression coming from his battle damaged face.
"That was fun," he said, "but let's finish this. I don't like fighting weaklings who've run through all their strength."
"You know, I was thinking the same thing," Samantha said, smiling for all she was worth. Bravado. She could do it too. Damned if she would show fear or anything but pure delight. And in truth, she was delighted. This had been fun, as Azul had said. She hadn't had this much fun since those sallies in the fields and forests of her home in Mideel.
"Let's go," she murmured.
She was going to spring forward, throw everything into her final attack – when she was jerked back. She stumbled, catching her weapon and crashed hard into a wall.
No, not a wall. It was rumbling, and it sounded like –
"Samantha, move!"
Rude?
She was hurled bodily backwards, so she stumbled again. With an abortive shriek she fell. There was a roar, the sound of a fist connecting with a body, a grunt, and a loud impact. When she looked up, it was to see Rude standing over the body of Azul, who was lying prone on the floor.
"You again," Azul said. There was something in his voice Samantha couldn't identify. One part admiration, one part disgust, and a part… contempt?
"Settle down," Rude said. He looked at the sprawled bodies of Azul's conquests, shaking his head slightly. He started to pick Azul up, hauling him back towards the pen. The defeated man offered no resistance, despite the fact that he was about twice as wide as Rude was. The sight was incongruous, and in a word, impressive.
"Samantha, we're going," Rude said after he had locked the pen again. He turned around, brushing past her to go back up on deck without waiting for a response. Samantha shook her head and started to follow, then turned back to Azul.
"Well, it looks as if you've been spared," she said archly. "We'll leave it here for now."
She made her way up the stairs, feeling smug – and suddenly she crashed down to earth.
What was she feeling so good about? She hadn't won; Rude had been the one to subdue Azul, not her. The smugness, the euphoria – all of it – was gone now, replaced by a mounting mortification and outrage. Damn it, she hadn't won anything at all. She'd been bilked.
To be continued…