[FF7] Across Distant Shores - 9
[FF7]: Across Distant Shores
Point IX - Event Horizon
FF7 - Rating: PG-13 - Part 9/? - Warnings: Semi-graphic scenes of violence, and a lot of swearing.
Pairings: Rufus/Reno (established) - Status: In progress, incomplete.
For codename_scar
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. All loyalties and motives are called into question, and as the Company comes under attack by enemies, the Turks are forced to question just who and what they are fighting for.
Chapter Summary: Where Reno returns after failing to catch Aeris, to find even more drastic plans underway. And just how high the cost of rebellion can go.
“Perhaps you do not fully comprehend the situation you are in,” the President says without preamble.
Reno stuffs his hands in his pockets.
“We are running out of time. The terrorists are still alive, you tell me, and the Ancient has not been apprehended. And now, we have solid proof of their collaboration.”
Reno bites back a sigh as the President taps his fingers together. The old man and Rufus have the same eyes, although Rufus’ tend to hold some sort sardonic amusement in them. Some kind of “I’m superior to you and don’t you know it” look. It irritates the hell out-
Tseng elbows him discretely, and he snaps out of his musings. “...time is critical. The terrorists have struck back at a second of our reactors. They did not succeed, no thanks to you lot, but they will not hesitate to strike again.”
And so on and so forth.
“Tseng,” the President says. “I want you to handle this personally. It is a job that is far too important to entrust to lackeys.” The last is said with a sidelong glance at him, and Reno clenches a fist.
“Understood,” Tseng says flatly.
“And as for you,” the President turns to face Reno fully. “I give you one chance to redeem yourself after this dismal failure.”
*
He’s sitting on the bed when Reno bursts in, staring off into space and not quite sure what he was doing. The Turk grabs his wrist and drags him to his feet, ignoring his stumbling questions as to what’s the matter and where they’re going.
“Run,” Reno says, so he does.
*
They’re standing on the edge of the Plate. The Slums are pinpricks of light, a universe of stars to mirror the ones overhead. Reno’s arm is snug around his shoulders, and he, not overly prone to public displays of affection, instinctively moves to brush that arm away.
Fingers curl in tight around his arm and Reno shoves.
He stumbles, dress shoes slipping across the edge and he twists and falls before Reno catches him by the forearm. He stares up, and his heart is in his throat as he swings out over nothingness.
“Why?” he asks, feet kicking at nothing, the wrench on his arm almost painful.
“Goodbye,” Reno says, and lets go.
He falls.
*
Through time and space, and there is blackness and life-stream green.
*
He awakens, and his father is standing over him.
Come with me.
He rises from the bed and they cross the room, and step out of the Shinra Tower.
*
“This is utter bullshit,” Reno can’t help but say, staring at the plans laid out before them. “Are you completely insane? There’s no way-“
“Shut up, Turk, and let your betters do the thinking for you.”
“No. I don’t get it.” Reno forces breath through gritted teeth, trying and mostly failing to keep a tenuous grip on his temper. “You are. Proposing to blow up the structural support and drop the entire freaking plate on to Sector 7 just to kill less than half a dozen people?”
“Tseng, you are to capture the Ancient before the plate can fall,” the President says, ignoring him. “If she dies, I will be extremely displeased. And you,” he glances at Rude. “Make sure that the information is discretely leaked to the terrorists. We want them to try and stop it. We want to make sure they are right under the plate when it falls. And you,” he spears Reno with a glance.
“You are to execute it.”
*
“This way,” Reno says, and they’re heading through winding streets and backdoors. “We have to get you out. We have to get you away.”
There are people behind them. He glances over his shoulder and there’s nothing there. When he turns back, Reno is standing in front of him.
The pistol in the Turk’s hand recoils sharply, and the bullet ploughs straight through his heart.
He falls.
*
He stands behind his father as they stare out of the massive windows dominating the President’s office. Midgar glitters, and the reactors sparkle in the distance.
“Some day, boy, this will all be yours.”
*
“And what if I don’t?”
The President smiles, an icy humourless thing. Rufus got that from him, Reno thinks, although the kid does it better.
“Since you utterly fail to comprehend the phrase ‘in the interests of the Company’, allow me to put things into perspective for you.”
Cold, cold apprehension twists in his gut, but there’s no way he can back down now. “Yeah? What would that be?”
The President picks up a timer from his desk, and twirls it to face them. 50 hours, it reads. 50 hours, 34 minutes and 14 seconds.
Tseng tenses beside him, and Reno glances over, not quite understanding-
“This,” the President says, tapping it. “Is how long the boy has been in that tank. Would you like to see what wonders his little vacation has done for him?” He pauses, and the smile becomes positively vicious. “And how much more every second that you waste will cost him?”
*
“Watch out.” Reno tugs him to his feet, and he staggers, strangely disoriented.
“Get me out of here,” he whispers, but he doesn’t know where the words came from, for they aren’t in the Shinra Tower, aren’t in Junon, aren’t anywhere he recognises, really.
“I will,” Reno says, pulling him close, and their mouths meet, desperation bitter on his tongue.
There is an explosion of pain as the Turk buries a knife in his gut. He stumbles backwards, vision fading rapidly. Reno gives him a cheery wave and walks off.
*
“This will all be yours. Live to inherit it, Rufus.”
He turns, confused, for when was the last time they were on speaking terms?
“Discard all weakness,” his father says. “You were born into an inheritance greater than anyone else’s. Do not cast it away for a moment’s self-indulgence.” He turns. “Strive. Become better than you are. Become worthy of the position.”
“What am I doing wrong?” he asks. Blurts out. The burning question that is always on the tip of his tongue, the only question that he has never been able to ask and never been able to get an answer to.
His father stares at him. “You’ve forgotten who you are.”
*
Who am I.
Reno smiles at him, and pushes him over the edge.
And he falls, through blackness, through a sea of stars, arm outstretched, fingers reaching for the heavens. Reaching out for the saving hand that isn’t there.
I am...
Reno smiles at him, and presses the trigger.
...Shinra.
Reno tugs him close, and thrusts the dagger through his stomach.
I am...
He bleeds his life out on the pavement, and the Turk walks away.
“No one saves you,” his father says, and his wavering vision registers black shoes and a crimson suit. “You live or die by your own strength.”
“Help,” he whispers, trying to move, one hand pressed over the wound, trying to keep his guts in. The other thrown out to one side, and he can’t even move it.
His father stares down at him, dispassionately. “It’s too late, son.”
A flash of anger. “It’s never... too... late.”
The other kneels, and warm hands take his cold fingers between them. “Let this be a warning. There are those who would love as who you are. And then there are those who love you only for the position you stand to inherit. You let the latter in, cast the former out, and now, now...”
He chokes, and blood dribbles down his chin. “Reno...”
“Was a traitor.”
“You’re lying,” he hisses. “You’re... always... you tried to isolate me. You’re always trying to isolate me. Make sure I walk at heel, don’t talk to strangers...” It’s difficult to speak. It’s difficult to think. He’s so confused, and his father isn’t getting angry, isn’t pushing him away, isn’t screaming at him for once-
“Love blinds you. Didn’t I warn you about that, son?”
“He has ... no incentive...”
“People are more complex than you give them credit for. Stop painting the world in black and white. You can’t expect people to be rational about things.” He chuckles. “The Turks are the farthest things from economists.”
“But ...why?”
“Why indeed? Why does anyone do as they would? If we were to spend time trying to understand people, we would be caught in a never-ending game of catch up. Extrapolating from data that isn’t there. Predicting behaviour that deviates at the drop of a hat.” He pauses, and Rufus feels a cold globe of materia being pressed into his hand. His father folds his fingers over it, and the Restore spell triggers.
“No,” the President says. “In order to be effective, we cannot pre-empt people. We must control them.”
*
“Rufus!” Reno shoulders his way past the doors. Nothing much seems to have changed: the technicians glance up in surprise, and turn back to their work. He ignores them, running up to the glass. The setup has changed slightly. Some water has been drained and the respirator is gone, and Rufus can breathe under his own power.
But his brow is furrowed, pain lines contorting his face, and he mumbles something that Reno can’t hear.
“This way, please,” one of the technicians says, gesturing towards a door.
“What?” Reno snaps.
“Do you want to talk to him?” the President asks, trailing behind. “I give you the opportunity to do so.”
He stares. There’s no way that... oh hells, he’ll do it anyway. There has to be some way he can get through to Rufus. He’ll show them.
They hand him a microphone and a pair of headphones, and leave. No instructions. No briefing. No nothing. Apprehensively, he snaps the headset over his ears, and snaps the microphone on.
“Rufus?”
The answer is slow in coming. On screen, he sees the surprise reflected in Rufus’ face, the hesitation. He can hear Rufus’ breathing over the headset, and it’s weak, unsteady. Gasping for air as if he can’t quite breathe.
“Rufus,” he tries again. “It’s me. Reno.”
“Re...no?” the word soft. Slurred. So hesitant and subdued that it nearly breaks his heart.
“What are they-no, scratch that. Just hold on in there, okay? I promise I’ll get you out.”
“In...?” He can hear the confusion. “In where? What ... are you talking about?”
At least he doesn’t sound half as lost now. But, seriously, what the hell did they do to him?
“Yeah, the old man is trying to screw you over. Don’t let him get to you.”
This facility has some potential as a brainwashing tool...
“Don’t listen to them, okay?” He’s gripping the mic so hard that his knuckles are turning white.
“Who are you?” Rufus demands, his voice stronger, more certain now.
“I’m Reno, you asswit.”
Rufus is shaking his head on screen, the frown on his face deepening. “You’re... not. You’re... just...” Rufus pauses, and Reno can hear his breathing getting more ragged.
“I’m not? What do you mean I’m not?” Shock lances through him, iciness that freezes words on his tongue and makes reassurances fall short, makes him lose the moment-
“You’re... one of them right?” Rufus yells. “Another goddamn fucking hallucination... for the love of.. get out of my head!”
The shock has turned to terror, and he can’t move while Rufus’ words pick up, ranting, cursing, screaming at him.
“Rufus, I’m-“
“You’re not fucking real! Shut up! You’re... what... where... no, shut up, quit spouting that ... are you absolutely deluded?!”
The mic falls from nerveless hands as he listens to the tirade. It’s not just that Rufus is screaming now, but he’s all over the map, half-formed sentences that break off, speaking to someone only he can see or hear, economic terms and curses thrown around in equal quantities and none of it makes sense.
“Reno.” Something like sanity cuts through the tirade, and for a moment there he thinks it’s Tseng, but Tseng is still outside, and the voice reached him over the headset...
He fumbles for the mic. “I’m here.”
“Reno, get me out of here. Get me...” words twist away, the moment of lucidity vanishing beneath the tide, Rufus’ words getting more and more garbled. And then he’s yelling again.
“Hang on,” he whispers. Quietly. Uselessly, as an invisible knife stabs straight through his heart and gorges it out. He’ll ride it out. He’ll wait until Rufus has another moment of sanity and then he’ll tell him-
--it hits earlier than he expected: the sudden moment of icy calm, where Rufus’ ranting tears away to silence, where his breathing goes a little calmer. He opens his mouth to speak, but Rufus beats him to it.
“Father, I’m sorry.” Rufus gasps, and Reno stares in shock. But that is nothing compared to the words that follow after.
“You’re right,” Rufus says.
*
He hardly registers tearing off the headset and stumbling from the room. He misses the triumphant look that the President levels at him, blundering blindly for the door. Rude snags his arm, before he can crash blindly into the closed doors.
Dimly, the President’s words drift to him: “The Sector 7 operation commences at noon tomorrow. I trust I’ll see you there.”
I couldn’t protect him. I couldn’t stop them. I couldn’t do anything for him. I failed. Totally. Big fat fucking waste of breath I am...
“Remember,” the President says, hovering before him. “The faster you do this, the sooner we let him go.”
He can’t remember ever having hated someone as much as he does then, when he stares up -- when did he fall over? -- to face the man. He doesn’t have a fucking choice, does he? He doesn’t need to know just what Rufus was talking about to know just how utterly wrong it was. He doesn’t need to know the mechanics of the situation to know that there’s been damage wrought -- in just two days! -- and a hefty amount of that. He doesn’t know what the hell he’s going to fish out of that tank, but he knows that he has to. He must.
He fucking hates playing into someone’s hands like this, but he’s got them all. Neatly twined around his little finger.
“I’ll do it,” he says, pushing himself to his feet, but his teeth are clenched, and those words make him feel as if he’s selling his soul.
He’ll do it. He’ll murder millions of people on the whim of a madman, to catch a few murderers, to avenge a few deaths... to save the one thing that matters to him.
Even if the Rufus he saves won’t be the one he knew.
*
To be continued
Point IX - Event Horizon
FF7 - Rating: PG-13 - Part 9/? - Warnings: Semi-graphic scenes of violence, and a lot of swearing.
Pairings: Rufus/Reno (established) - Status: In progress, incomplete.
For codename_scar
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. All loyalties and motives are called into question, and as the Company comes under attack by enemies, the Turks are forced to question just who and what they are fighting for.
Chapter Summary: Where Reno returns after failing to catch Aeris, to find even more drastic plans underway. And just how high the cost of rebellion can go.
“Perhaps you do not fully comprehend the situation you are in,” the President says without preamble.
Reno stuffs his hands in his pockets.
“We are running out of time. The terrorists are still alive, you tell me, and the Ancient has not been apprehended. And now, we have solid proof of their collaboration.”
Reno bites back a sigh as the President taps his fingers together. The old man and Rufus have the same eyes, although Rufus’ tend to hold some sort sardonic amusement in them. Some kind of “I’m superior to you and don’t you know it” look. It irritates the hell out-
Tseng elbows him discretely, and he snaps out of his musings. “...time is critical. The terrorists have struck back at a second of our reactors. They did not succeed, no thanks to you lot, but they will not hesitate to strike again.”
And so on and so forth.
“Tseng,” the President says. “I want you to handle this personally. It is a job that is far too important to entrust to lackeys.” The last is said with a sidelong glance at him, and Reno clenches a fist.
“Understood,” Tseng says flatly.
“And as for you,” the President turns to face Reno fully. “I give you one chance to redeem yourself after this dismal failure.”
*
He’s sitting on the bed when Reno bursts in, staring off into space and not quite sure what he was doing. The Turk grabs his wrist and drags him to his feet, ignoring his stumbling questions as to what’s the matter and where they’re going.
“Run,” Reno says, so he does.
*
They’re standing on the edge of the Plate. The Slums are pinpricks of light, a universe of stars to mirror the ones overhead. Reno’s arm is snug around his shoulders, and he, not overly prone to public displays of affection, instinctively moves to brush that arm away.
Fingers curl in tight around his arm and Reno shoves.
He stumbles, dress shoes slipping across the edge and he twists and falls before Reno catches him by the forearm. He stares up, and his heart is in his throat as he swings out over nothingness.
“Why?” he asks, feet kicking at nothing, the wrench on his arm almost painful.
“Goodbye,” Reno says, and lets go.
He falls.
*
Through time and space, and there is blackness and life-stream green.
*
He awakens, and his father is standing over him.
Come with me.
He rises from the bed and they cross the room, and step out of the Shinra Tower.
*
“This is utter bullshit,” Reno can’t help but say, staring at the plans laid out before them. “Are you completely insane? There’s no way-“
“Shut up, Turk, and let your betters do the thinking for you.”
“No. I don’t get it.” Reno forces breath through gritted teeth, trying and mostly failing to keep a tenuous grip on his temper. “You are. Proposing to blow up the structural support and drop the entire freaking plate on to Sector 7 just to kill less than half a dozen people?”
“Tseng, you are to capture the Ancient before the plate can fall,” the President says, ignoring him. “If she dies, I will be extremely displeased. And you,” he glances at Rude. “Make sure that the information is discretely leaked to the terrorists. We want them to try and stop it. We want to make sure they are right under the plate when it falls. And you,” he spears Reno with a glance.
“You are to execute it.”
*
“This way,” Reno says, and they’re heading through winding streets and backdoors. “We have to get you out. We have to get you away.”
There are people behind them. He glances over his shoulder and there’s nothing there. When he turns back, Reno is standing in front of him.
The pistol in the Turk’s hand recoils sharply, and the bullet ploughs straight through his heart.
He falls.
*
He stands behind his father as they stare out of the massive windows dominating the President’s office. Midgar glitters, and the reactors sparkle in the distance.
“Some day, boy, this will all be yours.”
*
“And what if I don’t?”
The President smiles, an icy humourless thing. Rufus got that from him, Reno thinks, although the kid does it better.
“Since you utterly fail to comprehend the phrase ‘in the interests of the Company’, allow me to put things into perspective for you.”
Cold, cold apprehension twists in his gut, but there’s no way he can back down now. “Yeah? What would that be?”
The President picks up a timer from his desk, and twirls it to face them. 50 hours, it reads. 50 hours, 34 minutes and 14 seconds.
Tseng tenses beside him, and Reno glances over, not quite understanding-
“This,” the President says, tapping it. “Is how long the boy has been in that tank. Would you like to see what wonders his little vacation has done for him?” He pauses, and the smile becomes positively vicious. “And how much more every second that you waste will cost him?”
*
“Watch out.” Reno tugs him to his feet, and he staggers, strangely disoriented.
“Get me out of here,” he whispers, but he doesn’t know where the words came from, for they aren’t in the Shinra Tower, aren’t in Junon, aren’t anywhere he recognises, really.
“I will,” Reno says, pulling him close, and their mouths meet, desperation bitter on his tongue.
There is an explosion of pain as the Turk buries a knife in his gut. He stumbles backwards, vision fading rapidly. Reno gives him a cheery wave and walks off.
*
“This will all be yours. Live to inherit it, Rufus.”
He turns, confused, for when was the last time they were on speaking terms?
“Discard all weakness,” his father says. “You were born into an inheritance greater than anyone else’s. Do not cast it away for a moment’s self-indulgence.” He turns. “Strive. Become better than you are. Become worthy of the position.”
“What am I doing wrong?” he asks. Blurts out. The burning question that is always on the tip of his tongue, the only question that he has never been able to ask and never been able to get an answer to.
His father stares at him. “You’ve forgotten who you are.”
*
Who am I.
Reno smiles at him, and pushes him over the edge.
And he falls, through blackness, through a sea of stars, arm outstretched, fingers reaching for the heavens. Reaching out for the saving hand that isn’t there.
I am...
Reno smiles at him, and presses the trigger.
...Shinra.
Reno tugs him close, and thrusts the dagger through his stomach.
I am...
He bleeds his life out on the pavement, and the Turk walks away.
“No one saves you,” his father says, and his wavering vision registers black shoes and a crimson suit. “You live or die by your own strength.”
“Help,” he whispers, trying to move, one hand pressed over the wound, trying to keep his guts in. The other thrown out to one side, and he can’t even move it.
His father stares down at him, dispassionately. “It’s too late, son.”
A flash of anger. “It’s never... too... late.”
The other kneels, and warm hands take his cold fingers between them. “Let this be a warning. There are those who would love as who you are. And then there are those who love you only for the position you stand to inherit. You let the latter in, cast the former out, and now, now...”
He chokes, and blood dribbles down his chin. “Reno...”
“Was a traitor.”
“You’re lying,” he hisses. “You’re... always... you tried to isolate me. You’re always trying to isolate me. Make sure I walk at heel, don’t talk to strangers...” It’s difficult to speak. It’s difficult to think. He’s so confused, and his father isn’t getting angry, isn’t pushing him away, isn’t screaming at him for once-
“Love blinds you. Didn’t I warn you about that, son?”
“He has ... no incentive...”
“People are more complex than you give them credit for. Stop painting the world in black and white. You can’t expect people to be rational about things.” He chuckles. “The Turks are the farthest things from economists.”
“But ...why?”
“Why indeed? Why does anyone do as they would? If we were to spend time trying to understand people, we would be caught in a never-ending game of catch up. Extrapolating from data that isn’t there. Predicting behaviour that deviates at the drop of a hat.” He pauses, and Rufus feels a cold globe of materia being pressed into his hand. His father folds his fingers over it, and the Restore spell triggers.
“No,” the President says. “In order to be effective, we cannot pre-empt people. We must control them.”
*
“Rufus!” Reno shoulders his way past the doors. Nothing much seems to have changed: the technicians glance up in surprise, and turn back to their work. He ignores them, running up to the glass. The setup has changed slightly. Some water has been drained and the respirator is gone, and Rufus can breathe under his own power.
But his brow is furrowed, pain lines contorting his face, and he mumbles something that Reno can’t hear.
“This way, please,” one of the technicians says, gesturing towards a door.
“What?” Reno snaps.
“Do you want to talk to him?” the President asks, trailing behind. “I give you the opportunity to do so.”
He stares. There’s no way that... oh hells, he’ll do it anyway. There has to be some way he can get through to Rufus. He’ll show them.
They hand him a microphone and a pair of headphones, and leave. No instructions. No briefing. No nothing. Apprehensively, he snaps the headset over his ears, and snaps the microphone on.
“Rufus?”
The answer is slow in coming. On screen, he sees the surprise reflected in Rufus’ face, the hesitation. He can hear Rufus’ breathing over the headset, and it’s weak, unsteady. Gasping for air as if he can’t quite breathe.
“Rufus,” he tries again. “It’s me. Reno.”
“Re...no?” the word soft. Slurred. So hesitant and subdued that it nearly breaks his heart.
“What are they-no, scratch that. Just hold on in there, okay? I promise I’ll get you out.”
“In...?” He can hear the confusion. “In where? What ... are you talking about?”
At least he doesn’t sound half as lost now. But, seriously, what the hell did they do to him?
“Yeah, the old man is trying to screw you over. Don’t let him get to you.”
This facility has some potential as a brainwashing tool...
“Don’t listen to them, okay?” He’s gripping the mic so hard that his knuckles are turning white.
“Who are you?” Rufus demands, his voice stronger, more certain now.
“I’m Reno, you asswit.”
Rufus is shaking his head on screen, the frown on his face deepening. “You’re... not. You’re... just...” Rufus pauses, and Reno can hear his breathing getting more ragged.
“I’m not? What do you mean I’m not?” Shock lances through him, iciness that freezes words on his tongue and makes reassurances fall short, makes him lose the moment-
“You’re... one of them right?” Rufus yells. “Another goddamn fucking hallucination... for the love of.. get out of my head!”
The shock has turned to terror, and he can’t move while Rufus’ words pick up, ranting, cursing, screaming at him.
“Rufus, I’m-“
“You’re not fucking real! Shut up! You’re... what... where... no, shut up, quit spouting that ... are you absolutely deluded?!”
The mic falls from nerveless hands as he listens to the tirade. It’s not just that Rufus is screaming now, but he’s all over the map, half-formed sentences that break off, speaking to someone only he can see or hear, economic terms and curses thrown around in equal quantities and none of it makes sense.
“Reno.” Something like sanity cuts through the tirade, and for a moment there he thinks it’s Tseng, but Tseng is still outside, and the voice reached him over the headset...
He fumbles for the mic. “I’m here.”
“Reno, get me out of here. Get me...” words twist away, the moment of lucidity vanishing beneath the tide, Rufus’ words getting more and more garbled. And then he’s yelling again.
“Hang on,” he whispers. Quietly. Uselessly, as an invisible knife stabs straight through his heart and gorges it out. He’ll ride it out. He’ll wait until Rufus has another moment of sanity and then he’ll tell him-
--it hits earlier than he expected: the sudden moment of icy calm, where Rufus’ ranting tears away to silence, where his breathing goes a little calmer. He opens his mouth to speak, but Rufus beats him to it.
“Father, I’m sorry.” Rufus gasps, and Reno stares in shock. But that is nothing compared to the words that follow after.
“You’re right,” Rufus says.
*
He hardly registers tearing off the headset and stumbling from the room. He misses the triumphant look that the President levels at him, blundering blindly for the door. Rude snags his arm, before he can crash blindly into the closed doors.
Dimly, the President’s words drift to him: “The Sector 7 operation commences at noon tomorrow. I trust I’ll see you there.”
I couldn’t protect him. I couldn’t stop them. I couldn’t do anything for him. I failed. Totally. Big fat fucking waste of breath I am...
“Remember,” the President says, hovering before him. “The faster you do this, the sooner we let him go.”
He can’t remember ever having hated someone as much as he does then, when he stares up -- when did he fall over? -- to face the man. He doesn’t have a fucking choice, does he? He doesn’t need to know just what Rufus was talking about to know just how utterly wrong it was. He doesn’t need to know the mechanics of the situation to know that there’s been damage wrought -- in just two days! -- and a hefty amount of that. He doesn’t know what the hell he’s going to fish out of that tank, but he knows that he has to. He must.
He fucking hates playing into someone’s hands like this, but he’s got them all. Neatly twined around his little finger.
“I’ll do it,” he says, pushing himself to his feet, but his teeth are clenched, and those words make him feel as if he’s selling his soul.
He’ll do it. He’ll murder millions of people on the whim of a madman, to catch a few murderers, to avenge a few deaths... to save the one thing that matters to him.
Even if the Rufus he saves won’t be the one he knew.
*
To be continued