Chapter 39: The Turks Have Everything Under Control
The Turks did not have everything under control.
Veld blew out a long breath of air as he switched off the speakerphone on his desk. He glared at the copy of The Midgar Mirror with its obnoxious headlines lying right in front of him, and fervently wished he'd never answered that call. He could have let it go to voice mail. It would have been fine. Sephiroth would have left a succinct message detailing the issue and requesting assistance, and Veld would never have known that the three strongest SOLDIERs on the Planet were going utterly mad.
That on top of the Presidents fucking repulsive and flat-out stupid email? Ignorance truly was bliss, at least sometimes. He'd never thought he'd embrace that hoary old aphorism. Him, a seasoned, veteran Turk who'd seen it all, but now...
Tseng sat across from him, looking so impossibly straight-faced that Veld knew he must be repressing laughter. How he'd stayed so silent and professional throughout that insane, chaotic phone call, Veld would never know.
"SOLDIER Central is burning down," Veld said wryly, picking at his good thumb with his prosthetic fingers until a hangnail formed. He ruthlessly ripped it out, ignoring the tiny drop of blood that welled up.
"They did sound a bit...unsettled." Sometimes Tseng had a diplomatic way with words. At Veld's displeased expression, he amended, "Perhaps high strung is a better descriptor."
"They're losing their fucking minds."
"You think it isn't good to have those particular SOLDIERs be so...disturbed." Tseng continued to be tactful.
"There's an understatement if ever I've heard one." Veld felt no need to be tactful at all, and wished Tseng would just state the obvious that they all knew and feared. "Any SOLDIERs going off the deep end would be bad enough, but those three? If they hadn't had self-control drilled into them, they could probably knock down the entire Plate in a fit of pique." All right, that might be an exaggeration, but not much of one.
Sephiroth, at least, had been trained since infancy to be a living weapon, which included having exceptional control over himself. While Rhapsodos and Hewley's childhoods hadn't been anywhere near as regimented, both had also been monitored and...guided. When even as kindergarteners they had shown signs of being stronger and faster than their peers, they had been subtly directed into approved behavior and life goals by Shinra-appointed schoolteachers and undercover Turks working as Banoran townsfolk.
Could all that indoctrination, training, and discipline evaporate as a result of some nasty tabloid headlines? Granted, the Mirror's latest headlines were particularly malignant, and the stories accompanying them even worse, but surely the SOLDIERs could contain their more destructive urges.
"Their current mood does seem to have gone beyond mere pique," Tseng agreed. "However, I believe they are just blowing off steam with safe companions."
"You really think that's all it is?" Veld asked with ridiculous hope. He finally wiped the pinpoint of blood from his self-inflicted thumb wound.
"Certainly. Recall that you have told me how surprised you were by their casual behavior with one another when in private. We must remember that they're only in their early twenties and have the strong emotions to match."
"Stop being so reasonable when I'm enjoying a perfectly good panic attack."
Tseng smiled.
Veld gave him a sidelong look. Tseng really had no business being smug about young men with strong emotions. He was in the same age range as those three lunatic SOLDIERs.
"I suppose," Veld said, letting Tseng's conceit go as irrelevant to the matter at hand, "them yelling at each other is better than them going out to a bar or something and breaking a few heads."
"Indeed. Not unlike certain Turks."
Veld laughed out loud. "Reno, you mean. What a mess he made last week. Better Sephiroth and his friends break each other's heads, instead of the general public's. Less mop-up work for us!"
"Perhaps they should be encouraged to go burn off their tempers in a training room, monster killing in the Wastes, or some other aggressive physical activity."
"They'll do that eventually, anyway, but I'll suggest it to Director Deusericus next time I talk with him. I'm sure they'll think of it on their own once they stop shouting and throwing fits. I hope what little I was able to tell Sephiroth will help."
"I was surprised that Sephiroth accepted your word on this matter so readily, considering you provided no substance to back it up."
Veld snorted inelegantly at that. "All that insane chaos going on over there helped. With all the interruptions, I never had to give him any solid information or details. Just reassurance, which I think is all he was really after. Thank Shiva."
"Thank Shiva, indeed, since to my knowledge there are no plans going forward to handle this problem. Unless you called me in to discuss such matters?" Tseng actually looked hopeful.
"Yes," Veld said shortly. What a shame Tseng's naïve hope would soon be quashed, he thought with heartfelt resignation, and scowled all his hatred at the ugly tabloid before him. He even crumpled the front page in frustration.
Tseng watched patiently in silence, no trace of any discomfort marring his features.
Veld smothered a sigh, pushed the wrinkled paper aside, and typed a few commands into his computer. "Before Sephiroth called and inflicted his madhouse on us, I was going to show you this." He swung the monitor around so Tseng could read the email. "New orders from on high regarding our current clusterfuck."
Tseng leaned forward, pressing against the desk. He frowned. "They aren't interested in what the tabloids are printing anymore?"
"Word from the President himself." Veld felt rage building in him again just at the sight of that fucking stupid email, and wrestled it down mercilessly. No sense dumping it on Tseng. That would be unprofessional. He barely repressed a snort.
Tseng's eyes moved to the address headers of the official missive. "So I see. How extraordinary."
"What, orders from him personally? Not really," Veld turned the monitor back around, keeping the movement slow to disguise his renewed anger. "He wanted the centerfold problem fixed as soon as it went public. What's extraordinary is that he and his advisors seem to have lost interest in what those Planet forsaken scandalmongers are doing now. The centerfold taskforce is to concentrate all its efforts on locating the rogue copy of Barely Legal, instead."
Veld had been sending the President regular updates, but he had gotten fewer and fewer responses as the operation proceeded. The feedback had stopped entirely after PR had made their announcement to the world that the centerfold was faked. Not only that, but the Turks hadn't received even a single congratulatory note on a job well done.
Asshole.
That was the nicest thing he'd called President Shinra since receiving that fucking stupid email.
"But that trail is cold," Tseng said. "No one we've contacted knows anything. Are there any new leads?"
"None. It's like it evaporated off the face of the Planet."
"Its current holder is probably sitting on it, then."
"Whoever stole it certainly isn't bragging about it in public, that's for sure," Veld said, scowling. "And yet we're supposed to make it a top priority. We can only hope it surfaces again, maybe to change hands. If a dedicated collector's got it, it's probably gone for good."
"That would not be a terrible outcome, if only we could trust that it will stay buried."
"Of course, we can't trust to that."
"No. So we have no fresh trails to follow to find the original porno, and additionally we aren't going to curb the tabloids at all." Tseng nodded absently, his eyes staring blankly as he ran through some scenarios in his head. He looked very unhappy with the answers that came to him. "The SOLDIERs aren't going to like that. Their reputations are being smeared by the Mirror in a most unconscionable way, and that affects the entire company's public image."
"Seems fucking stupid, I know, but the President's flat out ordered us to drop all actions against The Midgar Mirror. We're to leave them strictly alone from now on. Same for the other media outlets running related stories. Now that the centerfold images are discredited, the tabloids have changed their narrative to moronic fiction. That's all the higher-ups seem to care about. The usual hands-off policy is officially in place, same as for normal tabloid nonsense."
"This is not normal tabloid nonsense," Tseng protested. "It's too damaging to the company as a whole. Surely the President can see that."
Veld shrugged brusquely and huffed. "Don't ask me to explain it. It's horseshit, but orders are orders. The President's advisors seem to think the story will eventually burn itself out as the public tires of it and the so-called reporters overtax their imaginations. He agrees with those bureaucratic bootlickers of his."
"That scenario doesn't seem likely."
"No kidding. We'll just have to be ready to clean up the mess when he changes his mind yet again."
"Let us hope that Director Deusericus can keep control of his men."
"Particularly Hewley. From what Deusericus has said about him, he's ready to march over to the Mirror's office building and tear it down with his bare hands. After that phone call, I believe it."
Tseng sat back in his chair. Amusement lit his dark eyes. "I shouldn't admit this, but I would very much like to see that."
"Yeah, me too." Veld grinned viciously, imagining the scenario with glee. "It's no less than those gossipmongers deserve."
"SOLDIER Hewley is not living up to his public reputation."
Veld chuckled. "What, about him being the so-called nice, normal one? I figure that was always a truckload of crap that PR made up about him a long time ago. He's no more normal than his two buddies. He's just not as flashy." He eyed Tseng mischievously. "I wonder, would Sephiroth and Rhapsodos help him knock down the Mirror's building or just sit back with a bowl of popcorn and watch the show?"
"I wouldn't want to put money on such a bet."
No kidding. Veld wondered if either man would bother to lift a single pinky finger to stop Hewley if things got that bad, and rather thought they might very well join in the fun, instead. And since the Turks were forbidden to interfere with the tabloids, the situation was sure to deteriorate. "Yeah, fifty-fifty odds on that one. I'll call Deusericus and ask him to shorten the leashes on those three SOLDIERs. We haven't really discussed the necessity before, but then neither of us ever suspected the tabloids would be allowed to run roughshod over his men's reputations like this. I hope he'll know how to manage them. If that phone call was anything to go by, they're going to go completely batshit soon."
"They will not be pacified by reassurances without substance forever," Tseng pointed out.
Veld dropped his head to his desk with a heavy clunk, then lifted it again to look Tseng dead in the eye. "No, they won't."
Next time: SOLDIERS AT WAR! Oh no!
