Evolution of a Turk
I present to you a piece written to explore Reno's past and resolve. What do you think?
“I’ll leave!”
“Ya wanna leave? Then leave! Where’s a tramp like you gonna go, huh?”
“Stop!”
Smack
“You stay outta this!”
Reno tumbled back into his room. The door slammed shut against his foot. He yelped and curled into a tight little ball, biting back tears. He listened to the crashes and yelling coming from beyond the door. He hated this. He hated living in the city. He hated not being able to feel the rain or properly see the sun. He hated the way his parents fought. He hated the way they treated him. He wasn’t asking to be showered in gifts and affection, dammit! All he wanted was a little praise. Someone to tell him he was doing something right. An actual home to come home to after school, when all he wanted was someone to give him his space because he’d had another rotten day.
“Get out! Get out!”
They were really on a roll tonight. Not even an hour had gone by, and already his mother was trying to throw his dad out of the house. It had to be some kind of record.
“This is my house, bitch! You get out!”
Now there’s an idea.
Reno got up and scurried around his closet of a room, cramming things into his duffel bag. It was about time he listened to his folks.
-------------------------------------------------------------
It wasn’t as hard as he’d thought. There were a number of shelters throughout the city that took in kids who didn’t have anywhere else to go. He found one that had rooms available, and ended up with three older guys and a girl who snuck in to sleep with her boyfriend. That was a little awkward for a few days, but Reno had gotten used to sleeping through his parents’ fights, so the new arrangement was relatively easy to get over. He had the top bunk above the window.
He went to school, just like always. Then he headed back to the shelter and did his homework. After that, he ate, did dishes, and helped out in whatever ways he could. It made life a little easier when he was on the good side of just about everyone who worked there, and the treats he was given every now and then made it worth his time. By the time he was finished, the showers were almost empty and he could clean up before bed. It wasn’t great, but it was a life, and it was better than home. He just wished he could fit in.
Three years passed. His roommates changed twice. His bunk stayed the same. He grew into a teenager. He scrounged enough money to get two tattoos on his cheekbones as a present to himself for his 14th birthday. He still didn’t fit in.
-------------------------------------------------------------
“Hey, man. Y’okay?”
Reno looked up sharply. Max, one of his roommates, was on the edge of the ladder. He was a small guy, a year younger than Reno’s 16 years and eight months. Reno shook his head. Does it look like he’s fine? He was curled up on the bed, clutching at his legs. He’d been growing again, and his knees couldn’t keep up. It hurt like hell, almost enough to make him cry, especially today, when the damp from heavy rain made him stiff.
“No.”
“C’mon down. I’ve got somethin’ that’ll help.”
Max waved and ducked into his bunk. Reno hesitated, and then followed.
All four of them crammed themselves onto Max’s bunk, Aidan half hanging out the window to make room when Hoku didn’t want to move. Max rummaged under the bed and came up with a palm-sized tin.
“Got some of the good stuff down in Sector Three,” he said.
Aidan and Hoku made pleased sounds. Reno waited to see what they were talking about.
Max took a lighter, a plastic bag, and a glass pipe out of the tin. Reno watched, fascinated, as Max carefully packed the bowl of the pipe, then applied the lighter and put the pipe to his lips, taking a long drag. Sweet smoke drifted out the window. Reno sniffed with mild interest, though he had no idea how this was going to help his legs.
The pipe was passed around, and Reno hesitated when it came to him. He’d never done anything like this, and he didn’t want to look like an idiot.
“He’s a first-timer,” Hoku said at once. “Give him a shot-gun, Aidan. It’s easier that way.”
Aidan nodded and took another drag, then pounced on Reno and crushed their lips together. “Inhale,” Hoku ordered. Reno did, and his throat was flooded with the smoke. He bit down hard on a cough and waited for Aidan to pull away.
“Not even a cough,” Aidan said, sounding impressed. “He’s a natural.”
Reno felt like he fit in.
After a few hits, he forgot about his legs.
-------------------------------------------------------------
After the weed came other drugs, brought to him by Aidan, Max, Hoku, and a few of their friends that lived on the streets. It felt so good when he was on something. Nothing mattered. He didn’t have to worry about school, or the jocks that liked to knock him down, or the girls that giggled when he walked by, or the teachers that hated everyone. His world was a better place. He wanted to keep going to it. He needed to keep going to it, and pretty soon, he had a small stash under his mattress, just like the other guys.
He took to doing odd jobs to pay for his addictions. He was strong in spite of being skinny, and he could work hard when he wanted to. When it meant another trip to his almost-perfect world, he could do it. He could push on despite how tired he was. A few shakes were easy to ignore when a few more hours would get him enough to keep him happy for the week...for the next couple of days…for a day.
Reno realized what he’d done to himself around the same time the shelter threw him and his friends out. He saw his reflection in a puddle that evening; He looked strange, pale and skinny, dark shadows under his eyes. He saw what he had become. He wasn’t sure how he felt. He was a part of the group, though, and that was enough.
The four of them holed up in an abandoned house in Sector Three. It wasn’t so bad; it had running water and minimal electricity. They found a bunch of the thermal blankets that moving companies used to cushion furniture and they were warm and comfortable, even in the middle of winter.
Reno woke up to a corpse the following March. He just rolled over that morning, stretching luxuriously under his blankets, and one of his fists hit Aidan, who slept next to him. Reno rolled onto his side to apologize, and was met with a blank, unblinking stare. Aidan wasn’t moving. He wasn’t breathing. He had no pulse. Reno screamed.
“What is it?”
“He’s dead!” Reno shrieked. “Aidan’s…he’s…he’s dead!”
All they could do was move the body. They left him on the back step of a crematorium. With any luck, he’d be cremated.
Some part of Reno’s brain noted that it was the drugs that had done it. He had to get away. He grabbed his duffle and ran.
-------------------------------------------------------------
He came to a stop deep in the slums, scared and panting. His hands were shaking, so he darted into a dark alley and unloaded his kit. He didn’t have time for a joint, so he chose a luminescent vial of glow and loaded his syringe. Sliding the needle into his arm was easy now, as if he was putting a knife into a custom-made sheath. The rush of power that followed made him forget the pain. He was above the pain. He controlled the pain.
“Hey, kid.”
Reno looked up sharply.
“Me?”
“Yeah, you. Wanna job?” A rail-thin man slunk out of a doorway and leaned against the wall beside Reno.
“I’m good,” Reno said quickly.
“Really? How ‘bout I hook you up with more of that?” The guy gestured at the half-empty vial in Reno’s lap. “I know someone who sells.”
“What kind of job?”
It was a gang of sorts that he’d joined. They stole and delivered and hired out for violence. It paid enough, and he had friends again. They taught him to drink, smoke, and sleep around. He went wild.
He was nineteen when he saw his first Turk. It was after a job, when he was on his way to his favorite bar, a place where women and booze were cheap and nobody asked questions. He ran smack into a broad chest and sat down hard, looking up at once with a dozen choice curses on his lips. Then he stopped.
“Aren’t you going to start yelling at me?” the man asked, sounding amused. Reno shook his head. This giant of a man, a navy-blue suit of perfect cut, smiled slightly. “How different.” Then he strolled away, acting as if he ruled the slums.
“Dude…you’re lucky to be alive,” Akira whispered. “He must’ve been in a really good mood. Most of ‘em will just shoot.”
“Who?”
“The Turks. They work for ShinRa. They take all types, I’ve heard. Nutcases and psychos, even, ‘cuz they can kill without thinkin’ ‘bout it.”
I want to be one.
He couldn’t even consider applying when he was on glow, and he knew it. It was a Mako-based drug, the most illegal class of all. Possession could net him a few decades in prison; selling it could land him the death penalty. Using it would seriously jeopardize his chance at getting in.
“This is it,” he said softly, and threw his kit into a storm drain.
-------------------------------------------------------------
“I can do this,” he hissed through clenched teeth. “I can, dammit. I’m better than this.”
Thunder crashed above the plate, sending an echoing boom through the streets below it. The drainage pipe Reno was huddled against leaked, and a constant stream of cold rainwater trickled over his shoulders and down his back.
“I can do this, I really…ShitIcan’tdothis.”
It hurt too much. Everything hurt. Breathing, blinking, even thinking. Every fiber of his being screamed for the Mako he’d been on for the last two and a half years.
“Makeitstopmakeitstopmakeitst-“ His stomach twisted, and he hunched over with a retch.
The water turned into a pool around him, furthering his misery but helping to cool his body when the fever hit. Reno fell to his side, curled tightly into a ball, his nails digging into his skin, fighting the need that burned in his veins. He babbled endlessly, begging, pleading, swearing, anything to keep even a small part of his mind on something else.
“I’vegottodothisIcan’tbeaTurkifIcan’tdothisIhavetobeaTurkIhaveto-“
“A Turk, you said?”
Something splashed into Reno’s puddle. It was a pair of expensive leather boots. Very long legs extended from them up to somewhere that Reno couldn’t see because he was shaking so hard moving was difficult.
“PromisedandI’lldoitIhavetoGodhelpmepleaseithurtssobad.”
A warm hand lifted his chin.
“Glow withdrawal? So you can apply?”
Reno didn’t answer. He couldn’t.
“AnyonehelpmeIcan’tdoitI’mgonnadieandIwon’tbeabletotryIhavetotry.”
Someone rolled him onto his back, and he found himself staring into eyes so dark a green they were almost black and a red dot set right just above the bridge of a long, slim nose. Dark wisps of hair were plastered to the man’s golden skin by the rain.
Wutai,” Reno’s brain supplied. Like Hoku and Akira.
Strong hands slid under him and lifted him into the air.
“Come on, kid. Let’s get you inside.”
-------------------------------------------------------------
“No. Absolutely not.”
“Why the hell not?”
Whap
“Hey!”
“We agreed that you would keep your language to a minimum while here.”
“That was a minimum! One damn word!”
Whap
“Ow!”
“The answer is no, Reno. I refuse to even consider presenting you to my colleagues with that hair.”
“What’s wrong with my hair, yo? It’s clean, isn’t it?”
“That is not the issue. Now, I’ve scheduled you for a haircut tomorrow, and you will go without a fuss.”
“Will not!” Reno squawked. “I am so not cutting my hair.”
Tseng raised one eyebrow.
“You are so going to listen to me, or you can wait until the next recruiting session like everyone else. If you disgrace me, not only will you lose your chance, you may get me into trouble, and that will be the end for you. You are getting your hair cut tomorrow at two. Get over it.”
Reno hesitated, then slumped in the chair.
“How short? I don’t have to get it buzz-cut, do I?”
Tseng chuckled, and Reno wanted to throw something at him. As far as he was concerned, the few things that made them different were social status, color (not race; Reno was pretty sure he was a global mutt and therefore had a bit of Wutai in him), and skill. Tseng had nothing he didn’t or couldn’t have.
“No, a buzz-cut won’t be necessary. However…your hair will be cut to a length I deem appropriate. Assuming you are accepted, you’ll want it out of your way while you train. Don’t make that face at me; I’m speaking from experience. Having your hair in your face when the combat instructor is about to pound you into the mat is not advisable. You will be pounded into the mat. It will hurt. It will be in the presence of all the superiors you happen to look up to. They will laugh. You will be humiliated and want to crawl under the mat and never come out. I am making you do this in the hope that you will be spared that particular indignity, since Leviathan knows you’ll get more than your share.”
“Will not,” Reno sniffed.
“You will. Now move. You’re on KP duty tonight.”
“But I thought you said-“
“I found a copy of Cooking for Dummies. You haven’t managed to burn water yet, but you’ve come close, so I believe it’s right up your alle-umph!”
Reno threw a sofa cushion. It hit Tseng squarely in the face.
“Bulls-eye!” Reno cheered.
“Kitchen. Now,” Tseng growled. Reno quailed under his stare and hightailed it for the kitchen.
-------------------------------------------------------------
It was strange to be back in the slums now, after four years of living above the plate and working in some of the better areas under it. It was the same as it always had been; dark and dangerous in places, sad and dejected in others, and quietly lively in a few select areas.
“Guess some things don’t change, huh?” he murmured.
A handful of skinny kids ran into him. He stayed upright by virtue of experience and grabbed one of the kids by the arm.
“Give it back, kid.”
“Give what back?” The kid asked. He was a grubby beanpole of about thirteen years, with a messy thatch of brown hair that fell into big hazel eyes. Of course. A cute one.
“My wallet.”
“I didn’t take your wallet.”
Reno rolled his eyes and pulled his wallet out of the front the boy’s shirt.
“I’m not stupid, yo. Runnin’ into me in a group is the oldest trick in the book, and I ain’t gonna fall for it.”
It was easy to see the surprise in the kid’s eyes when he let the language of the slums roll off his tongue. It felt good, and he decided that he was keeping it. There were some things, like his hair and his tattoos, that he wouldn’t let anyone take away, and this was going to be one of them.
“You’re…you’re from here?” One of the kid’s partners in crime had crept back to determine the fate of his friend.
“Sector Two, kid. Eight years away from home.”
“And you’re a Turk?”
“You bet.”
“You can do that?”
“Do what?”
“Go from here to…there.”
Reno grinned and nodded. The kids stared at him.
“All it takes is wantin’ it, yo. Keep wanting long enough, and you’ll find a way to get it.”
“Reno! We are on a schedule! I don’t have time for you to give a ‘don’t do drugs, kiddies’ lecture!” Tseng yelled. He was halfway down the block, hands on hips, tapping one foot impatiently.
“I’m comin’!” Reno yelled back.
“Who’s he?” The brunette asked.
“My boss. My real partner’s on a different roster, so I’m stuck with ‘im.”
“Does that mean you have to go?”
“Sorry. Duty calls, yo. An’ try a different trick. You’ll always get caught with the one you’re using.”
The kids exchanged looks. Reno noted their expression and sighed.
“Get cute kids- not young, just cute, like you- and try the sympathy card.”
“The what?”
“Pretend t’ be lost, or beat up, or somethin’ like that. Lots of whimperin’ and fake sobs. Works real well.”
“Reno!”
“Gotta go. Later!”
Reno took off down the road, waving over his shoulder. The kids waved back. Up ahead, Tseng waited at the mouth of a gloomy alley.
“This just screams ‘Bad Idea’, y’know?”
“In case you hadn’t noticed, we spend most of our time in such places. Get ahead of me. I want to be able to keep an eye one you.”
“Gimme some credit, yo. Rude can tell ya that I’m a real good Turk.”
“I thought we’d done something about that mouth, Reno.”
“I am who I am, boss.”
“That you are.”
“I’ll leave!”
“Ya wanna leave? Then leave! Where’s a tramp like you gonna go, huh?”
“Stop!”
Smack
“You stay outta this!”
Reno tumbled back into his room. The door slammed shut against his foot. He yelped and curled into a tight little ball, biting back tears. He listened to the crashes and yelling coming from beyond the door. He hated this. He hated living in the city. He hated not being able to feel the rain or properly see the sun. He hated the way his parents fought. He hated the way they treated him. He wasn’t asking to be showered in gifts and affection, dammit! All he wanted was a little praise. Someone to tell him he was doing something right. An actual home to come home to after school, when all he wanted was someone to give him his space because he’d had another rotten day.
“Get out! Get out!”
They were really on a roll tonight. Not even an hour had gone by, and already his mother was trying to throw his dad out of the house. It had to be some kind of record.
“This is my house, bitch! You get out!”
Now there’s an idea.
Reno got up and scurried around his closet of a room, cramming things into his duffel bag. It was about time he listened to his folks.
-------------------------------------------------------------
It wasn’t as hard as he’d thought. There were a number of shelters throughout the city that took in kids who didn’t have anywhere else to go. He found one that had rooms available, and ended up with three older guys and a girl who snuck in to sleep with her boyfriend. That was a little awkward for a few days, but Reno had gotten used to sleeping through his parents’ fights, so the new arrangement was relatively easy to get over. He had the top bunk above the window.
He went to school, just like always. Then he headed back to the shelter and did his homework. After that, he ate, did dishes, and helped out in whatever ways he could. It made life a little easier when he was on the good side of just about everyone who worked there, and the treats he was given every now and then made it worth his time. By the time he was finished, the showers were almost empty and he could clean up before bed. It wasn’t great, but it was a life, and it was better than home. He just wished he could fit in.
Three years passed. His roommates changed twice. His bunk stayed the same. He grew into a teenager. He scrounged enough money to get two tattoos on his cheekbones as a present to himself for his 14th birthday. He still didn’t fit in.
-------------------------------------------------------------
“Hey, man. Y’okay?”
Reno looked up sharply. Max, one of his roommates, was on the edge of the ladder. He was a small guy, a year younger than Reno’s 16 years and eight months. Reno shook his head. Does it look like he’s fine? He was curled up on the bed, clutching at his legs. He’d been growing again, and his knees couldn’t keep up. It hurt like hell, almost enough to make him cry, especially today, when the damp from heavy rain made him stiff.
“No.”
“C’mon down. I’ve got somethin’ that’ll help.”
Max waved and ducked into his bunk. Reno hesitated, and then followed.
All four of them crammed themselves onto Max’s bunk, Aidan half hanging out the window to make room when Hoku didn’t want to move. Max rummaged under the bed and came up with a palm-sized tin.
“Got some of the good stuff down in Sector Three,” he said.
Aidan and Hoku made pleased sounds. Reno waited to see what they were talking about.
Max took a lighter, a plastic bag, and a glass pipe out of the tin. Reno watched, fascinated, as Max carefully packed the bowl of the pipe, then applied the lighter and put the pipe to his lips, taking a long drag. Sweet smoke drifted out the window. Reno sniffed with mild interest, though he had no idea how this was going to help his legs.
The pipe was passed around, and Reno hesitated when it came to him. He’d never done anything like this, and he didn’t want to look like an idiot.
“He’s a first-timer,” Hoku said at once. “Give him a shot-gun, Aidan. It’s easier that way.”
Aidan nodded and took another drag, then pounced on Reno and crushed their lips together. “Inhale,” Hoku ordered. Reno did, and his throat was flooded with the smoke. He bit down hard on a cough and waited for Aidan to pull away.
“Not even a cough,” Aidan said, sounding impressed. “He’s a natural.”
Reno felt like he fit in.
After a few hits, he forgot about his legs.
-------------------------------------------------------------
After the weed came other drugs, brought to him by Aidan, Max, Hoku, and a few of their friends that lived on the streets. It felt so good when he was on something. Nothing mattered. He didn’t have to worry about school, or the jocks that liked to knock him down, or the girls that giggled when he walked by, or the teachers that hated everyone. His world was a better place. He wanted to keep going to it. He needed to keep going to it, and pretty soon, he had a small stash under his mattress, just like the other guys.
He took to doing odd jobs to pay for his addictions. He was strong in spite of being skinny, and he could work hard when he wanted to. When it meant another trip to his almost-perfect world, he could do it. He could push on despite how tired he was. A few shakes were easy to ignore when a few more hours would get him enough to keep him happy for the week...for the next couple of days…for a day.
Reno realized what he’d done to himself around the same time the shelter threw him and his friends out. He saw his reflection in a puddle that evening; He looked strange, pale and skinny, dark shadows under his eyes. He saw what he had become. He wasn’t sure how he felt. He was a part of the group, though, and that was enough.
The four of them holed up in an abandoned house in Sector Three. It wasn’t so bad; it had running water and minimal electricity. They found a bunch of the thermal blankets that moving companies used to cushion furniture and they were warm and comfortable, even in the middle of winter.
Reno woke up to a corpse the following March. He just rolled over that morning, stretching luxuriously under his blankets, and one of his fists hit Aidan, who slept next to him. Reno rolled onto his side to apologize, and was met with a blank, unblinking stare. Aidan wasn’t moving. He wasn’t breathing. He had no pulse. Reno screamed.
“What is it?”
“He’s dead!” Reno shrieked. “Aidan’s…he’s…he’s dead!”
All they could do was move the body. They left him on the back step of a crematorium. With any luck, he’d be cremated.
Some part of Reno’s brain noted that it was the drugs that had done it. He had to get away. He grabbed his duffle and ran.
-------------------------------------------------------------
He came to a stop deep in the slums, scared and panting. His hands were shaking, so he darted into a dark alley and unloaded his kit. He didn’t have time for a joint, so he chose a luminescent vial of glow and loaded his syringe. Sliding the needle into his arm was easy now, as if he was putting a knife into a custom-made sheath. The rush of power that followed made him forget the pain. He was above the pain. He controlled the pain.
“Hey, kid.”
Reno looked up sharply.
“Me?”
“Yeah, you. Wanna job?” A rail-thin man slunk out of a doorway and leaned against the wall beside Reno.
“I’m good,” Reno said quickly.
“Really? How ‘bout I hook you up with more of that?” The guy gestured at the half-empty vial in Reno’s lap. “I know someone who sells.”
“What kind of job?”
It was a gang of sorts that he’d joined. They stole and delivered and hired out for violence. It paid enough, and he had friends again. They taught him to drink, smoke, and sleep around. He went wild.
He was nineteen when he saw his first Turk. It was after a job, when he was on his way to his favorite bar, a place where women and booze were cheap and nobody asked questions. He ran smack into a broad chest and sat down hard, looking up at once with a dozen choice curses on his lips. Then he stopped.
“Aren’t you going to start yelling at me?” the man asked, sounding amused. Reno shook his head. This giant of a man, a navy-blue suit of perfect cut, smiled slightly. “How different.” Then he strolled away, acting as if he ruled the slums.
“Dude…you’re lucky to be alive,” Akira whispered. “He must’ve been in a really good mood. Most of ‘em will just shoot.”
“Who?”
“The Turks. They work for ShinRa. They take all types, I’ve heard. Nutcases and psychos, even, ‘cuz they can kill without thinkin’ ‘bout it.”
I want to be one.
He couldn’t even consider applying when he was on glow, and he knew it. It was a Mako-based drug, the most illegal class of all. Possession could net him a few decades in prison; selling it could land him the death penalty. Using it would seriously jeopardize his chance at getting in.
“This is it,” he said softly, and threw his kit into a storm drain.
-------------------------------------------------------------
“I can do this,” he hissed through clenched teeth. “I can, dammit. I’m better than this.”
Thunder crashed above the plate, sending an echoing boom through the streets below it. The drainage pipe Reno was huddled against leaked, and a constant stream of cold rainwater trickled over his shoulders and down his back.
“I can do this, I really…ShitIcan’tdothis.”
It hurt too much. Everything hurt. Breathing, blinking, even thinking. Every fiber of his being screamed for the Mako he’d been on for the last two and a half years.
“Makeitstopmakeitstopmakeitst-“ His stomach twisted, and he hunched over with a retch.
The water turned into a pool around him, furthering his misery but helping to cool his body when the fever hit. Reno fell to his side, curled tightly into a ball, his nails digging into his skin, fighting the need that burned in his veins. He babbled endlessly, begging, pleading, swearing, anything to keep even a small part of his mind on something else.
“I’vegottodothisIcan’tbeaTurkifIcan’tdothisIhavetobeaTurkIhaveto-“
“A Turk, you said?”
Something splashed into Reno’s puddle. It was a pair of expensive leather boots. Very long legs extended from them up to somewhere that Reno couldn’t see because he was shaking so hard moving was difficult.
“PromisedandI’lldoitIhavetoGodhelpmepleaseithurtssobad.”
A warm hand lifted his chin.
“Glow withdrawal? So you can apply?”
Reno didn’t answer. He couldn’t.
“AnyonehelpmeIcan’tdoitI’mgonnadieandIwon’tbeabletotryIhavetotry.”
Someone rolled him onto his back, and he found himself staring into eyes so dark a green they were almost black and a red dot set right just above the bridge of a long, slim nose. Dark wisps of hair were plastered to the man’s golden skin by the rain.
Wutai,” Reno’s brain supplied. Like Hoku and Akira.
Strong hands slid under him and lifted him into the air.
“Come on, kid. Let’s get you inside.”
-------------------------------------------------------------
“No. Absolutely not.”
“Why the hell not?”
Whap
“Hey!”
“We agreed that you would keep your language to a minimum while here.”
“That was a minimum! One damn word!”
Whap
“Ow!”
“The answer is no, Reno. I refuse to even consider presenting you to my colleagues with that hair.”
“What’s wrong with my hair, yo? It’s clean, isn’t it?”
“That is not the issue. Now, I’ve scheduled you for a haircut tomorrow, and you will go without a fuss.”
“Will not!” Reno squawked. “I am so not cutting my hair.”
Tseng raised one eyebrow.
“You are so going to listen to me, or you can wait until the next recruiting session like everyone else. If you disgrace me, not only will you lose your chance, you may get me into trouble, and that will be the end for you. You are getting your hair cut tomorrow at two. Get over it.”
Reno hesitated, then slumped in the chair.
“How short? I don’t have to get it buzz-cut, do I?”
Tseng chuckled, and Reno wanted to throw something at him. As far as he was concerned, the few things that made them different were social status, color (not race; Reno was pretty sure he was a global mutt and therefore had a bit of Wutai in him), and skill. Tseng had nothing he didn’t or couldn’t have.
“No, a buzz-cut won’t be necessary. However…your hair will be cut to a length I deem appropriate. Assuming you are accepted, you’ll want it out of your way while you train. Don’t make that face at me; I’m speaking from experience. Having your hair in your face when the combat instructor is about to pound you into the mat is not advisable. You will be pounded into the mat. It will hurt. It will be in the presence of all the superiors you happen to look up to. They will laugh. You will be humiliated and want to crawl under the mat and never come out. I am making you do this in the hope that you will be spared that particular indignity, since Leviathan knows you’ll get more than your share.”
“Will not,” Reno sniffed.
“You will. Now move. You’re on KP duty tonight.”
“But I thought you said-“
“I found a copy of Cooking for Dummies. You haven’t managed to burn water yet, but you’ve come close, so I believe it’s right up your alle-umph!”
Reno threw a sofa cushion. It hit Tseng squarely in the face.
“Bulls-eye!” Reno cheered.
“Kitchen. Now,” Tseng growled. Reno quailed under his stare and hightailed it for the kitchen.
-------------------------------------------------------------
It was strange to be back in the slums now, after four years of living above the plate and working in some of the better areas under it. It was the same as it always had been; dark and dangerous in places, sad and dejected in others, and quietly lively in a few select areas.
“Guess some things don’t change, huh?” he murmured.
A handful of skinny kids ran into him. He stayed upright by virtue of experience and grabbed one of the kids by the arm.
“Give it back, kid.”
“Give what back?” The kid asked. He was a grubby beanpole of about thirteen years, with a messy thatch of brown hair that fell into big hazel eyes. Of course. A cute one.
“My wallet.”
“I didn’t take your wallet.”
Reno rolled his eyes and pulled his wallet out of the front the boy’s shirt.
“I’m not stupid, yo. Runnin’ into me in a group is the oldest trick in the book, and I ain’t gonna fall for it.”
It was easy to see the surprise in the kid’s eyes when he let the language of the slums roll off his tongue. It felt good, and he decided that he was keeping it. There were some things, like his hair and his tattoos, that he wouldn’t let anyone take away, and this was going to be one of them.
“You’re…you’re from here?” One of the kid’s partners in crime had crept back to determine the fate of his friend.
“Sector Two, kid. Eight years away from home.”
“And you’re a Turk?”
“You bet.”
“You can do that?”
“Do what?”
“Go from here to…there.”
Reno grinned and nodded. The kids stared at him.
“All it takes is wantin’ it, yo. Keep wanting long enough, and you’ll find a way to get it.”
“Reno! We are on a schedule! I don’t have time for you to give a ‘don’t do drugs, kiddies’ lecture!” Tseng yelled. He was halfway down the block, hands on hips, tapping one foot impatiently.
“I’m comin’!” Reno yelled back.
“Who’s he?” The brunette asked.
“My boss. My real partner’s on a different roster, so I’m stuck with ‘im.”
“Does that mean you have to go?”
“Sorry. Duty calls, yo. An’ try a different trick. You’ll always get caught with the one you’re using.”
The kids exchanged looks. Reno noted their expression and sighed.
“Get cute kids- not young, just cute, like you- and try the sympathy card.”
“The what?”
“Pretend t’ be lost, or beat up, or somethin’ like that. Lots of whimperin’ and fake sobs. Works real well.”
“Reno!”
“Gotta go. Later!”
Reno took off down the road, waving over his shoulder. The kids waved back. Up ahead, Tseng waited at the mouth of a gloomy alley.
“This just screams ‘Bad Idea’, y’know?”
“In case you hadn’t noticed, we spend most of our time in such places. Get ahead of me. I want to be able to keep an eye one you.”
“Gimme some credit, yo. Rude can tell ya that I’m a real good Turk.”
“I thought we’d done something about that mouth, Reno.”
“I am who I am, boss.”
“That you are.”