[FF7] Across Distant Shores - 6
FF7 - Rating: PG-13 - Part 6 of estimated 9 - Warnings: Some violence, some swearing.
Pairings: Rufus/Reno - Status: In progress, incomplete.
Summary: "You're stuck on the shores of Hell, and the only way out... is through." Shinra moves against its own, the President against the Vice President, with the Turks caught in between. Rufus goes missing, Reno defies orders and goes after him, leaving Tseng and Rude to cover up his treason against the company.
Chapter summary: Where Reno meets Rufus again, and various things go boom.
Chapter word count: 3,056
Total: 12,541
Point VI: The Shores of Hell
Reno sees red.
It’s a red he half expected, half hoped to see, and the moment his eyes register it he’s on his feet and flinging himself across the room. They made the mistake of leaving him alive the last time, and if the President is going to be enough of an arrogant bastard to come back and mock, Reno is damn well going to finish the job this time--
--there’s a flash of motion and the feeling of everything going rapidly out of control as Tseng kicks his feet out from under him.
The slam as he hits the floor knocks all the wind out of him and makes the entire room spin. He sees why they locked him in the same room as the other Turk - they were obviously hoping that the boss would be a restraining influence on him. Unfortunately, they were right.
“Sir,” Tseng says to the President, but those who know him can hear the ice lacing that word.
“Well done,” the President says sardonically, eying Reno as he gasps and rolls over, battling pain and nausea and disorientation to attempt to stand. Damnit, Tseng. Who’s side are you on anyway?
“Now,” the President says, obviously about to launch into one of those speeches that he is so fond of. “The Company-“
“Where is he?” Reno growls, as he staggers to his feet. His head feels as though it just had a foot long spike pounded into it, but he resists the urge to reach up to massage it. As it is, he finds himself swaying unsteadily, but he rather thinks that his gaze has lost none of the venom that he’s presently feeling. If only looks could kill...
The President levels him a glare for the interruption, and turns back to Tseng. “The Company-“
“Where is he?” Tseng says, and the undercurrent in those three words set off warning signals all the way down Reno’s spine. He resists the urge to shudder.
The President studies them both contemplatively. “I know he slept with you,” he says at last, shooting a contemptuous look at Reno. “But what puzzles me, Tseng, is how he won your loyalty. You are not so easily bought.”
Reno seethes at the insult implied in those words, but he glances sidelong at Tseng, waiting for his boss to respond. They don’t have a single damned card at the moment, and perhaps words really are the better solution... but the moment the boss says ‘kill’, Reno promises himself that all hell is going to break lose.
Tseng says nothing, but there is a ghost of a grim smile on his face.
The President shakes his head with a sigh. “I see there’s no talking with you lot. There’s only one language you understand. In any case, the boy is not in any danger.”
“Fucking lies,” Reno hisses, recalling darkness and blood.
“Not at the moment,” the President says dryly. “I see that he’s bought you all over, body and soul. Very well. I’ll give you what you want, in return for a little cooperation. What do you say?”
“What the fuck do you mean?” Reno says.
“I’ll bring you to him, if you will hear me out.” The President shrugs, putting on a winsome smile, as if this were a friendly negotiation and he’s just granted them a massive concession. Reno can feel his hands curling into fists, longing to smash those too perfect teeth in.
“Very well,” Tseng says, and there is the slightest hint of warning in his tone - that even now, you do not screw with the Turks. That there is, possibly, only one thing keeping them in check, and if the Prez loses his bargaining chip by doing something to Rufus... then he’d better start running. It won’t save him, but he’ll live a few seconds longer.
“This way.” The President turns and leaves, and the SOLDIER escort that has been hanging back warily falls in around them. Tseng nods slightly at Reno, and he releases a noisy sigh before he follows the Prez out of the room.
Rude is there, flanked by yet more of SOLDIER’s elite. His eyes are shadowed by the sunglasses, as usual, but he gives them a nod -- situation nominal... for the moment.
“One more door,” the President murmurs, and Reno recognises where they are - one of the basement floors belonging to the science department in the main headquarters. Dread bubbles up in him as a SOLDIER keys the access codes into the heavily armoured and locked doors ahead of them.
“One more door,” the President says more loudly, turning to face them. “This is what you wanted - to know where the boy was, and how he is. He is alive and well. I give you my word.”
Bullshit, Reno wants to say.
“I regret that things have progressed to this stage. However, it is all for the good of the Company.” The President glances at each of them in turn. “Loyalty to the Company is paramount. We cannot afford individual or misplaced attempts at personal glory. As of now, Rufus is no longer your concern. His present... posting... was decided, as is standard practice, by a special resolution taken by the Board of Directors in the Company’s best interests. The next question, and indeed, the question that you should be considering, is where your loyalties lie.”
“Our loyalties lie with the Company, sir. As always,” Tseng says, and the President’s eyes narrow.
“Loyalty to the Company entails acting in accordance with the decisions of the Company’s executives. Unilateral action-“
“We are entitled to take unilateral action in the event of a crisis, in the best interests of the Company,” Rude points out.
“Except in-so-far as that is overridden or comes into conflict with a direct order.”
“That’s bullshit. That’s not in the regulations,” Reno snaps.
“It is now,” the President smiles, and the smile is not pleasant. “You will find that resolutions passed this morning have effected certain changes which concern your Department. You are best advised to review them after this meeting.”
The lights on the door panel click from red to green, and the SOLDIER steps back and salutes.
“What I wish to stress is that we are indulging you solely as a gesture of our goodwill.” The President waves vaguely towards the doors. “Since we do care about the concerns of our employees. Do not except such concessions as a matter of course, however. In other words... do not attempt anything stupid. In fact, it is best if you do not attempt anything at all.”
Reno finds himself drawing a deep breath as the doors slide apart with a hiss of escaping air.
--
He sees green.
Tseng’s hand is a restraining force against his elbow, but it isn’t necessary, not when he’s stopped dead in his tracks staring at the sight that meets their eyes.
It’s one of those specimen tanks that Hojo uses. He’s seen it - they immerse the SOLDIER trainees in it when they’re doing the whole mako exposure shtick. The glass is slightly cloudy but he doesn’t need to see to know that it’s Rufus, can tell by the way the light glances off golden hair floating in the liquid. And he can see the modifications - the slots near the top of the tank, cradling globes of materia.
Sleep. Confuse. Slow. Haste. Manipulation.
The words of the training manual sound in his brain, because he’s sure as hell seen this before. In pretty black and white diagrams. With all the component parts labelled.
Sensory deprivation chamber.
If he peers through the glass, he can see the blindfold wrapped around Rufus’ eyes, can see the sound eliminating headphones and nose plugs and the respirator mask. The materia deadens the rest of the senses.
Tests show that hallucinations, depression and eventual insanity may result from prolonged sensory isolation...
Suspended in a world of unholy green, Rufus twitches, ever so slightly. The readings on the screen spike.
Preliminary research also indicates that this has some potential as a brainwashing tool...
“Boss,” he says, struggling furiously for the calm that Rufus has always advised him he needs to maintain in a crisis. His voice is pitched low, only loud enough for Tseng to hear. “You know what that is.”
“Yes,” Tseng says. Soft. Curt. Dead.
“May I ask what the Board’s ... intention behind this is?” Rude says, from across the room.
“Reorientation,” the President says, slightly blunter than his usual norm. “Deviant behaviour needs to be corrected, but it is hardly our style to resort to extreme measures such as eliminating someone and starting over again.” He smiles as the readings spike again, an agitation cycle starting.
“I’m going to fucking kill you,” Reno hisses. His fingers itch, longing to break that glass, to tear away those fucking wires and shit and rescue his Vice President from the nightmare he can only imagine is happening in there.
“No,” the President spins, and his gaze is hard. “You are going to do exactly as I say.” He gestures vaguely at the tank where Rufus is beginning to struggle, heartbeat accelerating and adrenaline levels rising wildly. “Let us make a bargain. His treatment... will be contingent on your future performance. A nice bonus.”
Reno glances back at the President, jaw clenching as he realises just how much he’s underestimated the man. How he’s played them all, turning a weakness into a trump card, turning their strength against them.
Turks do not have attachments. Turks cannot afford to have attachments.
How long had the bastard known? Discovery had been inevitable, but he’d always expected Rufus to be there to deal with it with him, to tell him what to do or who to kill.
“We won’t kill the boy, of course. You know that. But one wrong move and we can make it infinitely worse for him.” The President’s eyes are blue like Rufus, and every bit as icy.
Outmanoeuvred. Shot in the back and we never even saw this coming.
“So. What about it?” the President’s tone goes almost companionable.
“And the alternative?” Tseng’s voice is mirror smooth, betraying no sign of turmoil or distress.
“There is no alternative. You cooperate, we release him sooner. You fail to cooperate, we eliminate all of you and leave him to rot until his mind gives out.”
You’re bluffing. You couldn’t do that. You wouldn’t--
No, they could and would. Rufus is competent, but even the most competent executive is not indispensable. And he is of more use as a bargaining chip than as a paper pusher.
Stop fighting, the words of the dream come back to him. Choose the best time and place in which to strike.
It’s war, Reno realises. Even if they accept, this fragile equilibrium cannot be maintained indefinitely. The President needs them now, but once replacements are found...
He needs to make sure his first strike is his best strike.
“Fine,” he says, causing both Tseng and Rude to start. They’ve been waiting for him, he realises, waiting for his cue, since he is the one who’s ... in love... with that bloody bastard’s son. “Fine. I accept. Let him go.” The other two nod their assent.
“Very well. Return to your offices. You will receive orders shortly. I do-“
“Let him go,” Rude says, and even Reno, who knows him so well, is surprised by the anger leaking into that statement.
Rude, buddy... never thought the little brat got to you too.
“In our own time. When we are satisfied with your performance. Now leave.”
Tseng spins, striding out, all but shouldering the SOLDIER escort aside as he storms out. Rude turns to follow but Reno lingers a little longer, staring in hopeless fury and pain at the scene.
Rufus. Rufus you brat, hang on in there. Keep fighting it. Don’t you dare lose it on us. Don’t you dare let them to do anything to you.
Rufus’ head jerks up, and for a moment Reno really thinks that his words have reached him. That somehow, he’s gotten through... but that hope is rapidly dashed as one of the technicians turns to the President, reporting having moved into Phase 2.
The President turns to smile at him, and he scowls in return.
“You’re not longer needed here, Turk. Dismissed.”
“Hurt him, and I swear I’ll kill you,” Reno growls, ignoring the way the SOLDIERs behind him are going for their guns.
“At your leisure,” the President replies, confident in his invulnerability. “But do file a note with my secretary first.”
Reno’s boots clack like gunshots across the polished floor as he storms out.
-
Sleeping with your boss’s son is never a good thing.
“FUCKING A!”
The curse is screamed, hurled at the far wall loud enough to match the explosion as he empties an entire magazine into the target at the other end of the firing range. “IFRIT DAMNED FUCKING BASTARD!”
He slams the pistol down, grabs another off the shelf, and continues pumping the target full of lead. His finger clicks on an empty magazine and he hurls it with all his might across the room, relishing the clang as it strikes the far wall. If only it were that easy to get out of this entire shitty situation. If only.
He finds himself stumbling backwards, injuries still not quite healed. He finds himself up against the wall, cold stone a stark contrast to the raging inferno of hurt and fury in him.
Couldn’t you just have left us alone? Couldn’t you just have left us in peace?
What the fuck did he do to piss you off so bad? What the hell is going on that you felt the need to pull this shit?
He feels himself sinking downwards, legs folding beneath him as he chokes back more screams of frustration. Couldn’t you have given us that fucking chance?
That’s how Tseng finds him: seated on the floor in one lane of the firing range with his back to the wall, staring fixedly at the ceiling.
“Reno.”
He doesn’t respond. Doesn’t see the need to.
The Director kneels beside him, and there is a faint look of concern on his face. After all, it isn’t every day that you find one of your most senior Turks doing the equivalent of having a screaming break down in the corner. All he needs is the wad of toilet paper and the waste paper basket to cry into. Bloody, freakin’ perfect.
“I’m fine,” he says, in response to the unspoken query. “I’m so fucking fine I could go and... and... fuckit.” He turns, meeting Tseng’s gaze. “Yeah. I can go on doing my job, if that’s what you’re asking. And I’m not going to get myself fucking killed.”
Tseng nods, and Reno sits up straighter, a sudden urgency filling him. “You know, boss, we’re-“
Not now, Tseng’s look says, interrupting him.
Cameras. Oh yeah. Right. Fuck it.
“He doesn’t deserve this shit,” he says, not caring if anyone is listening. “They could have screwed us over, but they didn’t have to pull him into this.”
“In any case, we are required to be on standby in the main office,” Tseng reminds him.
In other words: we have to stick together.
“On duty on a Friday night. If that doesn’t suck major arse, I don’t know what does. I really could use a drink.”
In other words: we really need to get out of This Damn Building so that we can talk.
“Once we receive our orders. Which should be soon.” Tseng rises, and Reno staggers up rather more slowly. He knows he looks like shit, and frankly he doesn’t give a damn. But what he does refuse to do is trail along looking like a kicked puppy, so he takes a deep breath and puts on the disaffected swagger that he’s renown for. They can back them into a corner, but they can’t take them down. No fucking way.
He’s going to fight back. He’s going take this entire building and this entire Company apart stone by stone and brick by brick if that’s what it takes to mount a rescue operation. And when he gets Rufus back, the VP’s going to make sure that there’s hell to pay.
Rufus has been wanting to take over the Company for years. It seems that they’ve just pushed him towards the inevitable showdown.
He grins, something wild and feral. Let them think their Turks are tamed, for now. Let them think that they have the upper hand. But when you up the stakes, you’d better be prepared to play.
And Reno never fucking loses at poker.
--
“You are to proceed with the Promised Land project,” the President says. “I am tired of the delay in finding and apprehending the Ancient. I know you’ve located her. Bring her in within the next twenty four hours or-“
There’s a pause as the video link flickers, the President’s image giving way to static. Chatter breaks out on the radio, and there’s a sudden wash of red across the board.
“What the hell-“
“Outside. Reactor 1.” Rude is at the window, staring at something in the distance. Reno joins him in a flash, Tseng at his shoulder, and they’re just in time to see the entire reactor go up in flames.
“Woah,” Reno says, staring. Whoever did that did a beautiful job of it. Even from here, he can tell that that’s no tiny explosion - that blast probably gutted the entire interior of the reactor. It’s going to be months before they can get it back online.
“Tseng!” the President snaps, as the link becomes active again. “Some terrorists just assaulted-“
“We will investigate the matter, sir. If we may have your permission to stand down?”
“Go,” the President growls, and Reno relishes the fury in his voice even as he picks up his EMR and saunters towards the door. Back in the heyday, this would never have happened. But back in the heyday, the President didn’t randomly order the execution of all his junior Turks, leaving the Department horribly shorthanded.
The mighty are falling, he thinks viciously. And the best part is, they sowed the seeds of their own damn demise.
To be continued
Pairings: Rufus/Reno - Status: In progress, incomplete.
Summary: "You're stuck on the shores of Hell, and the only way out... is through." Shinra moves against its own, the President against the Vice President, with the Turks caught in between. Rufus goes missing, Reno defies orders and goes after him, leaving Tseng and Rude to cover up his treason against the company.
Chapter summary: Where Reno meets Rufus again, and various things go boom.
Chapter word count: 3,056
Total: 12,541
Point VI: The Shores of Hell
Reno sees red.
It’s a red he half expected, half hoped to see, and the moment his eyes register it he’s on his feet and flinging himself across the room. They made the mistake of leaving him alive the last time, and if the President is going to be enough of an arrogant bastard to come back and mock, Reno is damn well going to finish the job this time--
--there’s a flash of motion and the feeling of everything going rapidly out of control as Tseng kicks his feet out from under him.
The slam as he hits the floor knocks all the wind out of him and makes the entire room spin. He sees why they locked him in the same room as the other Turk - they were obviously hoping that the boss would be a restraining influence on him. Unfortunately, they were right.
“Sir,” Tseng says to the President, but those who know him can hear the ice lacing that word.
“Well done,” the President says sardonically, eying Reno as he gasps and rolls over, battling pain and nausea and disorientation to attempt to stand. Damnit, Tseng. Who’s side are you on anyway?
“Now,” the President says, obviously about to launch into one of those speeches that he is so fond of. “The Company-“
“Where is he?” Reno growls, as he staggers to his feet. His head feels as though it just had a foot long spike pounded into it, but he resists the urge to reach up to massage it. As it is, he finds himself swaying unsteadily, but he rather thinks that his gaze has lost none of the venom that he’s presently feeling. If only looks could kill...
The President levels him a glare for the interruption, and turns back to Tseng. “The Company-“
“Where is he?” Tseng says, and the undercurrent in those three words set off warning signals all the way down Reno’s spine. He resists the urge to shudder.
The President studies them both contemplatively. “I know he slept with you,” he says at last, shooting a contemptuous look at Reno. “But what puzzles me, Tseng, is how he won your loyalty. You are not so easily bought.”
Reno seethes at the insult implied in those words, but he glances sidelong at Tseng, waiting for his boss to respond. They don’t have a single damned card at the moment, and perhaps words really are the better solution... but the moment the boss says ‘kill’, Reno promises himself that all hell is going to break lose.
Tseng says nothing, but there is a ghost of a grim smile on his face.
The President shakes his head with a sigh. “I see there’s no talking with you lot. There’s only one language you understand. In any case, the boy is not in any danger.”
“Fucking lies,” Reno hisses, recalling darkness and blood.
“Not at the moment,” the President says dryly. “I see that he’s bought you all over, body and soul. Very well. I’ll give you what you want, in return for a little cooperation. What do you say?”
“What the fuck do you mean?” Reno says.
“I’ll bring you to him, if you will hear me out.” The President shrugs, putting on a winsome smile, as if this were a friendly negotiation and he’s just granted them a massive concession. Reno can feel his hands curling into fists, longing to smash those too perfect teeth in.
“Very well,” Tseng says, and there is the slightest hint of warning in his tone - that even now, you do not screw with the Turks. That there is, possibly, only one thing keeping them in check, and if the Prez loses his bargaining chip by doing something to Rufus... then he’d better start running. It won’t save him, but he’ll live a few seconds longer.
“This way.” The President turns and leaves, and the SOLDIER escort that has been hanging back warily falls in around them. Tseng nods slightly at Reno, and he releases a noisy sigh before he follows the Prez out of the room.
Rude is there, flanked by yet more of SOLDIER’s elite. His eyes are shadowed by the sunglasses, as usual, but he gives them a nod -- situation nominal... for the moment.
“One more door,” the President murmurs, and Reno recognises where they are - one of the basement floors belonging to the science department in the main headquarters. Dread bubbles up in him as a SOLDIER keys the access codes into the heavily armoured and locked doors ahead of them.
“One more door,” the President says more loudly, turning to face them. “This is what you wanted - to know where the boy was, and how he is. He is alive and well. I give you my word.”
Bullshit, Reno wants to say.
“I regret that things have progressed to this stage. However, it is all for the good of the Company.” The President glances at each of them in turn. “Loyalty to the Company is paramount. We cannot afford individual or misplaced attempts at personal glory. As of now, Rufus is no longer your concern. His present... posting... was decided, as is standard practice, by a special resolution taken by the Board of Directors in the Company’s best interests. The next question, and indeed, the question that you should be considering, is where your loyalties lie.”
“Our loyalties lie with the Company, sir. As always,” Tseng says, and the President’s eyes narrow.
“Loyalty to the Company entails acting in accordance with the decisions of the Company’s executives. Unilateral action-“
“We are entitled to take unilateral action in the event of a crisis, in the best interests of the Company,” Rude points out.
“Except in-so-far as that is overridden or comes into conflict with a direct order.”
“That’s bullshit. That’s not in the regulations,” Reno snaps.
“It is now,” the President smiles, and the smile is not pleasant. “You will find that resolutions passed this morning have effected certain changes which concern your Department. You are best advised to review them after this meeting.”
The lights on the door panel click from red to green, and the SOLDIER steps back and salutes.
“What I wish to stress is that we are indulging you solely as a gesture of our goodwill.” The President waves vaguely towards the doors. “Since we do care about the concerns of our employees. Do not except such concessions as a matter of course, however. In other words... do not attempt anything stupid. In fact, it is best if you do not attempt anything at all.”
Reno finds himself drawing a deep breath as the doors slide apart with a hiss of escaping air.
--
He sees green.
Tseng’s hand is a restraining force against his elbow, but it isn’t necessary, not when he’s stopped dead in his tracks staring at the sight that meets their eyes.
It’s one of those specimen tanks that Hojo uses. He’s seen it - they immerse the SOLDIER trainees in it when they’re doing the whole mako exposure shtick. The glass is slightly cloudy but he doesn’t need to see to know that it’s Rufus, can tell by the way the light glances off golden hair floating in the liquid. And he can see the modifications - the slots near the top of the tank, cradling globes of materia.
Sleep. Confuse. Slow. Haste. Manipulation.
The words of the training manual sound in his brain, because he’s sure as hell seen this before. In pretty black and white diagrams. With all the component parts labelled.
Sensory deprivation chamber.
If he peers through the glass, he can see the blindfold wrapped around Rufus’ eyes, can see the sound eliminating headphones and nose plugs and the respirator mask. The materia deadens the rest of the senses.
Tests show that hallucinations, depression and eventual insanity may result from prolonged sensory isolation...
Suspended in a world of unholy green, Rufus twitches, ever so slightly. The readings on the screen spike.
Preliminary research also indicates that this has some potential as a brainwashing tool...
“Boss,” he says, struggling furiously for the calm that Rufus has always advised him he needs to maintain in a crisis. His voice is pitched low, only loud enough for Tseng to hear. “You know what that is.”
“Yes,” Tseng says. Soft. Curt. Dead.
“May I ask what the Board’s ... intention behind this is?” Rude says, from across the room.
“Reorientation,” the President says, slightly blunter than his usual norm. “Deviant behaviour needs to be corrected, but it is hardly our style to resort to extreme measures such as eliminating someone and starting over again.” He smiles as the readings spike again, an agitation cycle starting.
“I’m going to fucking kill you,” Reno hisses. His fingers itch, longing to break that glass, to tear away those fucking wires and shit and rescue his Vice President from the nightmare he can only imagine is happening in there.
“No,” the President spins, and his gaze is hard. “You are going to do exactly as I say.” He gestures vaguely at the tank where Rufus is beginning to struggle, heartbeat accelerating and adrenaline levels rising wildly. “Let us make a bargain. His treatment... will be contingent on your future performance. A nice bonus.”
Reno glances back at the President, jaw clenching as he realises just how much he’s underestimated the man. How he’s played them all, turning a weakness into a trump card, turning their strength against them.
Turks do not have attachments. Turks cannot afford to have attachments.
How long had the bastard known? Discovery had been inevitable, but he’d always expected Rufus to be there to deal with it with him, to tell him what to do or who to kill.
“We won’t kill the boy, of course. You know that. But one wrong move and we can make it infinitely worse for him.” The President’s eyes are blue like Rufus, and every bit as icy.
Outmanoeuvred. Shot in the back and we never even saw this coming.
“So. What about it?” the President’s tone goes almost companionable.
“And the alternative?” Tseng’s voice is mirror smooth, betraying no sign of turmoil or distress.
“There is no alternative. You cooperate, we release him sooner. You fail to cooperate, we eliminate all of you and leave him to rot until his mind gives out.”
You’re bluffing. You couldn’t do that. You wouldn’t--
No, they could and would. Rufus is competent, but even the most competent executive is not indispensable. And he is of more use as a bargaining chip than as a paper pusher.
Stop fighting, the words of the dream come back to him. Choose the best time and place in which to strike.
It’s war, Reno realises. Even if they accept, this fragile equilibrium cannot be maintained indefinitely. The President needs them now, but once replacements are found...
He needs to make sure his first strike is his best strike.
“Fine,” he says, causing both Tseng and Rude to start. They’ve been waiting for him, he realises, waiting for his cue, since he is the one who’s ... in love... with that bloody bastard’s son. “Fine. I accept. Let him go.” The other two nod their assent.
“Very well. Return to your offices. You will receive orders shortly. I do-“
“Let him go,” Rude says, and even Reno, who knows him so well, is surprised by the anger leaking into that statement.
Rude, buddy... never thought the little brat got to you too.
“In our own time. When we are satisfied with your performance. Now leave.”
Tseng spins, striding out, all but shouldering the SOLDIER escort aside as he storms out. Rude turns to follow but Reno lingers a little longer, staring in hopeless fury and pain at the scene.
Rufus. Rufus you brat, hang on in there. Keep fighting it. Don’t you dare lose it on us. Don’t you dare let them to do anything to you.
Rufus’ head jerks up, and for a moment Reno really thinks that his words have reached him. That somehow, he’s gotten through... but that hope is rapidly dashed as one of the technicians turns to the President, reporting having moved into Phase 2.
The President turns to smile at him, and he scowls in return.
“You’re not longer needed here, Turk. Dismissed.”
“Hurt him, and I swear I’ll kill you,” Reno growls, ignoring the way the SOLDIERs behind him are going for their guns.
“At your leisure,” the President replies, confident in his invulnerability. “But do file a note with my secretary first.”
Reno’s boots clack like gunshots across the polished floor as he storms out.
-
Sleeping with your boss’s son is never a good thing.
“FUCKING A!”
The curse is screamed, hurled at the far wall loud enough to match the explosion as he empties an entire magazine into the target at the other end of the firing range. “IFRIT DAMNED FUCKING BASTARD!”
He slams the pistol down, grabs another off the shelf, and continues pumping the target full of lead. His finger clicks on an empty magazine and he hurls it with all his might across the room, relishing the clang as it strikes the far wall. If only it were that easy to get out of this entire shitty situation. If only.
He finds himself stumbling backwards, injuries still not quite healed. He finds himself up against the wall, cold stone a stark contrast to the raging inferno of hurt and fury in him.
Couldn’t you just have left us alone? Couldn’t you just have left us in peace?
What the fuck did he do to piss you off so bad? What the hell is going on that you felt the need to pull this shit?
He feels himself sinking downwards, legs folding beneath him as he chokes back more screams of frustration. Couldn’t you have given us that fucking chance?
That’s how Tseng finds him: seated on the floor in one lane of the firing range with his back to the wall, staring fixedly at the ceiling.
“Reno.”
He doesn’t respond. Doesn’t see the need to.
The Director kneels beside him, and there is a faint look of concern on his face. After all, it isn’t every day that you find one of your most senior Turks doing the equivalent of having a screaming break down in the corner. All he needs is the wad of toilet paper and the waste paper basket to cry into. Bloody, freakin’ perfect.
“I’m fine,” he says, in response to the unspoken query. “I’m so fucking fine I could go and... and... fuckit.” He turns, meeting Tseng’s gaze. “Yeah. I can go on doing my job, if that’s what you’re asking. And I’m not going to get myself fucking killed.”
Tseng nods, and Reno sits up straighter, a sudden urgency filling him. “You know, boss, we’re-“
Not now, Tseng’s look says, interrupting him.
Cameras. Oh yeah. Right. Fuck it.
“He doesn’t deserve this shit,” he says, not caring if anyone is listening. “They could have screwed us over, but they didn’t have to pull him into this.”
“In any case, we are required to be on standby in the main office,” Tseng reminds him.
In other words: we have to stick together.
“On duty on a Friday night. If that doesn’t suck major arse, I don’t know what does. I really could use a drink.”
In other words: we really need to get out of This Damn Building so that we can talk.
“Once we receive our orders. Which should be soon.” Tseng rises, and Reno staggers up rather more slowly. He knows he looks like shit, and frankly he doesn’t give a damn. But what he does refuse to do is trail along looking like a kicked puppy, so he takes a deep breath and puts on the disaffected swagger that he’s renown for. They can back them into a corner, but they can’t take them down. No fucking way.
He’s going to fight back. He’s going take this entire building and this entire Company apart stone by stone and brick by brick if that’s what it takes to mount a rescue operation. And when he gets Rufus back, the VP’s going to make sure that there’s hell to pay.
Rufus has been wanting to take over the Company for years. It seems that they’ve just pushed him towards the inevitable showdown.
He grins, something wild and feral. Let them think their Turks are tamed, for now. Let them think that they have the upper hand. But when you up the stakes, you’d better be prepared to play.
And Reno never fucking loses at poker.
--
“You are to proceed with the Promised Land project,” the President says. “I am tired of the delay in finding and apprehending the Ancient. I know you’ve located her. Bring her in within the next twenty four hours or-“
There’s a pause as the video link flickers, the President’s image giving way to static. Chatter breaks out on the radio, and there’s a sudden wash of red across the board.
“What the hell-“
“Outside. Reactor 1.” Rude is at the window, staring at something in the distance. Reno joins him in a flash, Tseng at his shoulder, and they’re just in time to see the entire reactor go up in flames.
“Woah,” Reno says, staring. Whoever did that did a beautiful job of it. Even from here, he can tell that that’s no tiny explosion - that blast probably gutted the entire interior of the reactor. It’s going to be months before they can get it back online.
“Tseng!” the President snaps, as the link becomes active again. “Some terrorists just assaulted-“
“We will investigate the matter, sir. If we may have your permission to stand down?”
“Go,” the President growls, and Reno relishes the fury in his voice even as he picks up his EMR and saunters towards the door. Back in the heyday, this would never have happened. But back in the heyday, the President didn’t randomly order the execution of all his junior Turks, leaving the Department horribly shorthanded.
The mighty are falling, he thinks viciously. And the best part is, they sowed the seeds of their own damn demise.
To be continued