The Day I Joined the Turks

by findthetiger129

Some joined willingly, some as a last resort. Some joined to escape, and some because they couldn't get away. Some joined to look for meaning in their lives, and a couple simply joined because they got high on the adrenaline. Whatever the reason, every one of the Turks has a story about what led up to the day they put on the suit the first time. These are those stories.

2. Martial Arts (Male)

The Day I Joined the Turks

A FFVII Fanfiction work by findthetiger129

Rated T for Violence and Language

If you like what you see here, be sure to check out my profile for other places you can find my writing!

I do not own Final Fantasy VII, or any of the characters, trademarks or likenesses from Final Fantasy VII or its spinoffs. That honor goes to Square-Enix.

There are a whole boatload of original characters here, so it'd be easier to say that Kemp (Martial Arts Male), Allen (Nunchaku), Valarie (Knives), Liz (Martial Arts Female), Tseng, Azul, Frank Ledge (Legend), and Veld (even though he is not mentioned by name) are all Square's. Anyone else, I probably made up. If I accidentally claim anyone Square owns under that statement, let me know, I'll fix it.

Martial Arts (Male)

---

August 12th [ ν ] – εуλ 0000 6:30 PM

A gentle breeze blew in from the Costa docks, warm and carrying the heavily fried scent of bar food, mixed with the occasional touch of cheap perfume, and the salty air of the ocean. Kemp breathed it in as though the air carried more than simply oxygen, his hands in his pockets, not far from his general issue firearm and a cigarette in his mouth as he observed the man across the street, walking towards the warehouse at the corner. There had always been something wholesome about the sea air. He'd never been able to put a finger on what, but it brought the job the young police detective was here to do into sharp focus.

The other man, by the name of Sorol Higgs, about 5'9", slender and slightly older than himself at twenty-five, with a heavy tan brought about by spending far too much time surfing at the beach, and with hair the color of pitch, walked towards the small door into the warehouse and inside.

Once he was through, Kemp ambled in that direction, flicking the cigarette onto the ground and extinguishing it under his shoe. Upon reaching the door, he slipped in after the suspect, ducking behind an empty gas tank to avoid being seen. The police wire crackled in his ear. "Are you in position?"

"That's a ten four, Murray," he murmured. "Ready to pounce."

On the other end he heard Murray speak up. "So you got the stuff?"

The voice on the other end hung ghostly in Kemp's ears in the darkened warehouse. "You got the Gil?"

"'Course I do," Murray responded. There was a shuffling sound as he opened the briefcase Kemp knew he had, and then shut it again.

There was silence for a moment before another shuffling sound was heard nearby. He could almost hear the grin in his partner's voice. "Beautiful. That's it huh?"

"98% premium high grade Crown Lance. Straight from Cosmo Canyon."

"This is great dude," Kemp tried not to snicker at his partner's use of the Costa hipster vernacular as he edged closer. Laying it on a little thick, wasn't he? Under normal circumstances he had a northwest country twang to his voice that was so definite no one could mistake him for being from Costa, but at the same time, few people actually were from the tourist trap itself. Most of them were from small towns surrounding it, including himself. "Looks like I'm about to make us both very rich men..."

That was his cue. He drew his gun, slid into position around a separator wall and pointed his weapon directly at their suspect. "Police! Get on the ground and put your hands on your head!"

Higgs didn't follow orders, instead he reached for a gun and Kemp ducked behind several barrels for cover. Murray went for his gun at that time and fired at Higgs, the muzzle flash lighting up the area for a fraction of a second and Higgs dropped. As Kemp went around to help secure him, his eyes widened. Another man stood by another door leading into the warehouse, a gun in his hand, aimed directly at his partner.

"Murray!" he shouted, running to pull him down. In almost slow motion he saw the bullet cut through the other man's throat as he tried to duck, and then he returned fire, before a bullet grazed his arm and the other man was gone and he heard the sound of a car as he left the scene. He ran towards the door, only just to reach it in time to see the man hop into the front passenger seat of a car as the rear window rolled closed. He had only gotten a brief look at the man in the back before the car drove away. He had blond hair and was wearing a nice suit. An Easterner, possibly from Midgar or Junon. Holstering his gun, he hurried back into the warehouse, and his attention went back to his downed partner. The other man lay there, his eyes starting to look distant and Kemp hurried back and knelt down next to him. "Hang on partner, I'm gonna get help."

He yanked his PHS out of his coat and called in. "This is Detective Fields. We've got a man down, I need officers and a Healer Operative here on the double. Man down!" He watched as Murray reached out to him with the hand that wasn't trying to stop the bleeding at his throat and Kemp took it, grasping it hard. "It's okay, you're gonna make it." Murray gurgled blood out of his mouth as he tried to speak and then suddenly his grip slackened. Suddenly there was no one there but Kemp.

The sun was finally starting to sink outside. His breathing quickened. For a few moments, he didn't comprehend it. His partner had been alive just a few moments ago, and then he was not. That was when he felt a deep all-consuming rage in his chest. There was the sound of an old bottle rolling across the floor and he turned to face Sorol Higgs. While he'd been focused on his partner, the man had started crawling towards the door.

In less than a moment, completely ignoring his own wound, Kemp reached over with one of his large hands, a hand that was hard and calloused from hours in front of punching bags and opponents in amateur fighting rings, and picked him up by his lapels. "No you don't," he growled.

"You w-won't hurt me," The man said weakly. "You're a cop, aren't you, y-your supposed to keep the p-people safe..."

Deep down, some part of him said this was correct, and another part wanted more than anything for it not to be true. "Your friend killed my partner, Higgs..." He snarled, lifting the man up against the wall, though he wanted to do far more. "So you'd better hope you can tell us something to get us ahead of him."

He heard the sound of a siren outside, and he reached for his handcuffs as a set of flashing lights in the twilight outside told him backup had arrived.

---

The next few hours were something of a blur as the rest of the police force moved in and apprehended Higgs. Kemp had been given a quick Cure to patch up his gunshot wound and then he had left to head to the hospital with his partner's corpse. Shortly afterward, his partner's parents and his wife had come to claim him. Their little boy had come too and had sat with him while Mrs. Murray had dealt with the paperwork. Sam had come fishing with them a few times when they were off duty. Now he cried a little, but mostly just looked up at him as though Kemp had failed him in keeping his father safe.

He was now alone at a nearby gym. The owner had given him a key some time ago since he couldn't always train during the day, and now was the perfect excuse to use it to work out some frustration. He pounded away at a punching bag, his thoughts streaming like a river over the rough staccato of his fists. What he was trying to accomplish, he wasn't sure. Maybe just pour all the emptiness of his recent loss out on the punching bag. Let it absorb it all like a sponge, so that he could go to sleep, exhausted and numb.

---

August 13th [ ν ] – εуλ 0000 8:00 AM

The next morning, he walked into headquarters, not really fresh, but ready to get back to work. As he entered the office and took a seat at his desk, he saw the police chief, a lanky man with brown hair by the name of Talbot look up and upon noticing him, he gestured to a dark-skinned woman about Kemp's age that she follow him. Among her distinguishing features, he noted she was wearing summer business attire; a short-sleeved but professional blouse, light slacks and a pair of practical black shoes. However, her most apparent attribute was the halo of tight dark curls that cascaded around her face.

"Detective Fields," Chief Talbot approached the desk, "You doing all right today?"

"As well as can be expected Chief," Kemp responded. "But I'm going to find the man that killed Murray if it's the last thing I do."

The man regarded him for a moment. "I appreciate the zeal, but I don't want you doing anything crazy, so for the time being I want you working with Inspector Reed here from the Shinra Military Police. Get her familiar with the territory and let her in on the information we have."

"What's her story?" Kemp asked curiously.

"She came in from Midgar with a lead that may have a connection to your smugglers."

"What a coincidence. Maybe if we're lucky we can send them to Corel Prison for good. But don't go getting too comfortable, Detective Reed," Kemp said. "I need to know now, can you handle yourself in the field?"

Detective Reed looked him square in the eye. "Of course I can, assuming you don't hold me back."

Kemp regarded her for a moment and then gestured to the papers on his desk. "All right then, first thing we need to do is go over all the files we have on this guy's operations in the area before we go interrogate our friend in the lockup. If you please," he stood and pulled out a chair for her on the opposite side of his workspace, and as she sat down, she reached out and started looking through the paperwork.

Chief Talbot looked at him with an arched eyebrow. "You sure you're all right?"

"I want the man who killed my partner, chief," Kemp said calmly, "And the gang behind him that made him think he could get away with killing a cop. That's all there is to it."

The police chief nodded, "All right then, get to it. But be careful. I don't want you getting in over your head on some crusade for revenge."

"I'll keep a lid on it," Kemp said gruffly.

With one last look, the chief walked back to his office, leaving the two of them alone at the desk.

Detective Reed looked over the file in front of her. "So what's the summary of what you know about this guy already? Maybe I can help fill in some gaps?"

Kemp reached for a cigarette as he considered the question, sticking it between his teeth as he slipped the packet back into his pocket and searched his coat for his lighter. "What we know is that this man who heads the operation looks like he came from your neck of the woods. Tall, blond hair, looks like he should be a respectable gentleman, dresses in suits from the best shops on Loveless Avenue, but he's got his hand in just about every smuggling racket around," He found his lighter and flipped open the lid, fiddling with the flint close to the lighting end of the cigarette as he talked, "All the dealers call him the Rooster. None of them have dealt with him directly. It's always been from a distance. They've seen him watching from his boat with a pair of binoculars or from the shadows a slight distance off. He has a few trusted hands, but they all have underlings that keep the small fry from getting close. And he almost always has someone or more than a few someones nearby with guns, either that or he's so far off shore it'd be hard for us to get close enough to arrest him."

"So I take that to mean you've picked up a couple of higher ups then?" Detective Reed observed, her expression attentive as she reached for a notepad on the desk and a pencil.

"Murray did, that's what got him killed," Kemp murmured. He lit the cigarette and pocketed his lighter, the nicotine smoke starting to emit in small puffs around him.

Reed took a few notes on the pad before speaking again. "All right, let's see if I can add a few things," She continued writing on the notepad, pausing to pull out a set of photos, and then moved the chair closer to Kemp so he could stand and look over her work "His name is Isaac Petrokov. Age 27..."

Kemp almost bit his cigarette in half. "Petrokov?! You mean he's one of the Petrokov brothers?" The Petrokovs were legendary in the history of the Midgar underworld. Legendary enough to even be known in Costa. Name a form of criminal activity and they probably had a hand in it. They had their origins as an old family from before the forming of Midgar, back when the sector slums were small cities in their own rights. Gregor Petrokov had been the first patriarch and had held on for decades, never once being found guilty of a crime, no matter how often the local authorities tried to get him tried for the numerous murders, black mail and other accessory crimes that had been carried out in his name. Shinra hadn't cared for the most part once they took power because Gregor had been wise enough not to cross them.

The old man had died, leaving his criminal empire to his twin grandsons, when his own son had no interest in running the family business. The Petrokov brothers, both in their mid-30's now had been almost a legend in their own right…

"Gregor Petrokov didn't just have two grandsons," Reed commented. "Isaac is the younger brother of the two famous ones. He's still earning his credentials I suppose. Though he inherited his grandfather's luck, and capability to avoid being prosecuted it seems, until now anyway."

"That just means we'll have to put how far his luck will go to the test," Kemp said decisively.

"Mmm..." Reed grunted in agreement as she wrote something else on the notepad. "We know he has some sort of connection in Cosmo Canyon where he's getting his Crown. If we could identify his delivery boy, we might be able to pull the thread and see where it leads, or we can simply work our way through eliminating his lower ranks until we find him."

Kemp nodded, cracking his knuckles suggestively. "And that's where our stool pigeon in the lockup comes in." He stood up, and stretched. "You don't mind jumping in with both feet do you?" he asked.

Reed nodded. "With pleasure." As they neared the door, Kemp held open the door and gestured that she go ahead of him. She paused, surprised. His mother had always told him to be polite to everyone but especially to the ladies in his life. "It's how you show them you respect them," she used to say.

"Please, go ahead," he said.

She smiled. "Why, thank you," she said walking ahead of him and waiting until he closed the door. She had been surprised, but then, the stereotype of Midgarders had always been that they tended to always be in a rush, and rather rude. He certainly wasn't going to judge her by that standard, but he wasn't going to hold it against her if she wasn't used to the local customs either.

They walked along the hallway towards the lockup, and Kemp pulled ahead of Reed to show her the door that led into the interrogation room. "So which cop are you?" She asked as she peeked through the window into the room where the chair and the table awaited the entrance of their subject.

Kemp frowned. "Petrokov killed my partner for this loser," he cracked his knuckles as he reached for a phone on the desk that had a direct line to the guard at the lockup, "Do you even have to ask?"

Reed nodded sympathetically. "I gotcha. All right, I'll handle the delicate parts of our negotiating. Are there any other local laws I should be aware of. The main one I know about is that a person can't be tortured into a legal confession due to Costa's non-coercion statutes in the civilian justice system..." She trailed off questioningly as he was about to reach out and dial for the guard, but he paused and withdrew his finger.

"That's the main rule that concerns us in this situation. Also local custom grants defendants a lawyer though he has to formally request one to be present during questioning if he wants to have one. I know that's a bit unusual compared to what you're probably used to in Midgar what with..."

"The Shinra company?" Reed finished for him. "Their law holds in cases where Shinra property and interests are involved but for civil disputes, lawyers are still a thing. Though they don't care as much about the drugs unless their own people do them, or the cartels do something they don't like."

"Then what brought you out here?" Kemp asked.

"The Petrokovs always did have a way of attracting good talent," she said. "And Shinra hates it when a good resource runs the risk of being poached."

"Who, or what would that be?" Kemp asked, his eyebrows raised and his expression demanding she get to the point. He really didn't want to carry out more interrogations than necessary today, especially not one where the subject was his potential partner.

Reed paused for a moment, thinking carefully before she answered. "A man by the name of Andre Herzel. He was a respected man in the MP investigative unit. He was running an undercover op from the inside, and went dark… Last I heard, he was either caught, or… there's also the possibility he became the mask."

Kemp blinked as he noticed the guarded demeanor in her body-language. "You knew him personally," he observed.

She nodded. "He was my mentor on the force. Taught me the ropes."

"Did you tell the chief?" Kemp asked.

She shook her head. "The fewer people who know, the better. I just want the truth."

Kemp considered for a moment and then turned his attention back to the receiver in his hand, dialing the number 2. "All right then, may I have a description of him when we're done here, please?"

She once again seemed taken aback by his politeness but she answered. "Sure, and you can call me Stella if you like."

"Kemp," he replied, gesturing at himself before he heard the guard pick up. "Officer Marley?… yeah, it's Fields, I'd like you to bring up Higgs for us. We have some questions to ask him… Thanks."

They waited patiently for a few minutes before the door to the lockup opened and the guard led Higgs in and directed him to sit down in the chair. The guard then left him alone under the stark light of the bright lamp that hung overhead.

After a moment, Stella walked over to the door, her notepad under her arm, and opened it, sauntering into the room as though she owned it. "Sorel Higgs?" her voice intoned a question but everyone there knew everyone within thirty feet of this room knew his full name and dossier forwards, backwards, and possibly in Wutaian.

The man glared at her. "What's it to you?"

She sat down at the table across from him. "I was hoping I could ask you some questions about your activities on behalf of Isaac Petrokov."

He laughed. "What makes you think I know anything about him?"

She smiled, "Because we have it on good authority that he was with you that night. Probably came to watch himself and only got his other man involved because you screwed up and getting away with killing a cop earns him the reputation to keep the rest of the community out of the turf he's carved out for himself. Isn't that right?"

"That guy?" Higgs said dismissively. "I never saw him before. Some crazy nutbar with a gun, I expect."

"Perhaps, though I can tell you're lying through your teeth," Reed said, her voice softer than the finest Wutai silk in spite of the accusation. "Now, I want to help you out here, Higgs… but if you don't want to cooperate, I expect you remember Detective Fields pretty well..."

Kemp took that moment to enter the room and lean against the wall by the one-way window. He wasn't a small man by any means, and his fists alone could compare to a small pair of hams. He was doing his best to look as threatening as possible.

Higgs gave him a look of contempt. "May I see a lawyer? I know the law, you can't threaten me."

Kemp nodded. "You may, but you see, we aren't asking for your cooperation in a trial. There's this little loophole, you see. We don't need your testimony. What we need, is information on where we can find Petrokov."

Higgs laughed even harder. "How the hell should I know? I thought the other guy was just added security!"

"Well Higgs," Reed said quietly. "If you can't help us, I guess we will be bringing a case against you after all. You might be locked away for a very long time..."

"And I'd really hate to see what the other convicts in Corel Prison would do to a pretty young thing like you..." Kemp said calmly.

Higgs was sweating at the thought. Finally he seemed to relent. "Okay… okay… I'll see what I can remember. But I really had no idea he came last night..."

"To the point, honey-cakes,"Stella said.

"Right..." Higgs massaged his brow. "I was one of his mid-level dealers. There's a guy I get my shipments from who sends them out from the back of the Seafood Shack by the hotels near the beach..."

---

August 13th [ ν ] – εуλ 0000 11:00 AM

It was getting close to lunch time as Kemp pulled the car up in front of the restaurant Higgs had indicated. There was a beach volleyball game going on down by the water, and his eye caught on several of the ladies in bikinis before he turned his attention back to the restaurant. They were looking for a man with a Mideelian accent, average build, brown hair, slightly bleached by the sun.

Stella stepped out of the car, her expression wary and her eyes on alert for the man they were looking for.

"Try to relax a little," Kemp suggested, "You look like you want to shoot someone and no one's even done anything yet." She looked over at him in surprise and he clarified, "Most of the folks around here are just tourists. I know its not like that in Midgar, but here? You only need to worry once we find the guy."

Her shoulders slumped, and she looked a little embarrassed. "Sorry, instinct kicked in, I guess."

Kemp grinned. "No problem." He shut the car door and gestured that they walk around to the back of the restaurant. "What say I show you my favorite bar afterward? Best chili-cheese fries in town..."

She followed after him. "I thought you wanted to find the man who killed your partner, detective…" she said. "Don't you have more important things to do than to ask me out on a date?"

His face hardened. "It was the furthest thing from my mind. Of course I want the guy that killed Murray. But if we're going to be working together, it'd only be common courtesy to show you a good place to get a bite and unwind, and spend a little time getting you acclimated to the local customs and such…"

"You're all about courtesy aren't you," Stella commented.

"It's something I take seriously, yes..." Kemp's voice lowered as he neared the rear of the restaurant, "but right now, we need to keep an eye out for this guy that Higgs told us about."

Stella's weapon was drawn as she pulled up behind him.

"What are you doing?" he asked.

"Backing you up? What are you doing?" Stella asked.

"Not starting a ruckus unless I absolutely have to?" Kemp said, "Gotta keep an even keel here in Costa, you know?" She slowly lowered her gun so it was concealed at her side and he let out a sigh of relief.

"That's a little better, now, you just wait and watch here. If I give you the signal that I need help, then you come out, but only draw the gun if I do this," he put his hand on his hip, "Otherwise, if I want you out there, I'll do this," he used the same hand to scratch the back of his neck.

Stella gave him an impatient look but finally, leaned against the wall of the building. "All right, I'll wait."

He nodded. "Thank you." With that, he sauntered around the corner. He was now looking out over a boat dock where the fishermen would come in and bring their catch in the morning. Several sailors were working their way around the dock, carrying boxes and equipment to and from their ships. He ambled along as though he belonged there, taking in the salt air as he neared a man who met the description Higgs had given him. His quarry was working with some rope on a crab pot near the back of the restaurant, and as Kemp approached him, he spoke up.

"Dallas Payne?"

"Who wants to know?" The man asked, his eyes still on his work.

"I've been told you can help supply people with goods for a… specific kind of business," he let the last few words float off his tongue suggestively.

The man looked up at him. "Any supplyin' I do is strictly on a referral basis only. Got someone I can verify you with?"

"Mat Deitrich. He said you knew a thing or two."

The man nodded. "Yeah, I know Mat. All right, follow me. We're gonna go someplace a little more private."

They made their way down the dock so they were out of earshot of any eavesdroppers. "So, how much supplying are you thinking you're going to need?"

"Probably about half a kilo a month for now… you know it's a small business at the moment. Gotta make sure I'm established before I go big time," Kemp said smoothly.

"Gotta start somewhere," the man agreed. "All right then, I'll give Deitrich a call sometime over the next couple of days to make sure you check out, and then we'll set up a meeting time."

"Sounds good, how much? So I can have it ready," Kemp said.

"5000, in full."

Kemp nodded. "All right then, we'll be in touch. You can reach me at this number when you're ready to set the time and place," he wrote down his work number and handed it to the man before walking back to where Stella was hiding.

As they headed back towards the car she looked at him shocked. "Why didn't you arrest him?" she asked.

"No concrete evidence," Kemp said calmly. "But that's going to change when we catch him with the stuff in hand, and once we have that, we can pull the thread a little more."

"And who's this Dietrich guy? What if he doesn't cooperate?" Stella asked as she pulled open the car door and seated herself in the passenger seat.

"He will..." Kemp said, reaching for his PHS and dialing the number for police headquarters. "He's an informant, let us in on Higgs' operation in the first place, though we had to lean on him a little. And if he doesn't want to after last time, well, let's just say if I had a Black Belt in the art of persuasion, the Chief would have one with nine degrees."

---

August 13th [ ν ] – εуλ 0000 12:30 PM

The sun was near its zenith when they reached the Windward Anchor. It was a bar somewhat down the main strand from the seafood shack where they'd found Dallas Payne. Upon arrival, Kemp stepped out of the car and led the way inside, taking a moment to let his eyes adjust to the dimmer light. The inside was mostly empty at the moment, with only the odd guy or girl just stepped in from the beach with the sand still between their toes, so he was able to walk right up to the counter.

"Kemp?" The man at the counter waved as he approached, "Listen, I heard about Murray, man."

Kemp nodded, "Then I guess you know why I came, don't you?"

The man nodded, and reached below the counter for a bottle of beer. It had been Murray's favorite. "I can get one for you too, if you like."

"I'll take a lager Riley, you know the one… and… this is Detective Stella Reed. If she wants anything for lunch, put it on my tab, and I'd like my usual when I'm back..."

"A new partner already?" Riley asked, surprised, "Don't you want to at least take a break before you get back to work?"

"I want the guy that got him, Riley… I mean to get him..." Kemp picked up the bottle that Riley had handed him along with the Costa Lager. "I'll be back in a few minutes."

Riley looked at him sympathetically. "Do you want any company?"

Kemp shook his head, "No thanks." With that, he walked back outside and out to where the water almost grazed the toes of his shoes. It was a tradition among the local sailors, though the police and other local organizations had adopted it over time as well, as many of their ranks incorporated men of the sea, or descendents of the same.

How often had he and Murray sat out here, with two beers, listening to the sound of the sea as they digested what they had done during the day, talking about what they'd wanted to do with their lives. A couple of times, his partner had even brought his wife and son with him to go play out on the waves while the two men talked work before he'd gone out to join them. The sun seared his eyes, and he blinked a few times, pretending the excess water in his eyes was due to the salt in the air, and the brightness, before he purposefully reached into his pocket for a bottle opener and uncapped Murray's beer, doing his best not to let his voice crack as he spoke.

"Hey Murray. I know it's not much… but I brought your beer. To wet your lips on the way back to the planet… Sail true and with the winds, partner," He held the bottle up for a moment in salute before turning it upside down. He let the contents of the drink drain out into the sand in a steady stream, and as he did so, he felt the emotion also drawn out of him in a wave. "We're gonna get him Murray. We're gonna put Petrokov and his goons away for good for what he did to you. That's a promise..." As he spoke, he lifted up the Costa Lager in his other hand, and popped it open with his bottle opener so that he could share a drink with his partner for the last time.

---

A few minutes later, he walked back into the bar and saw Stella waiting for him, perched on one of the bar stools. She had not ordered anything, it seemed. He took a seat the next stool over and placed the two empty bottles in front of him, reaching for his wallet as he did so, but Riley beat him to it, holding up his hand and shaking his head. "Those two were on the house, man," he said.

He looked over at the bartender and sighed as he replaced his gil. "Thank you for that..." he said, his expression grim, even as he tried to force cheerfulness into his voice, "Though I'm definitely covering us for lunch, and you're not stopping me. We did good work today, and my new partner needs to start things off right."

The bartender nodded understandingly. "All right then, what can I get you?"

A few minutes later, the two of them had relocated to a booth, sipping a couple of much less alcoholic sodas since they still technically had work to do. Not that there necessarily were rules against alcohol consumption so long as it didn't interfere with an officer's work, and any cop on the Costa beat would have agreed that sending off a comrade on their last journey was important. Ceremony was expected and people would ask if he'd granted Murray's last drink yet upon his return. Being sober on the job was also expected. Kemp had no intention of breaking that tenant of Police behavior beyond where it conflicted with the other.

It was only about the time he spotted a bowl of peanuts under his nose that he realized he was quite famished. Stella watched him quietly from across the table as he popped a couple into his mouth and chewed on them, deep in thought. After a moment, he offered them to her. "Would you like some?" he asked.

She shook her head. "No, thanks."

"Well, if you change your mind," he left them an equal distance between them.

"I know this is going sound harsh," Stella said after a moment, "But… I still can't believe you just let the guy go..."

"Temporarily," Kemp interrupted, though his tone was that of a teacher explaining mathematical concepts to his student, "Like I said before, we need to actually catch him with the goods for any civilian case to hold water, and with any luck once he's safely tucked away in protective custody, we can start pumping him for information on who supplies his goods to disperse them to the actual dealers. This is a game that requires patience. I know you Shinra types like to charge in guns blazing, but, we have to follow the law."

He could already hear his ex-partner laughing. Murray had been well aware, of his hot-blooded streak but they'd always considered themselves something of a cut above the Shinra military just on account of the fact that at least they didn't opt for shoot first, ask questions later all the irony left a bitter taste in his mouth. Maybe if he'd called for backup sooner… maybe Murray would still be alive… He forced himself to brush the thought away, not wanting to examine that guilty possibility away from his punching bag at the gym. Instead, he reached for his drinking glass as Riley brought a couple of sandwiches over. His stomach rumbled, but courtesy first, he reminded himself. "So, now that we have the lecture out of the way," he said, lifting up the glass in a somber yet still friendly salute, "To good case work and catching that Petrokov guy for good?"

Stella nodded, picking up her glass and solemnly clinking it against Kemp's. "To getting Petrokov, may his nights be sleepless and his thugs be incompetent."

Kemp took a deep draught of his ginger ale to that. It wasn't quite the same as beer, but it would have to do. He observed to himself that he would probably get along pretty well with this lady. Even if she was more direct, they were clearly of accord on the general keel if not the specifics of this case, and if they made this partnership work, then nothing would stand between them and getting Petrokov for good.

---

August 15th [ ν ] – εуλ 0000 9:00 PM

A strong wind blew in under the clear, star-jeweled sky from the Northeast out on the Costa docks as Kemp waited patiently in the center of an open area between several stacks of shipping containers, a paper bag in his hand holding the gil. This time, they'd been more careful, at the chief's insistence. Two other guys from the department waited just out of sight, along with Stella nearby.

The waxing moon, not quite half full hung at about 45 degrees above the western horizon, a pale light, above the stark golden floodlights that lit the dock. He had been waiting about fifteen minutes when at last, Payne appeared, also carrying a large paper bag. He walked out under the streetlamp where they were meeting and Kemp waved him over. "There you are," he said.

"You got the gil?" he asked.

"You betcha," Kemp responded, opening the bag slightly to show him the small pile of coin.

It glittered in the lamplight as the man nodded in approval. "Then, as we promised, here's the stuff. You can confirm it's real if you want."

Kemp pocketed the money for a moment and from a different pocket, he withdrew a small vial. Reaching into Payne's bag which the man held out to him to verify, he took a small pinch of the powdery substance and sprinkled it into the small container. The chemical that was already in the vial turned a dull brown and Kemp nodded. "This is definitely the real deal." He said, reaching into the pocket where he'd put the gil. "So I guess now we can complete our transaction."

He pulled out the bag and made to hand it over, however, when the other man extended the bag with the drugs towards him, in a lightning quick motion, he dropped his bag, grabbed the man's wrist and whirled him around into an expertly executed arm bar. "Now here's where things get interesting," he said, pulling out his badge as he kept the man secure with one hand. "I'm not sorry to say, but I'm actually Costa police, and you're under arrest for trafficking in illegal substances."

"You set me up…!" Payne growled into the dirt. He was reaching towards a bulge in his pocket with his free hand, but Kemp deftly tightened his hold on the arm bar until he ceased moving and then promptly pulled out what he was hiding there. It looked like a materia of some kind. Felt like a low level fire, unless he missed his guess.

"Damn right I set you up. Now you're going to tell us everything you can about where and how to get hold of Isaac Petrokov." By now the other officers were closing in to make sure their arrestee wouldn't cause any trouble.

The man laughed. "Petrokov's gone. He only comes back on occasion, and when he does, he doesn't announce it to anyone. He just shows up on his yacht. You'll just have to wait for him to come to you."

"Liar," Kemp hissed in his ear, tightening his grip on the man's arm, as he saw Stella approaching. "He's gotta have some way of controlling the flow of goods around here…"

The man let out a gasp of pain. "O-of course he does… but… I'm telling the truth… he always lets his people handle things… He's probably out on an island somewhere..."

"Well then, I guess we'll have to make him come to us," Stella observed. "So in that case, who's your delivery man Payne?" He refused to respond.

As Payne was led away to a waiting patrol car, the two of them stood under the lamp light together, surveying the scene. "Looks like I might be around a while," Stella observed.

"Might be," Kemp agreed. "But we'll stick with it, as long as it takes."

Stella nodded. "As long as it takes." She looked up at him seriously. "Next time, unless it's someone I know from Midgar, I'll set up the op."

Kemp nodded, still looking out at the sea. "You got it."

---

September 21st [ ν ] – εуλ 0000 1:00 AM

It was warm in the Costa Marina as Kemp watched Stella working from a distance. She was patiently waiting near a speed boat that rocked on the waves, buffeted by a strong breeze coming in from the sea. She was wearing a very flattering button down shirt with tropical patterns in red and blue on it, over a pair of denim shorts and sandals. Much different from the more business like attire she'd been wearing when she'd entered the police station the first time. She leaned against a railing on the dock as though she had every right to be there. The wire she was wearing hissed in his ear as he too waited until at last, a man in a second speed boat pulled up to the dock, wearing an unbuttoned shirt over a heavily muscled bare chest.

"There you are," he said as Kemp heard the boat engine die to a low rumble. "When you didn't pick up right away earlier, I have to admit was almost afraid you were going to back out."

"And why would I do that silly?" Stella replied with a laugh. "I've probably got more riding on this deal than you do."

"I guess you do at that," The man agreed. "Gotta keep that husband of yours out of trouble. Guess you'll be wanting to see the goods." He walked over to the cabin and lifted up a large box to show her, placing it on the edge of the boat deck, and lifting up the lid so she could see.

Kemp smiled to himself. Stella had fed this guy a story that she was getting into the business to help cover her husband's debts to a gambling house.

"The things you do for love, right?" That was their cue to move in. Kemp crept closer, ready to lift his gun and though he couldn't see them, he knew a couple of the other officers in his department were on an intercept course.

"I hear ya…" The man agreed. "So, you got your collateral?"

Kemp was now close enough to hear her voice outside of his radio. "Yeah, I've got something for you," She said, and it sounded like a confirmation of the gil's presence. However, when Stella reached inside a bag at her waist, she didn't come out with coin. Instead, she produced a handgun, aiming it at their target. "Police. Don't move, you're under arrest."

Kemp pulled into view at that point along with the other two men behind her, however, at that moment, the man grinned as a Barrier spell came into effect around him. Behind him, at the entrance to the cabin a man peeked out, carrying what appeared to be a machine gun. Kemp lunged and pulled Stella to the ground as the gunner opened fire, covering his partner as he ran to the steering wheel, turned on the motor and started out into the water. Kemp looked down at Stella. "Are you all right?"

"I'll live," she said.

"Good, let's get these guys," Kemp pulled himself up and after pulling her to her feet the two of them ran to a nearby speedboat, reclaimed property from a previous sting and requisitioned by the police for this purpose. He jammed the key into the ignition. A cool, salty mist sprayed through the air as the engine roared and they flew off into the night after their target. Stella shouted over the noise "Andre's on that boat!"

Kemp looked over at her. "Your mentor?"

She nodded. "He's the one who shot at us!" The boat barreled over a large swell from the wake of the craft they were pursuing.

"I guess you got your answer," Kemp shouted back. He glanced at her seriously. "You ready to do what has to be done?"

Her hand was gripped tight to the handrail to avoid being jostled by the surf. "I've got my orders."

The boat ahead of them turned hard to the portside and sped past another set of docks in the marina towards the exit. Kemp felt the force of the turn pulling him starboard as he replicated the turn perfectly, and continued, hoping their engine was stronger than the other boat's. A gunshot clashed against the sound of the motor and Stella ducked as something whizzed by overhead.

Kemp held fast to the current course, not even flinching as he pushed the throttle all the way open. The boat bucked over the waves and through the valleys of the other boat's wake with the grace of a gazelle. He swerved to avoid a barge that had pulled in front of them and after angling the boat again, he sped up, sending their boat out into the deeper waters leading out of Costa's bay. Lights and buildings flew by as the water rolled below before falling behind. As they pulled out of the bay, however, Kemp saw that the barge had slowed them down too much. The boat was already pulling into the distance, a small shadow in an ever growing sea of moonlit waves.

Finally, Kemp pulled back on the throttle when he saw that there was no way they could catch it, pounding his fist on the chrome railing next to him. "Damn it!" he growled.

The two of them watched as the boat disappeared over the dark horizon in a stony silence.

---

It was a much more subdued trip as Kemp drove the boat back towards the dock. It had been a long and frustrating month, painstakingly milking every lead that Payne and Higgs had given them dry. To have come so close, and yet to have it snatched away... Stella glared at the waves ahead of them, the wind blowing her tight curls away from her face, sheltering it from the moonlight even as the lights from the marina lit her dimly in profile.

Kemp was quiet as they pulled into the marina to find the rest of the force waiting for them. The chief was there to greet them when they reached their own dock and along with one of the other policemen, he helped them tie it off so they could disembark. Stella let Kemp handle the report and then the two of them headed dispiritedly to the car. It was late and the chief had said they could turn in their report tomorrow morning.

Kemp turned the car down the side-street that led to the small apartment Stella had rented for her stay in Costa, but after a moment, he looked over at her. She was leaning against the window, looking gloomily out at the passing buildings under the streetlamps. "You all right?"

She thought about it for a moment before answering, "I think so… I guess it just never hit home before that if he went bad, he'd actually shoot at me."

Kemp nodded understandingly. "It's hard to say what people will do once they cross the line," he said. "I wish there was something I could say to help it… but that's reality."

She nodded but didn't answer.

Kemp thought for a minute. "Listen, I know it's late, but if you want to stay up a little bit, I know a place..."

"What sort of place?" she asked, a hint of suspicion in her voice.

"A gym. They've got some good punching bags and boxing equipment. I'll probably go over there myself even if you don't."

"So that's what you do to cope with your problems?" she asked. "You punch all your frustration out?"

"Sometimes it works," he said. "It's kept me from beating up on a criminal a time or two."

"Really?" Stella looked a little surprised, and a wry smile crossed her face. "You mean more than is required to subdue your perp? I'd hate to see what would happen if you were really mad at a guy."

"I would too," Kemp murmured. He didn't dare voice the thought that rose in his mind of what would actually happen if they actually met Andre at his point. If Murray had ever turned on him like that, thrown all he had away to go in with someone like Petrokov. That was a line that just shouldn't be crossed. There was an uncomfortable silence only broken by the hum of the vehicle as it continued down the road, the light from a streetlamp slipping up and over the windshield before the top of the vehicle blocked the illumination.

"You know what?" Stella said at last. "Let's go."

Kemp nodded. "All right." He pulled the car past her apartment and down the road a couple of blocks to a parking lot. After pulling into a space, he stepped out of the car, removing his jacket and leaving it in the car. Stella walked to join him as they walked to the darkened building. Once they reached the back door, Kemp reached for his key and unlocked it. And they walked in. Soon they were in the part of the gym that contained the punching bags and boxing equipment. Kemp gestured to one of the bags that hung from the ceiling in front of a large mirror that stood about twenty feet away from a boxing ring in the center of the room. "Take your best shot," he said.

Stella walked over, kicking off the flip flops she'd been wearing in order to look the part at the deal, and shoved them over to the side with one sweep of her foot before taking up a fighting stance in front of the bag. Her training in the Shinra military police definitely showed, as it was a good stance and Kemp watched approvingly as she punched the bag hard. Hard enough to break a man's nose. And then she punched again. Both were controlled and powerful, with professional accuracy. Then she punched again, and again, and again. They were methodical, perfect, and yet… as she worked, he noticed the look of burning rage in her eyes. Maybe the two of them weren't so different.

When she noticed he was still watching, she glared at him and he turned away apologetically, leaving her alone with her demons and walking over to the next bag. The two of them worked the bags silently for the next half-hour or so.

It was getting close to 3:00 when they finally walked out of the building. They were quiet as he drove her back to her apartment until they were about halfway there. "Sorry," Kemp said after a moment.

"For what?" Stella asked.

"For staring."

She shook her head. "It's all right. And thanks. I needed this."

"No problem," Kemp said.

She looked out the window and Kemp focused his attention on the road for a while before Stella spoke again. "So how did you find that place?"

"Murray found it, before I joined the force," Kemp said, "On our first case together, he thought it might help me on the job. We gotta look out for our partners, right?"

In actuality, what had happened was they had tried to infiltrate a smuggling ring on the docks and Kemp had nearly blown things wide open at the time by attempting to move too early and got himself in a fire fight. Murray had been there though and had pulled his fat out of the fire with several well placed gunshots. They'd been able to avoid any injuries that were too serious, but afterward, Murray had suggested the gym as a place to work off stress as well as help him keep a cooler head in tight situations.

They pulled in front of the apartment building. "So will you be ready to come in to the office?"

She nodded. "I just need some shut-eye, and then come morning, I'll be fine." With that, she opened the passenger-side door. "Good night," she said.

"Good morning," he responded with a small grin. She smiled back at him and then turned to walk inside. With that, Kemp pulled the car back into the street and headed towards his own apartment building down the street.

---

September 22nd [ ν ] – εуλ 0000 10:00 AM

It was around 9:00 when Kemp arrived at the office that morning and soon after, he saw Stella arrive with a cup of coffee in hand, her curls pulled loosely behind her by a blue scarf. She walked over and sat down at the desk across from his. "Feeling better this morning?" he asked.

She nodded. "A bit." She reached for a form on her desk and started filling it out. It was the report for last night's operation.

Kemp had already started on his and the two of them worked in silence for a few minutes. Kemp finished first and waited until Stella completed hers before walking over, his form in hand. "I can take it," he said.

She didn't protest but handed him the form as he walked over towards the Chief's in-box. Dropping the papers in the tray, he walked over to the coffee machine. He poured himself a cup before walking back to his desk and sitting down, only taking a shallow sip in order to avoid being burned, and then sat down and looked back at the various other documents in front of him. Dossiers of known smugglers and dealers, a flow chart to organize things, a map of areas where deals were known to go down in the town, lists of contacts. It had been a long month. And half of it was obsolete, now that this latest bust had gone, well, bust. Even worse…

"We'll have to be even more careful now," Stella commented, standing to join him after a moment.

"Since Andre may have recognized you?" Kemp asked.

"It's possible," Stella agreed.

Kemp nodded. "All right then. He probably didn't get a very good look at me if at all though, so let me handle the next bust."

She nodded. "Makes sense, but don't get in over your head."

"I like having my head where it is, it's not going anywhere," Kemp quipped. All of his instincts said to take the next target with both fists and a dropkick, but he hoped he was smart enough to know better. He looked over the papers on his desk critically. "Right now, we have to do a little detective work and see if we can untangle another thread in this spiderweb."

Stella leaned in closer, a frown on her face as she looked over the notes. "What about this fellow here?"

Kemp picked up the dossier she had indicated. At the top was a photo of a fair-skinned man as he was leaving a restaurant near the small business district where most of the tourist companies had their offices. "Rafael Averies, Junon native, age 32, suspected involvement in smuggling, observed in contact with Leon Harvey."

He looked over at the flow chart, and noted that Harvey had been a distributor they'd picked up last week. They'd been able to apprehend him on drug charges but he hadn't been cooperative thus far in terms of getting more information. "We can give him a try," Kemp agreed.

"Let's do it," Stella said.

Kemp nodded, and reached for his PHS. "Then let's see what our informants have to say, shall we?"

---

September 24th [ ν ] – εуλ 0000 12:30 PM

Kemp and Stella were seated out on a patio near the beach, sipping a couple of drinks and waiting for their contact to show. It was a nice open place like their contact had requested, with lots of people. Mostly tourists. Wearing a pair of aviators to shield his eyes from the sun, Kemp looked out over the sand below them, his eyes glancing over a few ladies playing beach volleyball and a young man heading out to ride the waves on a surfboard. Another man, about twenty yards further down was sunning himself on a lounge chair, next to a woman and a young boy playing in the sand, probably a family.

He knew better than to think the presence of a child would protect them if foul play were involved, but the people around would at the same time make it difficult for anyone to get close without someone spotting them. He drank from the glass in front of him as Stella checked her PHS, and when he lowered the glass, he finally saw their contact headed their way. It was Averies himself. The man had started singing like a bird the first time they'd come up to him as soon as the possibility of jail time had been brought up. This fellow had been a good catch. He also had a little girl, and a wife he didn't want hurt. Of course, if he'd been really smart, he'd never have gotten involved with the Petrokov operation in the first place.

"So what's the story?" Stella asked as he sat down.

The man looked around warily even as the waitress walked over to see if he wanted a drink. "It's set. He'll have his meeting with Mr. Keys in a couple of days, and 3:00 PM sharp." He gestured towards Kemp with a jerk of his thumb. "And," he turned his attention to Kemp directly, "You'll need to go alone."

"As expected," Kemp said with a nod. "You've done well. I'll make sure you have protection if things go south."

"I'm glad to hear it..." Averies sounded anything but, and Kemp couldn't blame him. His shoes were not comfortable at all to be in right now.

They had lunch together and then Averies got up and left. Kemp and Stella waited a few minutes before walking back to their car.

"So what do you think?" he asked as he opened the driver's side door and then sat down in the driver's seat.

Stella sat down next to him. "I don't like it…" her head jerked around as she looked out the window.

"What is it?" he asked.

She got out of the car and hurried to an alley nearby. Kemp pulled himself out of the driver's side to follow after her. When he reached the entrance to the alley, his eyes widened. "Averies..." he breathed out.

Stella knelt by the man's fallen form, just inches from her sandaled feet. She looked up at him seriously. "They're trying to cut off any leads..." she murmured.

Kemp reached for his PHS. He growled as he dialed the number for the station. "This is Detective Fields, Chief, we've got a problem and it's gonna require the coroner..."

---

September 26th [ ν ] – εуλ 0000 5:00 PM

Several officers waited just out of sight of the spot where Kemp had arranged to meet his next contact. It was a warehouse in the packing district, though it lay empty. Purposeless, like this stakeout, Kemp knew. But there was always the off-chance that one of Petrokov's goons might show. If there was a chance, they'd need to take it. He'd sat alone, for an hour, and then another, until at last, they decided it had been long enough. It rankled Kemp to the core, knowing that somewhere, Petrokov, and Andre were laughing their asses off at them.

It was time to call it quits for the day, so he and Stella went to have dinner down at the Windward Anchor.

The two of them sat down at a booth and after Riley got them a couple of drinks, the two of them looked out the window at the ocean in a stoney silence, broken only when Kemp brought a cigarette to his lips and clicked a lighter. The small flame seemed brighter as the sun began to sink west, somewhere out of sight on the opposite side of the building from where they were, and the sky over the ocean began to darken. He could have tasted the salt air had the window been open. Instead, he sat quietly taking in the smoke mingled with the smell of bar food and beer, and the sound of several ladies laughing as Frank Ledge, a local fellow with a reputation as something of a Don Juan in the neighborhood, cracked a joke.

It was all he could do not to tell the man to knock it off, and it was tempting to actually enforce Shinra's edict to the local force that he be under house arrest. That'd show him. Stella kept her thoughts to herself while they ate, occasionally checking her PHS and looking out the window as the sky darkened from blue to dusk grey and then to complete black. They were finishing their meal when she finally let out a sigh. "You want to go punch something?" she asked after a moment.

"Don't mind if I do," he said. They paid their bill and then went back to the car. That night, there were still people at the gym when they got there.

"Kemp!" A man called out to him and he recognized Leon, the man who owned the place. "There you are! I thought I'd never see you during regular hours with the schedule you've been keeping lately!"

He made his way through the small crowd by the boxing ring. "The chief's been running me ragged, I've been busy," Kemp said, trying to hide his annoyance behind a wry grin.

"You can't blame it all on the chief," Leon said with a knowing look. "Rough day?"

"Get me in the ring, I could use a fight," Kemp said.

Leon nodded. "All right, you got it," he walked off toward the lady managing a small desk near the ring.

"You don't have to spar if you don't want to, some of those guys can get pretty rough," Kemp said.

"I'll watch," Stella said. It seemed she hadn't anticipated what it would mean to come here this early, but she was the outsider here and wasn't keen to get between him and unwinding. While they waited, he went over in front of the mirror, stripped off the shirt he wore and after pulling on a pair of boxing gloves, he spent several minutes shadow-boxing with the air. It wasn't long before Leon reappeared at his side.

"I've got you in the lineup. Kicks allowed but nothing below the belt. Winner fights until they lose, or back out."

"Sounds good," Kemp murmured. He turned to Stella and gestured to the bleachers. "Get a spot up there, I'm about to put on a show."

She nodded with a chuckle and wink. "All right partner, show me something worth watching."

"You can bet on it!" he said, punching his right hand into the palm of his left for emphasis. With that, he went to wait his turn in line to get in the ring.

It wasn't a particularly long line, and a few people traded out before it was finally his turn, but as the fellow who lost to his current opponent left, he climbed over the ropes and took the measure of the man he'd be fighting. A muscular fellow, about as big as he was though with brownish blond hair, with a roughly groomed beard and mustache. Looked like a Midgarder he figured, though one who knew his way around the boxing ring. Good, he wanted a challenge. He couldn't shake that the man looked familiar though.

He felt a light breeze from a ceiling fan overhead and he pounded his gloves together to psyche out the other man. His opponent grinned and flexed his shoulders as the two circled the ring, ready for the referee to let them loose.

"Three!" the man cried out, "Two… one… fight!"

They both brought up their fists and their circling intensified as they looked for their first openings. Kemp started off with a light jab to assess the other man's weaknesses. He parried with a block and then returned with a hook. Kemp ducked and then offered him an uppercut. He backed up and then offered several punches that Kemp successfully blocked before retaliating with two powerful punches that knocked his opponent to the ropes. The man blocked them but it left him wide open to his sides and Kemp finished with a powerful hook to the right side of the man's jaw. He dropped and the referee called a ten count. His opponent took one look at him and decided that was enough. However on the way out he put a hand on Kemp's shoulder and said with a strong North Midgarian accent, "You fight vell, Detective… maybe ve can have a round some other time and you can give me a few pointers."

His eyes followed the man as he left to the sound of applause. There wasn't any secret around the gym that he was a detective, it just seemed a little overly formal though. He shrugged and turned to look around the crowd.

On the bleachers he saw Stella clapping and offered her a wild grin as he watched the next man come up on the platform and into the ring. This fellow was bigger than he was, with dark blue hair too short to do anything but stick up on top of his head. He was a local fellow by the name of Azul, from over at Club Duel, the rival club in town. He was bigger than Kemp, and very muscular, as any man who spent all his time at a gym would be. He wasn't the best fighter at Club Duel. That would be King. But he wasn't far behind. That would mean this would be a tougher fight. He'd be less easy to knock down, but Kemp relished the challenge.

"Get in place!" The ref called, and the two assumed fighting stances with their fists raised. "One! Two! Three! Fight!"

The two of them circled the ring a bit more vigorously than Kemp had last time. Azul feinted to the side, but Kemp held his ground, waiting patiently, ready to dart in any direction to evade the power of Azul's punches. He'd never fought him directly, but he knew others who'd been hurt in the ring with this man. That would serve no purpose and certainly wouldn't get him any closer to avenging his partner.

After a moment, Azul stepped forward with a punch straight towards Kemp's gut. Kemp danced out of the way, whirling around to bring up a punch to the man's side. Azul brought down an arm in a block before putting out his leg to trip him.

Kemp hopped over it like an overlarge log before offering his opponent a brief love tap to the shoulder and getting behind him, sweeping his own leg around to knock it into the leg the man was using to stay standing. The man wobbled as Kemp pulled back to a fight stance a few feet away but stayed standing. Gaia, he was built like an oak tree.

Azul, moved around with the speed of a glacier, his size working against him in keeping him from turning quickly. He wobbled slightly as he recovered but took stance again, and it was definitely solid. Kemp hopped on the balls of his feet as he circled his opponent warily. Azul waited for a moment, maintaining his stance before Kemp whipped around with a quick punch to the man's side. It was quick enough that he did connect though he barely ducked in time as Azul brought his fist down in a sweeping block. Kemp dropped to his knees to evade and then leapt up behind the man's arm, about to deliver another punch to the man's jaw, but instead, was caught full in the chest by Azul's knee.

He was thrown back and felt himself hit the ropes, collecting himself just in time to roll out of the way as Azul charged forward. Just missing a powerful fist that would have hit him in the gut as he offered a backhand to the other man's ear. This also propelled him away along the rope, and he came to rest on his feet, just as Azul whirled around again, a left hook aimed straight for his head. He tilted his head to the side before stepping in and with a powerful thrust brought his fist straight into Azul's nose. The man staggered for a moment before suddenly seeming to see red. Kemp backed off a step as he realized his error but Azul charged, grabbing him with his arm and throwing him against the floor.

"Ten!" The world swam as Kemp shook his head in surprise. "Nine!" Rubbing his face, he picked himself off the floor and thanking his lucky stars and his training regimen he hadn't hurt his back on that one. He'd been careless.

As the two took stance again, Azul glared at him, blood flowing from his nose, and Kemp winced. He doubted he would need a cure, but he'd be moving gingerly tomorrow. He was silently glad that the chief had insisted he take a personal day after all of this. Regardless, he would bring this charging bull down if he had anything to say about that at least. He assumed a fighting stance and watched Azul, letting him make the next move.

It was less than half a moment that decided the fight.

The big man brought up a leg in order to kick him in the side, but Kemp was ready this time. Before he was even a fraction of the way there, Kemp leapt over the swing, and delivered a right roundhouse kick to the man's gut. Azul blocked but that diverted his attention away from his head as he reached out to try and grab Kemp with his free left hand. Kemp missed being knocked away by a hair as he brought his right hook straight into the side of Azul's face. The man staggered, fighting for consciousness before dropping to the ground.

Kemp let out a breath and wiped the sweat from his brow as the ref gave the ten count, but the house was already cheering. He looked over and saw Stella applauding with the rest of them, and he grinned again. This little distraction had been just what he'd needed.

---

September 26th [ ν ] – εуλ 0000 9:00 PM

They were driving back towards their apartments after Kemp had eventually been defeated by someone else once he got tired enough and that had resulted in another set of bruises to match the ones Azul had given him. "Are you sure you don't want me to patch you up?" Stella asked.

"Oh, you mean these?" Kemp said with thumb to a red mark that was starting to bruise on the side of his face. "Don't worry about it. I'll just put some ice on them and then it'll be fine when we go back to work."

"If you're sure..." she repeated. It was no longer a question but it still sounded uncertain. He was wondering if she had regretted asking him if he wanted to work out tonight. They pulled in front of her apartment and she stepped out of the car. "Kemp?"

He looked across the vehicle at her. "Yes?"

"You're an angry oaf who loves nothing more than a good brawl, but…" she said with a wry grin, "Thank you..."

"For what?" Kemp asked.

She shook her head, her curls bouncing softly in the glow of the streetlamp, and in that moment, it came to him, she wasn't that bad looking a woman. Kind of pretty, really. "For being so dedicated," she finished at last, "I don't think I'd have gotten this far without you. So you make sure you're ready when we get back on the job."

It was Kemp's turn to grin and he offered her a laugh. "You betcha..." He paused for a moment before saying "Uh… if you're not doing anything tomorrow, I'll be out on the beach… recuperating… and then maybe having a drink at the Anchor..."

She smiled. "I'll consider it. Good night Kemp."

"Good night Stella." Kemp said trailing off as she moved out of earshot. Shaking his head as he turned his attention back onto the drive home. She was a coworker, hell she wasn't even from the same police force or even the same continent and he still had a job to do. And now she was going to think he'd asked her out on a date again or something. 'That's silly,' a small part of him murmured, 'we're off tomorrow, and you were just trying to be nice.' He sighed as he drove the short distance to his own apartment, barely registering the turns he made as he knew it by heart by now.

---

September 27th [ ν ] – εуλ 0000 2:00 PM

The sun was hot just beyond the shadow of the beach umbrella Kemp had rented from the local surf shop but he lay on a towel in its shade, taking in the warm breezes. It wasn't anywhere near cold yet even though summer was officially over apart from a couple of families and the regulars. Costa did still get tourists during the cooler weather, the lower temperatures of which didn't get much worse than the upper sixties. Right now, at about eighty degrees it was perfect. He stretched luxuriously and let the warm air play against his bruises. He'd spent the first half of his day off asleep and didn't feel the least bit ashamed of it. After a short breakfast of instant oatmeal, he'd thrown on his swim-shorts, picked up a sandwich, a few snacks, and some cold ones for his cooler at the local shop along with his umbrella and had been here ever since.

It had been a labor in itself to get out here, after the exertions of last night, but relaxing out on the warm beach was far better than trying to sleep in a tiny apartment with Mr. Next Door's radio going full blast through the wall.

"There you are!" He opened his eyes, squinting against the glare through his sunglasses and saw the silhouette of a woman standing in front of him in a conservative one-piece bathing suit and a tropical patterned sarong tied around her waist. The light from the sun shown through her curls, giving them a slightly browner hue, and painted her dark skin bronze. A beach chair and a book were tucked under her arm with a small cooler of her own in her other hand. "I hope you don't mind me taking up your offer to share a spot?" she asked.

"Not at all, I meant it to be taken up on," Kemp gestured to the other half of the shade under the umbrella. "There's beer in the cooler or water if you'd like."

"Thanks. I brought a few drinks myself too," Stella said, showing the small selection in her cooler. "Same offer applies," she added with a grin as she placed it next to the cold box Kemp had brought.

As she unfolded her beach chair Kemp lay back again and felt the breeze ruffle through his hair while the ocean roared gently in his ears. "If I start snoring," he murmured, "Don't be afraid to wake me up..."

Stella chuckled. "Don't worry about it. I've dealt with worse noises." They were quiet for a while, listening to the sound of the waves, and Stella turning the pages of her book, each alone with their own thoughts.

When Kemp opened his eyes again, a little later, the sun was starting to fall behind them, and the buildings were beginning to cast slightly longer shadows on the sand. He also suddenly felt hungry. Pulling himself up so that he sat cross-legged on his beach towel, he reached over to the cooler and pulled out the sandwich along with a beer. Stella noticed him moving and looked up.

"Welcome back to the land of the living," she murmured.

He grinned. "It has its perks," he gestured to the sandwich before unwrapping it and turning his eyes back to the surf as he took a bite. He still felt his bruises, but sleep had a habit of dulling those pains pretty well, and right now, he was seriously thinking about taking a dip in the water once he had taken care of his hunger.

"I suppose so..." Stella murmured, as though thinking of something far away.

"You're not getting depressed are you?" Kemp asked.

"With a day like this?" Stella gestured out at the surf with a smile. "No. Just… frustrated I guess. Petrokov's just proven to be such a stubborn mark."

"I know," Kemp said, "But at the same time, we gotta take care of us too. Give ourselves time to think."

Stella shrugged and looked down at her book again as though considering whether or not to go back to reading it. After a moment, she slid it into a pocket on her beach chair and reached for a can of soda out of her own cooler. "All right then, so how about we do some thinking, since we're here and you're not going to do any moving around today."

Kemp shrugged and was about to offer a half-hearted retort when his PHS rang. He reached for it out of the backpack he'd brought for his snacks and brought to his ear. "Yes?" He answered.

The person on the other end explained the nature of his call and after he hung up, Kemp looked at Stella and grinned. "Good news, we have the scent again."

"Where?" Stella asked.

"A gambling parlor on the north end. Our informant in that neighborhood says he saw our guy with the boat working a table there."

"Jacob Tern?" Stella said.

Kemp nodded. "The chief says we're to head over there first thing tomorrow morning."

"Not now?" Stella asked.

"He says we're not even supposed to think of working until tomorrow morning." Kemp said.

"Well then," Stella said, sitting back in her chair, soda can in hand. "Orders are orders, I suppose."

Kemp reached into his backpack. "I've got some peanuts if you'd like some..."

"You know what? I think I will."

Kemp tossed her a small packet and the two of them looked back across the surf in the dimming evening light. "You know, it is a pretty nice day," he said, although, now that they had a lead, it really was all he could do to wait until tomorrow.

---

September 28th [ ν ] – εуλ 0000 9:00 AM

As soon as they'd checked in with the chief that morning, Kemp and Stella got into the car and drove over to investigate. Kemp stepped out of the car, scanning the area for any trouble behind his sunglasses. No one was around except for a few tourists and a guy running a food cart on a road headed towards the beach. Stella got out too, her gun at her hip. "You ready for this?" Kemp asked her.

She nodded and the two of them walked inside. Gambling in and of itself wasn't illegal so long as no one got caught cheating, so nobody paid them too much attention as they walked in. It smelled not unlike a bar. Cigarette smoke and alcohol, although there were also traces of the smell of cheap wood panels as the room had apparently had the walls redone recently. The sounds of dice on tables, roulette wheels, and people laughing and talking also met his ears, and he looked around, Stella next to him.

It was barely a few moments before they spotted their man, working one of the card tables in the back corner. Kemp approached the table first, motioning that Stella stay back just in case the man recognized her and bolted. She did as he suggested and he sauntered over to the table, as though he were simply looking to find a place to sit down and lose a few gil.

As he approached the table however, he reached into his pants pocket to produce his police badge. "Jacob Tern?" The man looked up and saw the badge just before Kemp put a hand on his shoulder and began cuffing him.

"Costa Del Sol Police, you're under arrest for possession and conspiracy to traffic in illegal substances."

"Do you seriously think you can get me for that?" the man asked with confidence. "Where's your evidence?"

Kemp grinned as he did a brief search to make sure the man had no weapons or dangerous objects on him. "Well, seeing as we already witnessed it, on my partner's body-cam, it simply depends on what you did with it after that dramatic little boat chase through the marina the other night."

The man glared at him and then he spotted Stella near the door, her weapon ready and his face took on a sneer as Kemp directed him towards the exit. "How far do you think you'll get?" He asked, "I'm not some street dealer and I'm not afraid of you, so if you think scaring me is going to work, you're sadly mistaken."

"Wanna bet on that?" Kemp growled. By now they had exited the building and after depositing their man in the back seat, the two of them got in and drove towards headquarters.

---

October 1st [ ν ] – εуλ 0000 12:00 PM

Tern did seem to be made of stronger stuff than he should have been. They had been to visit him in the lockup twice since his arrest and he still wasn't willing to provide the information they needed. Kemp fidgeted with the corner of the form as he was filling it out in the office. It wasn't especially complicated, but it would serve to pass the time at least until Stella finished the dossiers she was going over on her side of the desk. They were lists sent in by the MP's back in Midgar of people over there who had had dealings with Petrokov in order to see if she could cross reference anyone who had left the Eastern Continent with anyone who had disembarked into Costa by boat or plane. His stomach growled but he pressed on with his work, planning to offer to go pick up lunch in a few minutes, once he'd done everything he could.

Stella spoke up, "Doesn't look like we have any serious people to consider this week," she said disappointedly. "I mean, sure, someone could be entering under a pseudonym but there isn't even a hit from the photos." She leaned back in her chair and shut her eyes for a moment as she stretched. "I think that's enough for now, don't you?" she said.

"Yeah," Kemp stood up. "How about we get some lunch."

"Sounds good," the two of them stood up and walked to the door. It wasn't much further from there to the car and Stella walked around after he unlocked it from his side she got in. Leaving the door on his side open so that the heat could filter out while he was cranking the ignition. That was when he heard it. As he turned the key in the ignition there were several clicks. He was already moving to get out of the car when a powerful explosion caught him square in the back and sent him flying for the pavement as the car went up with a loud boom.

Mist swam in Kemp's eyes and he heard nothing though it seemed he'd only been on the ground a couple of seconds. Even as he pulled himself up he could tell he wasn't in great shape. Blood trickled down his forehead and he was distantly aware of several places where new holes in his clothes led to wounds that he'd probably need a bit more than just a cure for, but he ignored all that. Instead, he pulled himself up and looked at the car. "Stella?" he called out. He only barely heard himself much less anything around him. He was vaguely aware that people were coming out of the police station as he limped towards the other side of the car. She had closed her door and not minding the heat that seared his hands, he pulled it open and pulled her out. He had to pat out a couple of places where her curls were starting to catch before he tore off his coat and pulled her on top of it so she wouldn't burn on the asphalt. As people started to gather around him, he caught sight of the chief in the crowd and the man was saying something to him that he couldn't hear.

He was too busy to pay attention. Instead, he reached down and checked Stella for a pulse. "Oh no..." He couldn't find one, and so he started doing chest compressions. "Come on Stella..." he murmured, "We don't have time for this..."

---

October 2nd [ ν ] – εуλ 0000 9:00 PM

The police's Shinra medical operative had cast a cure on him at some point during the time he'd been administering CPR, and his hearing had quickly returned after that, but it was only when someone had tried to do the same for Stella and it hadn't worked that it had really sunk in… She was gone, and Kemp knew exactly who had killed her. Andre must have finally decided to deal with them. Trying to tie them off like some petty loose end.

And he'd halfway succeeded.

It angered him to no end. This man had once been a cop. Military police to be sure. But his previous position made the deed even more unthinkable. He now sat at a table outside the Wayward Anchor, two beers in front of him as he imagined Stella sitting across from him, smiling with determination as they discussed their next move in the case. In his hand, was a note from the same informant who had tipped them off about Tern's location. Apparently, Andre was seen setting up a meeting on the south end of the beach, beyond the docks in a few days to discuss a deal with some new partners. That would be the time to act.

He drank long from his own bottle before taking the second and walking out to the surf in the dark. As the surf reached his sandaled feet, he turned the bottle upside down and let its contents fall into the water. "I'll get him this time," he murmured trying to keep his hands from shaking with rage as he glared at the ocean in front of him. "For both of you."

---

October 7th [ ν ] – εуλ 0000 11:00 PM

The moonlight and starlight reflected off the calm sea as Kemp waited on the dunes, one of the younger officers next to him as they waited for the meeting to take place. He barely remembered the guy's name was John Hart, but he didn't care enough. Tonight was the night.

He was barely listening as Hart was reporting in on the radio, all of his thoughts were on what would happen when he saw that one man. There would be nothing but the two of them.

Movement registered on the edge of his vision. A man was walking down the beach from where the docks lay, a back pack on his shoulders. As they watched, he continued along the shore. They hadn't had the exact coordinate, but he matched the description of the guy they were waiting for, so they followed him from the dunes, keeping low to avoid being seen.

A short while later, when they were out of sight of the docks, their quarry took a lamp out of his backpack and hung it on a stick he carried with him, planting it in the ground. A strong breeze ruffled Kemp's hair as they waited for several agonizing minutes.

Finally, out of the shadows on the sand, came a dune buggy from the opposite direction. It came to a stop just outside the circle of light from the lamp and a man disembarked, carrying another backpack over his shoulder as he entered the light. It was Andre for certain and Kemp's fists clenched in anticipation. He waited for the man to give the area a cursory glance before the two of them began to creep closer. They couldn't wait this time. Kemp observed Hart edging towards the other guy and was quietly grateful the man was willing to give him the hunt of the guy who'd killed Murray and Stella. Keeping low so that the shadows would hide him, he circled around so that he could use the vehicle as cover while Hart stayed a safe distance back. He was almost close enough now to hear them talking. "So what's it gonna be?"

"You seem like you'd do well in our operation, so here's Petrokov's offer, you deal for us, and we give you twenty-five percent of the profits."

The man who had been here first grinned. "How about thirty? I know you fellas gotta make a living, but so do I here, you know?"

"Petrokov says twenty-five," Andre said. "Take it, or leave it."

At that point, Kemp was at the rear of the buggy and he finally stood up, a pistol in his hand as he saw Hart stand up fully from where he was crouched in the sand. "Costa Del Sol police!"

Andre turned around and looked him straight in the eye. "Detective Fields," he said with a smile. "How nice of you to join us.

He reached for what was obviously a gun, but Kemp was too quick for him, raising his weapon and shooting a bullet into the sand a hair's breadth away from where the man stood. "Don't you dare," He seethed, his voice dangerously quiet, "Or the next one's going right between the eyes." The man eyed him warily, but dropped his gun and Kemp came forward with the handcuffs. Hart secured the other man and then searched both mens' belongings in search of contraband, but after he was done, he looked up. "Detective Fields..." he said after a moment.

"What?" Kemp asked.

"There's nothing here."

Kemp glared at the two men and though the dealer quailed under his scrutiny, Andre simply smiled as though this were a completely normal turn of events. "As you can see, Detective, you've got nothing on us."

"I have three things," Kemp said, "You are wanted in connection with drug trafficking on the 12th of August, the second degree murder of Detective Jim Murray, and the first degree murder of Shinra Military Police Inspector Stella Reed. You're a former MP, you should know how this works."

"Of course I do, and don't worry, I will come quietly, for now, although I contend my innocence." the man said.

No further words were exchanged, and Kemp said no more. There would be plenty more to be said once they were in the interrogation room.

---

October 8th [ ν ] – εуλ 0000 12:30 AM

Andre sat across the table from Kemp, his hands resting on the flat surface in front of him as the two men watched each other in silence. The clock on the wall was the only thing marking the passage of time in the room.

Finally the other man offered a jovial grin. "So, you have me Detective. What are you going to do?"

"Ask you some questions," Kemp responded. "The first one being, when did you put the bomb in our car that day?"

"Why would I confess to that?" Andre asked gleefully.

"Because the Shinra company won't give a damn if you confess or not," Kemp said, "And with them, you'll not just be dealing with murder charges, but also desertion and theft of company property. Do you think they'll go easy on you?"

"Do you think they won't?" Andre leaned back in his seat.

"And why would they?" Kemp asked, leaning forward.

"Because…" Andre whispered, "They need me alive. The Costa court system won't dare touch me with a death sentence when the Shinra company needs me back in custody so they can find out just how many military secrets I ran off with, and as long as they need me for that, it doesn't matter to them how many people died to get me back." He stretched dramatically and nested his hands behind his head as he looked at Kemp. "I don't need to tell you anything."

Kemp felt his temper fraying. "So you don't want to tell me anything about Isaac Petrokov, or what he's up to. And you're not going to tell me why you killed Jim Murray, or what got you into the Powdered Crown trade. That's about how it is, is it?"

"I'm under no obligation to tell you a thing," Andre confirmed. "Too bad about that little $!#*% from Shinra though. You looked like the two of you might have had something."

"You knew her name Andre! They sent Reed because she worked with you. Do you even care that you murdered her?" Kemp's voice was as cold as Shiva's Diamond Dust.

Andre simply grinned. "What do I care if I worked with the girl? I've worked with lots'a girls, and as much as the two of you were hanging out together off duty, I'll bet you even boned the little slut. If you did, my hat's off to you, pal..."

Before Kemp was aware of it, he'd grabbed the man by his shirt, lifted him off the ground and slammed his head into the wall. "Let me tell you something… pal..." He gritted out, "Stella might have even looked up to you. But even if she did, she was too good to even speak to a piece of Mako-soaked gutter-trash like you! And then there was Murray..." Andre tried to use that moment to try and kick him away but he brutally slammed the man into the wall again, "He had a wife and a little boy, that he'll never get to see grow up, because you killed him! For Crown, Andre! And for some boy playing at his crime boss grandfather's feet! So I don't give a $#!* about you. You're going to tell me where I can find Petrokov, and you're going to tell me now." His voice was so low it was just above a whisper.

It was at that point that Andre started laughing.

"You think this is funny?" Kemp demanded.

"Hilarious," Andre said through his guffawing. "You cops are all the same, a bunch of thugs with guns who think they're more important than they really are. What are you waiting for Detective? Aren't you going to make me talk? Make me admit that I hurt your partner when you couldn't have seen his killer's face for more than a second? Or maybe I can keep asking you why you care about some hot skirt you barely even knew who got herself blown up before she could blow your bottle rocket to the moon."

He couldn't take it anymore. Rage clouded his vision as his right hand drew back into a fist and cratered the man's nose. Andre stopped laughing all right, and he stopped trying to fight back, but Kemp wasn't done. He dropped the man to to the ground and knelt, punching his face again and again and again.

It wasn't until he felt someone try to pull him off of Andre that his head finally cleared. When he looked up, he saw the chief looking down at him, possibly angrier than he felt.

"Fields! Get off of that man, and out of my sight! I'll be seeing you in my office after this mess gets cleaned up." Still breathing hard from anger and exertion, Kemp walked out of the room. It was only then that he realized his fists were covered in blood, and none of it was his. The most terrifying part, he noted to himself, was that he didn't feel the least bit guilty about it. And yet… The man deserved what he got… but as he walked into the bathroom on the way back towards his desk, and over to the sinks, he suddenly felt far angrier at himself than he ever did at Andre Herzel.

Everything Stella had set out to do could have been put in jeopardy, because he'd been so selfish as to want revenge right away. He knew better. He knew he knew better. If Murray had been there…

He looked at himself in the mirror. "Maybe…" he murmured, "Maybe they were both right… Maybe I am just another thug…" As he leaned over and turned on the tap, washing the blood from his hands, he tried to pretend that the laughter in his throat was at something that was actually funny. He finished by washing his face and trying to straighten his shirt so that when he presented himself in front of the chief, he would at least look like he was trying to be professional. At last, he left the bathroom, outwardly once again a serious police detective even in the face of what he expected to be an eminent dismissal.

As he entered the office he noticed Detective Hart looking his way from where he was doing the last bit of paperwork before he went home. Kemp ignored him and instead walked straight into the chief's office and sat down, waiting.

When Chief Talbot finally entered, he sat down behind his desk and then looked up at Kemp with a piercing gaze. "I wish I could congratulate you on finding your man," he said after a moment, "But after what I found downstairs, I'm afraid you've got bigger problems."

Kemp nodded, "I know," he said quietly.

The chief leaned forward over his desk, disappointment evident. "You know the law as well as I do Fields, perhaps even better. Which is why, I thought you could keep going even after Reed..." he paused for a moment. "I understand why that happened Fields, but it still shouldn't have. You're a cop. We don't torture confessions out of people and we sure as hell don't beat them within an inch of their life. Penalties are for the court to decide. You know that."

"I do..." Kemp said.

"Then why in the name of Odin did you do it?!" The Chief demanded.

"I… he said something horrible… and I couldn't think anymore..." it was the simple truth and it sounded so small and petty coming out of his mouth.

The chief let out a dejected sigh. "But do you think that will stand up in front of Judge Will when he's asked to reject the trial for police misconduct?"

"No, it won't," Kemp said.

"Then you know, what I've got to do," the chief said.

Kemp nodded.

Talbot sighed. "I hate to see you go, Fields, especially over something like this. But I'm not the only man you have to answer to if you end up losing it again."

Kemp nodded. "I understand."

"Technically," the chief continued, "The suggested punishment would be to put you in the lockup for a few days but… looking at you now…" the chief gave him a hard look. "And taking Herzel into consideration, it'd be worse for either of you to be within a mile of each other, and I have jurisdiction to make some reasonable allowances. I will settle for you clearing out your desk. And when you leave, you are to leave your badge here along with your resignation form. And don't even think about going after Petrokov yourself, or I really will put you in the lockup."

"I won't." Kemp said. His hands were trembling as he left the room to get started. As much as he wanted to continue hunting for Petrokov, he had lost the right to.

---

January 10th [ ν ] – εуλ 0001 3:30 PM

Kemp had spent the last couple of months trying to find regular work. Unfortunately word spread fast in a town like Costa, and most of the businesses didn't want him working for them. Leon had offered him some temporary work helping to keep the gym clean and Riley had occasionally called him in to help clean up when things got really busy at the Anchor, and that was enough to pay the bills at least, but it wasn't comfortable, nor was it a situation in which he cared to stay for long. The day was somewhat cool as he sat on a bench at the back of the bar, a single beer in his hand as he looked out over the beach.

It had been a long morning as he'd been canvassing a number of places. There were a couple of prospects that seemed promising, but none of them were especially permanent or good. He noticed Frank Ledge standing out by the surf, showing off for several ladies. "What a poser," he murmured with a wry grin.

That was when another man appeared from the opposite end of the beach. The women near Frank cleared off at a word from him and Kemp watched curiously as this new man approached. If there was anyone out of place, it was this guy. Long dark hair in a pony tail wasn't so odd, but seeing a dark business suit in Costa del Sol; complete with a tie; was like seeing a live tree near a mako reactor.

The man approached Frank and the two talked for a few moments before, to Kemp's surprise, the man drew his gun. Frank jumped back from the man, pulling several small objects out of his pockets, and before Kemp could stand up, he threw a few of them at the man in black who returned with several gunshots. Kemp had almost reached the end of the deck and jumped onto the sand to run over and break it up when suddenly the fighting stopped. Frank was looking calmly at the other man as the two of them spoke for several moments before the man in black turned and left. After placing a call on a PHS of his own, Frank turned and walked towards the anchor. As he walked past Kemp he murmured, "No need for you to get involved. It's all right. Just some old company business," he said.

"Who was that?" Kemp asked.

"Old comrade," Frank said, "That's all you need to know for now. Though now I think about it, if they start looking for new talent, it might not be a bad fit for you, if you fancy going to Midgar or Junon."

Kemp watched as he headed towards the Anchor. "What are you doing now?" he asked.

"Getting a drink," Frank murmured, "You can join me if you want."

"No thanks." The man with the ponytail was already gone, but Kemp watched the beach anyway. He really didn't have any great inclinations to leave, not when Petrokov was still here. Maybe he'd try to open a detective agency and see what he could find that way. Once he'd taken care of current circumstances and saved enough money.

---

October 20th [ ν ] – εуλ 0001 6:00 PM

It had been a long eleven months. Through the grape vine of some of his friends still with the police, it did turn out that the case against Herzel had been thrown out due to what had happened that night in the interrogation room. There hadn't been charges against Kemp though, on account of the fact that Herzel had no interest in pressing them. That would have undoubtedly brought his own criminal activity and that of his boss out in the open. No one in the Petrokov operation wanted that. Not to mention he'd been out on bail and disappeared long before anyone could ask if he even wanted to bring a case of his own, or even before Shinra representatives could come to collect him. That had been a huge headache for the chief, he'd heard, but it was no longer his problem.

He'd kept an ear out for any news regarding the Petrokov investigation, though he wasn't sure what he would do with the information if any news came up. He entertained the idea that he'd be the bigger man and just get on with his life, let the police handle it. But even so, and this darker part of his thoughts seemed to illustrate themselves in the brooding weather outside as he swept the floor of the gym. If he knew where Petrokov and Herzel were right now, he'd probably go straight there, and probably do a bit more than a citizen's arrest.

Stella had died a year ago. Murray had died a year and two months ago. Both had died to get these guys. Like hell was he just going to let them die for nothing. The sky flashed outside and thunder grumbled far away as rain threatened to fall, but held off for the moment.

Leon was sitting at the front desk, reading a book, as it was a slow period since most folks were eating dinner and Kemp tried to focus on the work he was doing. He had almost swept out the entire fighting ring when the door opened, emphasized by another grumble of thunder as two people entered the room. One was a short young man with short blond hair and the other an even shorter young woman with closely cropped hair the color of dust. Both were wearing dark business suits. The man's was tightly buttoned and his tie was carefully tucked within the blazer, while the woman wore no tie and her blazer hung open, exposing the white button-down underneath.

As they entered, Leon looked up and he was just as surprised by the suits as Kemp was. "Can I help you two?" he asked.

"Um… yes, we're looking for a man by the name of Kemp Fields," the man began in a soft voice as though not sure how authoritative he wanted to be.

"We need to talk to him," the woman added.

Leon glanced over at Kemp in surprise, comparing his rumpled flower print shirt, shorts and sandals to the man and woman who were asking after him. Kemp straightened his posture as he eyed the two. "That'd be me, can I help you with something?"

The woman walked up to him as the younger man watched her. "We'd like you to come with us somewhere private. We have something we would like to discuss with you."

"All right," he turned to Leon, "Mind if I step out a moment?"

Leon shook his head. "Take your time, I'm not in a hurry right now."

Kemp nodded and followed the two outside. They walked towards a back alley and Kemp narrowed his eyes. "So who're you with?"

"The Turks," The woman said in a matter of fact voice. The wind tugged at the coattails on their suits as he followed them between the two buildings.

That was when the image of the man in the dark suit stirred in his memory. The one who had spoken with Frank. "That means you're Shinra then," he said, "Now don't tell me you waited a whole year to follow up on Stella Reed being murdered. Because that's just pitiful." Lightning flashed several miles away and about twenty seconds later a faint rumble of thunder boomed again. It sounded closer this time.

"Of course not," the woman said, and she seemed a little hurt that he'd suggest that, "I mean, I'm sure losing two coworkers in the space of a few months was difficult, but we aren't generally called in for just any murder investigation. Things have gotten a lot worse since you were booted off the force, otherwise, it would still be in the hands of the Military Police."

"Please don't remind me," Kemp murmured, "But… what happened?"

"We got intel that Petrokov's operation has had dealings with AVALANCHE," the young man said.

"Allen!" the woman chided, "We're not supposed to just tell him that, at least, not yet."

"Oh, sorry," the young man shrugged.

Kemp shook his head. "I doubt I'm the one you should apologize to, but what is it you want to know?"

"Well, it's not so much that we wanted to ask you anything. More like, we've been authorized to offer you a job."

"What sort of job?" Kemp asked.

"We've seen your record, Detective. Up until your last case, almost every one of your cases was solved, by you and your partner on the force. I expect the only reason you were fired was because the police chief couldn't let you off for breaking one of the CPD's most solemn taboos."

Kemp crossed his arms in front of his chest and frowned at the memory. "He was right to do it though, I let my feelings on the case get the better of me. What would that have to do with the prospect of a new job?"

Allen was the one who answered his question, "Would you like to redeem yourself?"

"You've got my attention. How would you propose I go about doing this?" Kemp asked.

Thunder boomed again, this time slightly closer. "By getting us Isaac Petrokov, and his contact to AVALANCHE, a fellow by the name of Andre Herzel," the woman finished. "You do that, and the Turks will formally extend an invitation to join our organization as a Shinra employee. Does this have your interest?"

"It does," Kemp said. "But if I may ask a question?"

"You just did," the woman said with a chuckle, "but go ahead.

Kemp pulled a cigarette out of his pocket and lit it, taking a drag from it before he spoke. "Why me?"

"A mutual friend thought you'd be a good fit, and gave us a glowing recommendation" Allen said.

"And from what we understand, you haven't had very many other good job prospects," the woman added, "After all, do you really want to spend the rest of your life sweeping your friend's gym?"

Kemp didn't say anything for a moment, as he considered their offer. It might mean leaving Costa, it was true, but as they said, it wasn't like he had anything happening here.

The wind was beginning to pick up just outside the alley and Kemp could smell the rain on its way as he spoke to the two Turks. "Petrokov's as good as in your hands already," he murmured. "So should I be reporting in to you at regular intervals? And how should I contact you?"

"You'll also need credentials," the woman said, reaching into her coat pocket and handing him a small packet. "In this, you will find the badge of a Shinra representative with special authority, a business card with the numbers of people in our organization whom you should contact if you have a report, and all the details we have on Petrokov as of today. If you have any questions, you may use the top number on the card to contact me directly. If you can't reach me, and it's urgent, the second number is my partner's." She gestured toward the blond man. "And if he's unavailable, our boss's number is the third one down. A phone call every two weeks or when there are important developments will be the extent of your supervision. You have carte blanche to do whatever is necessary so long as you deliver Petrokov or his contact to AVALANCHE alive. If you get both, great. If only one of them lives, too bad for the dead man, it's the intel we care about."

"And, I suppose you have a name that you would prefer me to use?" Kemp asked.

She smiled, and it was genuinely friendly. "You may call me Valerie. And this is Allen, as you may have guessed. "And if you can't reach either of us, Veld is the man who's running this operation."

Kemp pocketed the packet, and nodded. "All right then, I guess I'd better get to work, if I'm going to redeem myself." The cigarette was burned out by now, so he dropped it on the ground to extinguish it with his shoe. "Is there anything else I need to know?"

"I think that about sums it up," Allen said. The two Turks turned to exit the alley. "Best of luck," Allen said over his shoulder.

"We look forward to hearing the good news!" Valerie said and with that, the two of them were gone. Barely a moment after they disappeared, rain started to fall from the darkened sky, and he hurried to get back inside the gym before he was soaked by the deluge. Lightning flashed again and this time, the thunder sounded like it was a lot closer. As he got back inside, he reached into the packet and pulled out the badge and the files. Sitting down on a bench by the fighting ring, he looked over them.

"Everything all right?" Leon asked from the front desk.

"Fine..." he murmured. He looked up at his friend. "Though I'm probably going to be a little busy for the next few days. Maybe longer, I'm not sure. I'll finish up today, and I'll give you a call once things have been worked out."

Leon nodded. "That's not a problem. So what was that about anyway?"

Kemp smiled, but it was a grim smile. "Someone's given me a second chance."

---

October 20th [ ν ] – εуλ 0001 10:00 PM

Later that night, Kemp was sitting in his apartment, looking over the documents in Valerie's packet. The storm raged outside, with no sign of stopping as the rain continued to fall in a steady deluge. Thunder rolled occasionally, but it was a small distraction from the constant sound of billions of droplets of water hitting the roof, outer walls and windows of the building.

The pictures and documents in front of him told him a lot of things. In the last year or so, Petrokov had been a very busy man indeed. He'd expanded much of his operations through the islands to the north and south. It was unclear which of those islands held his main base of operations, but it was probably near Costa, and it had to have a place where someone could locate a boat. These photos had vantage points the CPD didn't have access to. High definition images taken from drones rather than from the Cessnas that flew around here. Possible locations where criminals could hide out. And something even better.

He fingered the badge in front of him, which somehow had his photo on it from his old police badge. Better than anything else, he now had jurisdiction to do much more than simply stick to Costa territory while dealing with Petrokov. Now, the whole planet was his investigative turf, if he thought it necessary. "All right then, Turks, let's see what we can come up with."

---

November 11th [ ν ] – εуλ 0001 10:00 AM

The Cessna flew over the ocean towards its destination as the sun refracted over the water in countless points of light. It had taken Kemp two weeks to go through all the information the Turks had given him, most of it, sightings and accounts by informants, and then another week to narrow it down to this particular island towards which he was headed, just south of Costa. Now that he had that, all he needed to do was find the boat the cartel was using to deliver the goods.

Bringing the plane around, he brought it in to land near the small marina and after securing the pontoons to the dock, he climbed onto the planks. He was dressed like a tourist, in order to avoid attention. A little warmer than earlier in the year though, as he was actually wearing pants instead of shorts, but he retained his sunglasses and a flower-patterned shirt under his leather flight jacket.

Fortunately, Salt Grass Island, the name of this particular glorified sandbar was known for other things besides swimming, so being a tourist this time of year wasn't that hard to believe. It was a popular spot for nature lovers and there was lots of good fishing here.

He sauntered off the dock, casually surveying the scene for any indication that he was being watched. Finding none, he headed towards the small inn near the wharf and rented a room for the week before going out on the pretense of finding a good spot for fishing. Taking a sun hat, his pole, some bait, and a cooler, he set up on the end of a pier that had a view of almost the entire marina, and cast a line into the cold ocean. He'd already conducted a survey of the area from the air, and determined there was no other spot where the boat could be anchored without being visible. And while he couldn't see it now, that didn't mean it wasn't out and about, and he could at least catch some fish while he was waiting. Perhaps he could even make a little gil on his catch while he was at it. As he'd told Stella a time or two, sometimes this job was about being patient, and just putting out a fishing line…

---

It was a couple of hours later. Kemp's cooler had three respectably sized flounder in it, and Kemp was taking a break to eat a sandwich a vendor had offered him when he'd come out to cater to the tourists, when the boat finally appeared. It tied off a few docks away and Kemp watched as several men exited, one carrying a large cooler. He immediately recognized him as Andre.

Deciding he was done fishing for the day, he nonchalantly finished eating his lunch and packed up his equipment, taking special care to make sure he was unhurried. Any sign that he was reacting to them specifically might tip them off. Once he was certain he had all his belongings, he walked back to the inn, secure his fish in the small refrigerator, and then left his room, and exited the building with just enough time to see the direction Andre was headed. He followed them through the streets until they took a turn out of town and onto a dirt road lead into the interior of the island under a forest of knotted and scrubby pine trees. Glad that he had elected to wear hiking boots instead of flip-flops for this exercise, he concealed himself in the bushes and continued to follow. He could hear their movements off in the distance as a slight disturbance over the sound of the local birds and the surf, but it was enough to track them and soon, they had reached a small cottage in a clearing. It was well appointed, and most likely had been purchased legally, but it was obvious to whom it belonged.

Men guarded the entrance to the yard and the front door, armed with various weapons. Taking care to avoid being seen, Kemp crept around the outskirts of the clearing, moving slowly and being careful that no stray guard would see anything so much as twitch. Around the back he saw a single man standing watch at the door with a machine gun and a second one patrolling the area with a pair of daggers. After watching the patrol pattern for several minutes, he determined that the fellow with the knives was in a blind spot near the trees for several seconds at the farthest point out on his route. By now the sun was starting to set in the west, directing the eye of the guard out to the eastern shore which wasn't far away. The shadows near the building were long and he took advantage of them to get right up on the porch and quietly wrap his arm around Gun Guy's neck in an expert choke hold. Pulling his arm up with the crook of his elbow he felt the man go limp even as he half raised his hand tried to pull himself free.

As the man dropped unconscious, he sprinted across the porch to the blind spot Knife Guy was just coming out of and sent a side kick straight at the guy's face. He'd never really liked that he'd had to carry a side arm while with the police. His body was the perfect weapon on it's own, really, and now, he could use it to its full potential, as demonstrated quite dramatically by the fact that Knife Guy never saw it coming. He went flying into a nearby tree and dropped to the ground. Kemp was uncertain if the man's neck was broken, but there wasn't time to check.

Landing on his feet, he returned to the back door, running in a stealthy crouch and peeked in through a narrow window on the far side of the porch. It didn't appear that he'd been seen. There were two men inside but they were seated at a table in the kitchen, apparently focused on playing cards. Through the door to the front room, he spotted a familiar looking man seated in an easy chair, reading. A blond man with a roughly groomed mustache. The first man he'd fought at sparring night at the gym, he realized. He'd remembered it because his calling him 'detective' had been odd. And then he had a second revelation, one that made him burn with rage. He hadn't thought about it at the time because he'd been relaxed and in a place where he usually tried not thinking about work… the image of Isaac Petrokov's photo appeared in his mind and in his mind's eye he tried to imagine this man's face without a mustache or beard. It would have been an exact match.

Well then…

He cracked his knuckles, and opened the door. The two men looked up but he was on them just as they shouted, and he grabbed them both by their shirt collars and used their momentum to ram their heads together. They crumpled like dolls on the floor, one of them catching his cheek on the table and leaving a smear of blood across his face as he landed on the kitchen tiles. Another man appeared in the doorway, his gun at the ready but Kemp activated a Barrier materia he'd purchased from the shop in Costa just for this occasion, and as the first bullet pinged off his shield he punched the man straight in his face. He was too busy shooting at Kemp to block and he was knocked onto the living room floor. Two more men appeared as the first lay there, unmoving and Kemp grinned. One of them was Andre.

"Well detective, fancy seeing you here," the Andre said, "I thought the police would have been smart enough not to put a rabid dog back on the beat after he bit someone."

"Yeah, it's kinda funny that," Kemp said with a grin. "See, I'm not with the police anymore, and I don't think any of you are gonna like my new boss."

"And who vould that be detective?" Petrokov was standing now, confident in spite of Kemp's presence in his living room. And why shouldn't he be? He had several armed men up front that he was about to summon.

"If you come with me; and you will; you'll find out," Kemp said with a grin.

"And, you think it vill be that easy, yes?" Petrokov asked.

"You catch on quick," Kemp said.

Petrokov stood up, holding a smoking cigar in his hand that he had just lit. "I tell you vhat I vill do for you..." he said softly. "I know it vas some very bad business vhat happened. My man killed two of your partners and you broke his nose. And because I respect your skill in the ring, I vill make you this vone offer. You can stop now, and valk avay. Of course, you could run to the authorities, but this isn't our only operation here. This is your only chance. If you decide you must do the bidding of this new boss of yours, vell," he snapped his fingers and several other men appeared in the room. "I'm afraid, your friend at the gym vill be buying your last beer. Though if it makes you feel any better, I might have a man send it directly to him, along vith your dismembered fists to take to your 'new boss' as a varning."

"You could also just surrender quietly..." Kemp said, "But I think it's more likely you're going to make me kick every ass in this place and haul you out like a sack of potatoes. If that's the case, let's get to it. No need to keep people waiting."

Petrokov shrugged "If you put it that vay..." he turned to his goons and held up a small purse of gil. "To the man who kills him!" As he walked to the door, several of the other men in the room lunged for Kemp and several others pointed their guns at him. He had already activated his barrier again, and as the first of the three toughs to come after him tried to stab him with a knife he caught it in both hands, pushing it down away from him before whirling himself and the hand that carried the blade around in such away that he sliced open the other man's ribs with his own weapon before tossing him at the other two. One managed to duck out of the way and came in with a wild right haymaker, but Kemp stepped under the swing and neatly took out his opponent with two quick punches to his gut before going after the third guy who was just trying to pull himself out from under the guy he'd thrown at him.

Kemp offered him a quick kick to the head before Andre fired his gun along with the two other who were packing heat. The bullets bounced off his Barrier though he could feel it start to give a little as he charged forward, throwing the first gunman into the wall before taking the next one with a quick punch. Ahead of him he saw Andre, and the man fired his gun, smashing the barrier to pieces and he only just dodged quickly enough to avoid a fatal shot, but he peripherally felt it burn as it just grazed his arm. He didn't stop but instead continued, knocking him over with a spinning back kick.

Andre tried to roll out of the way, but Kemp grabbed him by the shoulder and sent a powerful punch straight at his nose, breaking it a second time and knocking him unconscious. Grabbing him by the shirt collar he dragged him out of the front door, in front of him.

Looking around, he saw that Petrokov was indeed waiting at the edge of the clearing, along with three other men with guns.

"Perhaps I should have sveetened the pot a little more," the man commented.

Kemp looked around, unconcerned before calling his barrier back up. "Or maybe, you shouldn't have had your guys killing cops, and dealing with AVALANCHE." With that, he tossed Andre's unconscious body ahead of him, hitting one of the gunman with it before running through a hail of machine gun fire and knocking another man to the ground. At that point he grinned as he saw that the final gunman had decided enough was enough and had run into the woods, leaving only Petrokov.

Looking around angrily, the man had thrown off his blazer and was rolling up the sleeves of his nice suit. Before he was done however, Kemp was already there, and sent him sprawling with a hard left punch. As he looked around the clearing, Kemp grunted in satisfaction. He'd gotten what he'd come for. "I pegged you wrong at the gym Petrokov, now that the gloves are off, you aren't even the illusion of a challenge."

Taking the two sets of handcuffs he'd brought with him, he put the first set around Petrokov's wrists, and then went over to take care of Andre's. Once he was done, he left the clearing, carrying both men over his shoulders back towards the marina. He had a call to make.

---

February 1st [ ν ] – εуλ 0002 11:00 AM

For all the drama involved in finding Petrokov and Andre, it had been an incredibly simple task to hand them over to Valerie and Allen. The two of them had thanked him and been on their way with his two quarries, telling him someone would be in touch, and so he had waited, in the mean time even cashing enough gil from his three flounder to pay for a celebratory meal at the Anchor.

About a week later, there had been a phone call from a man named Tseng who had asked that they set up a meeting a week later to discuss employment. He had not been surprised to see that it was the man with the ponytail who had talked to Frank Ledge. The meeting had proceeded very well, he thought, though he had not heard anything for quite a while.

After several weeks in limbo however, he'd gotten a rather odd call from Tseng telling him to make plans for moving to Junon and to take a specific boat that would go that way as soon as he was able. The explanation being that leadership in the Turks was experiencing some turnover, but that it shouldn't affect his recruitment for long. Not really questioning it, he'd made what preparations he needed to and did as he was told. He'd heard there were plenty of jobs there he could work in the meantime, and the pickings were probably better than in Costa.

He was standing out on the deck of the ship, watching the bow roll over the ocean ahead. The boat was supposed to arrive in Junon in two days.

He was watching the waves and swells ahead when he saw a dark shape flying towards the ship. As it approached, the sound of rotors filled the air, and he realized it was a helicopter. Deckhands cleared the area and the smaller vehicle came to land as a woman with long silvery hair in a dark suit disembarked from the aircraft. As the rotors died, she looked around and spotted him.

She approached purposefully a package under her arm. "You're Kemp?" she asked.

He nodded and she held the package out to him once she was close enough. "We have an emergency and the Director of the Turks has asked that we get you to Junon early to assist with the current situation."

"Even though I'm not even in the system yet?" he asked.

She gave him a look of impatience. "Your orders are in the file inside that package, along with your company PHS, and uniform. Don't worry about your belongings. They will be taken care of when the boat reaches Junon. You need to be there before it does."

Kemp smiled. "I see. I guess you'll want me to change on the way then?"

She nodded. "No time for dawdling, let's go!"

As they walked over to helicopter, Kemp asked, "So, what may I call you, miss?"

"Liz," the woman said, her voice stiff.

"It's a pleasure to meet you Liz," Kemp said politely.

Liz climbed into the helicopter and made her way to the cockpit. "Secure the door, get your suit on, and get to the copilot's seat, we don't have all day," she growled.

"Don't worry, I'm on it," he said placatingly. He pulled the door shut, and then, as the rotors on the helicopter started to turn, he pulled open the package. Inside, as Liz had said, there was a file, a PHS, and a dark suit. That was the moment, when his new life as a Turk suddenly became real. As he pulled it on, the rotors began to spin faster. He had only just straightened his tie and sat down in the copilot's chair when the helicopter took off. He read the files quickly, determined that he would not ruin this second chance he'd been given.

---

See ya'll next time.