[FF7] Shotgun Loyalty revised repost + 1/2 of V.
Shotgun Loyalty
A glimpse into the relationship between Rufus and the Turks. Violence, sexism, and politics.
This was originally written in late 2004 and it's still been ages since I've played Final Fantasy VII (which, incidentally, does not belong to me). So it can be considered AU of sorts.
I.
Mildly sweet with a slight tang, a thick, rolling liquid like honey or blood swirled around the sides of the glass and stuck slightly, refusing to leave as if it was afraid to be in the open -- afraid to go down his throat like many things were. The gaseous glimmer from the lights below illuminated and reflected off the glass window, adding to what was otherwise a dark room. It was quiet and the only thing could be heard was the squeaking of a chair as it swiveled back and forth along with the rustling of papers, stiff and dry. Turk reports.
Rufus was virtually alone in the building, and he knew that, basking in the sense of privacy he finally had with no secretary or employee or rogue Avalanche member to harry him. Complete and perfect solitude, an ample time to do some much-needed midnight reading. As a rule, all Turk reports were absolutely and strictly confidential, off-limits to even the highest of employees, save a few: the president and the Turks themselves. And the president, while he had other and more important duties, reveled in reading them. Gritty and salacious and violent and scandalous, the reports read more like a story with multiple and fractured chapters: all the pieces were more or less there and it was up to him to put them together. They were Rufus' hidden pleasures.
Each Turk member had, of course, a different style of interpreting the same event in their reports: Tseng's were dry and objective, but no less juicy because it was precisely that feature in his writing that made reading seem like watching a car accident unfold and just that; the image was there and it was up to Rufus to paint the picture in color. Rude's were absolutely intriguing as he wrote everything bluntly and exactly, and he never skipped on a detail; if the girl's head was bashed in, it was bashed in with blood flooding her features, a mushy and gray substance spilled out, and her family screaming everything they could think of to perhaps get back at their only daughter's death before they, too, eventually shared her fate. Thrilling. And it came as no surprise that Elena's were detailed and partially emotional, concentrating on the effect rather than the cause; in her writing, the slightest nuances were accented and observed and left Rufus with no choice other than to be pulled in entirely, present the whole time as the victim, the spectator who had to be silenced, the Turks themselves, and mysterious and compassionate God who wondered if that extra kick was necessary or rightful. Then there was Reno, and Rufus could only classify his reports as nothing less than strange and cryptic. Spelling errors aside, he elaborated in great detail about a seemingly unimportant event; if he cracked open the skull of a dissenting rebel, the force of the blow vibrated through his electric stick, tingling his hands, and when the body hit the ground -- he was dead? Oh, he hadn't noticed -- the slightest of tremors were felt through his shoes as a pool of blood seeped out of the guy's head and ruined the picture of his wife and kids that must have slipped from his wallet when they took his cash just to make it seem like a robbery. The reports said a lot of their personalities: Tseng was impersonal, Rude was hedonistic, Elena was a woman, and Reno...was unhinged.
The thought of these individuals as his loyal Dobermans made Rufus practically quiver with excitement.
The job they handed in that morning was one of the more intriguing ones that involved spying, blackmail, kidnapping, and eventually murder. The perfect nightcap for Rufus.
Her name was only important for narration purposes, Tseng's report so bluntly stated, but she was the daughter of a dissenting Shinra executive who had no idea his only little girl was a member of a rebel faction. He was just enough of a thorn in his side, though, for Rufus to order for the Turks' involvement in the humiliation of his family, the destruction of his daughter's ideals, and the increase of Shinra's power using fear to control the masses, even its own employees; her name was Annette. First they trailed her every day, taking note of her patterns and schedules, tapped her phone calls, and made sure she went only where she could be monitored, which meant visits to her cautious and paranoid boyfriend's place had to stop; a swift robbery and murder had done just the trick. The "government" really did take him out, Reno noted. Then, once they had gathered enough evidence against her, the Turks sent an intricately worded official note from the company with pictures they had more than enough copies of to her father, 'warning' him to stop his daughter's activities, lest it make the front page of the newspaper and his job be at stake... They leaked the information anyway. It was on the front page and subsequent pages after of the Shinra Times for a week, and Annette's father received hundreds of calls, complaints and threats, from Shinra employees and the rest of the upper world. One of the threats, called in by Rude in a thinly disguised voice, alluded to a kidnapping; the Turks then made sure to act as an independent organization. They kidnapped her shortly after and sent her father a ransom note for a ridiculous sum, baiting the family into paying at least half of it which became partially company profit and the rest the Turks kept. Once her father was fired from the Shinra Corporation, Reno and Rude raped and killed Annette just to make it look like a regular, sadistic crime. Then Shinra sent its condolences.
To Rufus, it was a wonderfully entertaining story - one of the best series of reports he'd read yet. Tseng describing in detail the methods they used to do their work, Rude describing the murders and rape, Elena's talk with the poor girl, and Reno's preoccupation with the irony of the situation and Annette's hair even after it was covered in blood and strewn all throughout the place after Rude had bludgeoned her -- his favorite -- to death after the rape... All those details made the reading nothing short of magnificent in Rufus' eyes and he idly wondered if he would give them a raise.
Of course, after considering that they did get to keep a partial sum of the ransom money, he decided against it and opted just to give them a congratulations instead.
II.
They were off for a while until further notice, which meant that they'd have a few days of respite until Rufus decided that he needed them again, and then they would most likely be put back on the Avalanche case. It was boring, trailing Cloud and company, searching for clues about the Promised Land and Sephiroth; after the first week, Reno begged Tseng to let Rufus know he was more than welcome to recall them for local purposes. But it seemed he was the only one truly miserable with the wild goose chase. Rude, of course, was infatuated with Tifa and no one really blamed him considering her rather large and bouyant chest; Tseng liked the dullness, and since he spent much of his time in Midgar, it was like a vacation for him; and Elena liked the inaction. For Reno, it was too much inaction, too much searching. He didn't have the patience. So Tseng would allow him to accompany him to Midgar, if only for a little while, as a break in the monotony.
While they made enough to afford to frequent one of those ritzy, high class establishments those with money and power were commonly seen at, the Turks' favorite hangout was a dingy little bar just northeast from the train station -- still on the upper plate, but definitely in one of the uglier parts. It was a place where there was a brawl at least every week and not-so-legal substances were sold in the back room, but only if you knew what to ask for when ordering from the bartender, a guy named Sam who'd been there as long as Midgar itself; the Turks were regulars.
A few nights after pulling off the Annette job, they were there, and the bar was theirs alone. Tseng never went with them because he said he had more of a sense of responsibility than to associate himself and mix with the unsavory part of the upper plate, but Rude suspected it was because of the drug bust a few years ago that had Reno suspended from duty for nearly a month. Either way, Tseng was never with them, and for a long time it had just been Reno and Rude until Cloud had injured Reno at the Sector 7 pillar and Elena had been called in as a replacement that never left; Rude knew she was only there because she desired to prove something to the rest of them. Often he wondered how a nice and sweet girl like her had ever become a Turk. Reno said he didn't care about the kid as long as she did her job, but he tended to act like an older brother, shielding her from various unpleasantries. The first time she accompanied them to the bar, she tried to order what Reno was having, but he wouldn't let her.
There was a small jukebox in the corner of that dank establishment that was as temperamental as a woman; sometimes it worked, sometimes it didn't, depending on how badly you wanted it to. Ever since he saw that it carried one of his favorite albums, Rude always wanted it to play, and because of that there was no music when the Turks came; none at all, even though Rude always spent half the night trying to get it to work. It was almost like a ritual: Reno always had the 'special' -- the drink Elena once unsuccessfully tried to order -- and when there were other patrons, most of them regulars, they'd talk him into sharing on-the-job stories, and instead of music from the jukebox that generally permeated the atmosphere, the events that went into top secret Turk reports were openly talked about and dominated the noise until they left. It didn't matter, telling 'classified' information like that; the bar's patrons were generally unsavory characters who knew what the Turks really did anyway. Recruiting those for SOLDIER was just a side job. Rarely were there fights in the bar with the Turks present because everyone was occupied otherwise, but when there was one, they never hesitated to jump in readily; the original fight and cause of it were irrelevant, rather it was the feel of excitement and physical activity that left such a feeling of elation unrivalled. Elena disapproved. She disapproved of the many things that the two guys did.
It was just the three of them there that night, which was unusual because at the very least the drunks and women of ill-repute, of whom Elena despised so passionately, were present, talking and drinking and talking and drinking. It was a seemingly endless cycle until the very last one was kicked out at closing time, but usually the Turks were gone before that. Elena was always the first to leave, and, depending on the flow of the night's events, Rude and Reno would leave separately much later. But that night was looking to be an early escape; it was quiet and boring already.
"The usual?" asked Sam as he wiped down a glass with his traditional towel and put it on the back shelf. The bar may have been dirty, but the instruments were always clean.
Reno nodded while Rude affirmed, but Elena told him she wouldn't be having anything. Had she not been a Turk and almost-loyal patron, Sam would've shot her a dirty glance for that on such a slow night.
But he didn't, and the drinks came quickly while the Turks sat, idly talking about unimportant things before Rude rose to 'liven up' the place, which meant he was going to attempt to get the jukebox working again.
"And it starts," Elena remarked with a small, apologetic smile, still feeling a bit guilty. She explained before that she had a date later that night. Reno, of course, wanted to know all the particulars, and she obliged without complaint. After all, she didn't mind him prying into her personal life for all the right reasons. She liked the feeling of closeness they had; they were like family rather than colleagues.
Amidst the vague sound of Rude muttering curses and banging on the jukebox -- Sam didn't mind because he never caused any actual harm to it -- Reno inquired about the slowness that night, and furthermore about the general emptiness of the area.
"They've all either gone or died or they're too afraid to leave their homes. Nobody wants to be in Midgar anymore with all that's happening in the world," Sam explained, his voice saddened as he leaned against the counter. "We had that Sephiroth guy go around and kill the president, and then the vice-president has made everyone afraid to dissent out of fear of going to jail or being labeled as a traitor or whatnot. The old president used to buy our cooperation, but this guy..."
Reno observed him steadily, simply holding his drink in his hands, barely having drank any of it. "Aren't you afraid of saying that sort of stuff around us? We are Turks after all..."
"Sure I am, like everyone else, but you're off-duty now."
"You know us well."
Elena didn't understand as they then laughed. Potential crisis averted, Reno began drinking more as Rude, who had paused briefly to take a break, got his second wind. "Taxes are lower now than they were before... Isn't that better?" the younger Turk mentioned, and her unsure and questioning tone betrayed her normally confident demeanor.
"Taxes are nothing if you can't be free to speak your mind," Reno answered and Elena looked at him in surprise as the bartender nodded. "Taxes generate money to pay for our saleries and public facilities, but the president has decided not to spend the money on employees or constituents and instead dictate with fear. Taxes may be lower now, but with everyone escaping the city because they're afraid, there will be few left to tax. So for Shinra to pay for itself, it will have to significantly increase the taxes it once cut."
Elena looked vaguely confused as she tried to process it in her mind; she had always placed complete and blind faith into her bosses, so the peoples' dilemma was beginning to throw everything off. Out of curiosity she asked, "Who decided to lower taxes? Wouldn't the president rather have the power and the money?"
"Reeve," Rude answered, obviously overhearing as he reconnected wires to the infernal machine. "He's one of the few suits working for the people..."
"Doesn't Shinra generate a lot of money from mako reactors? We get a lot of money from Kalm and other places, right?" she asked, still trying to understand.
Rude took another break and leaned his arm across the top of the jukebox. "Yes," he said, "and their taxes will gradually go up as well, but you have to think long-term here. Within the next ten years, at the most, Midgar will have sucked all the surrounding resources dry and the city will have to relocate. They're already preparing Junon just in case, but the administration is putting its money on the Promised Land fable of the Ancients, the one Sephiroth assassinated the president for. Either way, the move is going to cost a fortune, and if the people aren't happy -- free, in this case -- they'll find ways to evade the incredibly high taxation that'll result in the endeavor."
"So..." Elena began, but any subsequent words died just before they reached her lips. She understood what Rude was saying, but it was difficult to visualize.
"If Rufus wants to get anything done, he'll have to please the people, but he can't do that if he won't spend money on them," Reno commented, taking a sip of his drink -- it wasn't something to be gulped down -- as he held his forehead in the palm of his other hand. "But...that's something for the suits to discuss." And with that, the topic was closed for the night. Instead, Rude brought up the latest race results from the Gold Saucer: some jockey had won, as he put it, 'a shitload of dough', and it made the news the night before.
Someday they'd go and do that, Elena had said with the hopes and dreams of a young kid, and for the nth time in his life, Rude wondered why she was there. By being a Turk, did she hope to meet and marry someone high up? Did someone leak to her that they made more money than their lifestyle let on? It was such a dirty job that he couldn't comprehend why such a sweet girl... But he was always reminded of what Reno had told him once: she made it up into their ranks, which meant she was certainly competent enough to work with them; perhaps the fact that she was a young, sweet girl was exactly why she was there in the first place. Of course, the knowledge that she could give as good as she got didn't quell protective instincts for them.
It wasn't long after when Elena left to meet her date, a young entrepreneur who owned a struggling business chain in the southern half of the city, Reno had found out after a brief interrogation; she met him on the train. The Turks weren't jealous -- just protective. Elena was the greenhorn, the rookie...and as clumsy and inexperienced as she was, she was still one of them. They were more like family than co-workers, after all.
Rude and Reno barely stayed a few minutes longer before Reno decided he had enough of the oppressive stillness of the place; it was boring that night, unbearably so. He stayed only to pay off his tab, and once he left, there was no point in Rude sticking around, so he went as well.
And then the jukebox started working again.
III.
"Tell Heidegger I need to see him in my office immediately," Rufus spoke to his secretary through the intercom, his voice carrying through dully in a lower tone. She messaged back to inform him that Heidegger was on his way. That very knowledge cast a pall over his mood, and he did not look forward to meeting with that buffoonish oaf to discuss the situation with Cloud and friends; even the whoreish Scarlet was better than him. Rufus hated Heidegger, hated his laugh, hated the fact that he was one of his father's men, hated his very face... He didn't know why he didn't fire him. Heidegger screwed up so often that he really should have canned him long ago, but...there was something inside Rufus that forced him to let the man stay. Something he hated and despised but was all-too familiar with. It was the same reason he let all his father's aides keep their jobs, let his mother continue living in the President's Mansion as she practically whittled the family fortune away, and let himself stay in that cramped and god-forsaken apartment half a mile west of the city center that he had been residing in for the past five years. It actually wasn't a small place -- in one of the ritziest sectors in the city, even -- but throughout the years he had accumulated so many things from around the world that it had begun to feel crowded, though he was reluctant to give away or throw anything out. His mother had always accused him of being a pack rat, after all.
His intercom buzzed and the secretary's -- his father's secretary -- voice came through, announcing Heidegger's arrival. Reluctantly, Rufus told her to let him in as he sat at his grand desk and tried to look as intimidating and serious as possible; hopefully it would scare the idiot. Of course, he also thought dimly, Heidegger probably didn't have the sense to be intimidated, and people like that annoyed him. The man had few redeeming qualities in Rufus' eyes.
Loud and heavily, he entered the office, closing the door roughly behind him in such a way that the noise from it reverberated throughout the cold and still room, and smiled stupidly, brightly, saying, "You wanted to see me, Rufus?"
"Call me sir, Heidegger. Sir. Have a little respect, will you?" he said, his voice low, sharp, and commanding. Annoyance and fatigue betrayed his calm demeanor, however. "Sit." When Heidegger obeyed by scrambling -- he loved it when they did that -- for a nearby chair that was cold and hard, just like the president, Rufus suppressed a smirk as he continued, "What do you have to tell me about recent Avalanche developments?"
"They're near to progressing through Corel now, sir. Should be in the town and into Golden Saucer within the next few days. They seem to be taking it easy for now, I think," Heidegger reported, and Rufus was relieved that he hadn't started into that god-awful laugh until the man added, "But, of course, my men and I, we'll have them once they're there, sir." Then he began to guffaw, and Rufus wanted to leap over his desk and tear the man's infernal throat out.
His composure cracked slightly. "Stop it! How many times do I have to tell you, you buffoonish oaf, to--" Heidegger was saved from further reprimanding by the secretary, though.
"Sir?" she buzzed over the intercom, and she sounded slightly annoyed as she continued, "pardon the interruption, but Tseng wishes to see you."
"Send him in," Rufus said to her quickly, and then to Heidegger he added harshly, "You, get out." He'd had all the basic information he needed from the portly man, and the rest of it he would order his secretary to gather; reluctantly he'd hoped to discuss a bit more with Heidegger, including plans for future strategy, but Tseng was an all-too welcome distraction. Though the man had important things to discuss with him, Rufus could not stand him, and as a result...
"Of course, should I come back later to discuss future plans concerning--"
"Yes, yes, whatever, just get out," the president ordered quickly.
As he moved toward the door, he kept talking, "But what should I tell the men to--"
"I don't care, Heidegger. Use your head."
The man had his hand on the knob of the door opened ajar as he tried to further information, "But--"
"Heidegger," Rufus commanded slowly but loudly as his annoyance and impatience threatened to get the best of him, "get out."
Heidegger paused and looked at his boss, something churning within his head, and finally smiled jovially, moving to leave. "Have a good day, then," he said before he closed the door behind him, "Rufus."
The door shut, leaving only a frustrated and angry young man inside the cold office once again. "I said," Rufus murmured into his hands at no one as he rubbed his face in exasperation, "to call me sir."
IV.
Give him two days, Rude had predicted, and we'll be back trailing Avalanche again. And as the Turks sat in silence, waiting for the president to finish up his business with Reeve, it had been two days exactly. Such predictions from the quiet, bald man were always eerily accurate. Rude's baldness had made it easier for him to be in touch with the life force of the planet, Reno had told him in all seriousness once, and people with hair were never really able to feel it. Of course, the man had been drinking the house special at Sam's bar, so whatever he said was to be taken with a grain of salt, Rude was sure.
"I don't want to go to Corel," Elena sighed to Rufus' secretary, a young and proper-looking woman close to her boss' age; she hated him, though, because he wasn't interested in having an affair with her like his father was. "It's such a poor, dirty little town..."
Like the gossip-mongerer she was, the secretary leaned in conspiratorily and whispered, "Word has it that the president sent Tseng ahead with a few boys from SOLDIER to scout in the Corel area, so most likely you'll either be stationed at Corel directly or -- and I overheard him talking to Heidegger about this -- the Golden Saucer."
Elena practically squealed with delight over this bit of gossip and turned to the other Turks, exclaiming, "Oh, I really hope it's true!"
Rude only nodded briefly with a grunt, but Reno shook his head slightly, feeling mildly hung-over, and muttered, "Nah, they wouldn't station us there. We're the Turks; the Golden Saucer heads would never let us patrol there. Most likely we'll be sent on ahead, south of that area."
"Aw, Reno, you're no fun!" Elena complained, if only because she knew he was right. She then turned back to the secretary and began discussing the particulars of her most recent date. It had apparently gone fairly well.
Since nothing she said was of any particular importance or concerned him at all, Reno tuned Elena out and leaned back into the hard and stale bench, trying to relax with a pounding skull.
Rude picked up the Times and turned to the sports section. "The Zolems beat the Cockatrices three to one last night," he muttered idly.
"Damn," Reno muttered as he pressed his fingers on the bridge of his nose, "I actually had my money on the Cocks this time..."
"How much?"
"Fifty gil."
Rude chuckled and turned the page. "Why'd you do that?"
"Well I didn't think they'd lose, obviously," Reno muttered shortly. "One doesn't put money on a team in hopes that they lose, after all."
"Considering that the Cockatrices have only won four games this entire season, wouldn't it be obvious that they'd lose to the superior Zolems who've only lost one game?"
"You're only saying that because you bet in their favor."
Rude answered with another brief chuckle.
"So how much?"
"...Only twenty."
Reno leaned forward quickly and exclaimed with muted passion, "See? If you were so sure that they'd win, you'd have put more money on, wouldn't you?"
Rude didn't answer but immersed himself in the world of sports again with an idle smirk on his lips.
Elena, overhearing Reno's brief outburst, sighed and disapproved. "Boys, if you're going to indulge in betting, at least bet the big bucks! It's not like we live paycheck to paycheck, after all."
"Right," the secretary agreed, "I like a man who's not afraid to spend a little more than he should on a risk."
"Then you favor a poor man?" Reno asked, not at all interested in what kind of man the secretary liked, but he felt contrite nonetheless.
She gave him a sharp look and answered, "Certainly not," before returning to the world of idle gossip with her female companion.
He could care less anyway.
The door to the presidential office at the top of the steps opened and Rufus walked Reeve down, discussing last-minute business matters. "You can control it remotely, you say? How remote?"
"It can go anywhere in the world, sir," Reeve answered with a certain amount of pride as they reached the bottom of the steps where the Turks still sat in the waiting area, listening while trying not to show it. "Underwater, in the air, anywhere."
Rufus shook the man's hand and continued, "Quite remarkable, Reeve. I do look forward to seeing it in action." He then pat Reeve's shoulder, looking pleased for once, and bid him a good day before turning to the Turks and motioning for them to follow him up into his office.
V.
An air of absolute authority was of utmost importance in order to reign in the Turks; Tseng knew this reality all too well, though it was rather fortunate that his personality naturally demanded respect. Rufus was having a little tougher time with this, however, despite the fact that he had the ability to reduce most men to quivering masses of flesh.
Quite simply, Reno still thought of him as a greenhorn and saw to it to grate the President's nerves with contriteness.
The external part of Rufus that liked the cold wood of his desk and seeing grown men grovel at his feet wanted to fire and humiliate him for his insubordination, but inwardly he seethed because he knew he could never do such a thing. Just like he could never clean the Corporation of his father's influences or move into the President's Mansion. How could he remove such a brilliant yet wasted able body from the Turks? Reno's insubordination was his tenure in Rufus' mind -- a mind whose thoughts were in direct constrast to his father's. There he was, Rufus Shinra, President of the ever-present Shinra Corporation, practically God of Midgar, men bowed before him in droves just to appease him...yet a cocky Turk named Reno refused to bend to his will. Rufus liked it more than he would ever admit -- not that he didn't love servitude, of course, but Reno...well, Reno was a nice change of pace.
"There's an area south of the Golden Saucer that I would like the Turks to scour for the Keystone," Rufus said, mostly to Tseng, as he sat with more of an air of relaxation than he had allowed himself to induldge in previously. "SOLDIER has taken care of Corel already, is that right?"
"That is correct, sir," Tseng affirmed with a stiff nod. "We also have reason to believe that AVALANCHE is heading south as well."
The President clasped his hands together and smirked as his voice took on a smooth tone, "Well then, it's fortunate that the Turks will already be there. Perhaps they can greet them?"
"Can't we 'greet them' at Golden Saucer? I don't know about you, but I don't feel like looking around in grass for a rock," Reno mentioned as he leaned back into his chair and languidly half-crossed his legs.
Tseng glared at Reno in reproach, but he knew it was useless to actually say anything to the rogue Turk -- better to let Rufus deal with him.
"Well, Reno," Rufus murmured, "if I were you--"
"--you'd be one sexy son-of-a-bitch--"
He let it slide with a short smirk at the corner of his lips and continued, "--I'd start getting acquainted with grass and rocks rather soon."
"Already am."
There was something about his offbeat that held Rufus' lips in an upward arc. "Then you should enjoy your time there."
TBC (I swear~)
A glimpse into the relationship between Rufus and the Turks. Violence, sexism, and politics.
This was originally written in late 2004 and it's still been ages since I've played Final Fantasy VII (which, incidentally, does not belong to me). So it can be considered AU of sorts.
I.
Mildly sweet with a slight tang, a thick, rolling liquid like honey or blood swirled around the sides of the glass and stuck slightly, refusing to leave as if it was afraid to be in the open -- afraid to go down his throat like many things were. The gaseous glimmer from the lights below illuminated and reflected off the glass window, adding to what was otherwise a dark room. It was quiet and the only thing could be heard was the squeaking of a chair as it swiveled back and forth along with the rustling of papers, stiff and dry. Turk reports.
Rufus was virtually alone in the building, and he knew that, basking in the sense of privacy he finally had with no secretary or employee or rogue Avalanche member to harry him. Complete and perfect solitude, an ample time to do some much-needed midnight reading. As a rule, all Turk reports were absolutely and strictly confidential, off-limits to even the highest of employees, save a few: the president and the Turks themselves. And the president, while he had other and more important duties, reveled in reading them. Gritty and salacious and violent and scandalous, the reports read more like a story with multiple and fractured chapters: all the pieces were more or less there and it was up to him to put them together. They were Rufus' hidden pleasures.
Each Turk member had, of course, a different style of interpreting the same event in their reports: Tseng's were dry and objective, but no less juicy because it was precisely that feature in his writing that made reading seem like watching a car accident unfold and just that; the image was there and it was up to Rufus to paint the picture in color. Rude's were absolutely intriguing as he wrote everything bluntly and exactly, and he never skipped on a detail; if the girl's head was bashed in, it was bashed in with blood flooding her features, a mushy and gray substance spilled out, and her family screaming everything they could think of to perhaps get back at their only daughter's death before they, too, eventually shared her fate. Thrilling. And it came as no surprise that Elena's were detailed and partially emotional, concentrating on the effect rather than the cause; in her writing, the slightest nuances were accented and observed and left Rufus with no choice other than to be pulled in entirely, present the whole time as the victim, the spectator who had to be silenced, the Turks themselves, and mysterious and compassionate God who wondered if that extra kick was necessary or rightful. Then there was Reno, and Rufus could only classify his reports as nothing less than strange and cryptic. Spelling errors aside, he elaborated in great detail about a seemingly unimportant event; if he cracked open the skull of a dissenting rebel, the force of the blow vibrated through his electric stick, tingling his hands, and when the body hit the ground -- he was dead? Oh, he hadn't noticed -- the slightest of tremors were felt through his shoes as a pool of blood seeped out of the guy's head and ruined the picture of his wife and kids that must have slipped from his wallet when they took his cash just to make it seem like a robbery. The reports said a lot of their personalities: Tseng was impersonal, Rude was hedonistic, Elena was a woman, and Reno...was unhinged.
The thought of these individuals as his loyal Dobermans made Rufus practically quiver with excitement.
The job they handed in that morning was one of the more intriguing ones that involved spying, blackmail, kidnapping, and eventually murder. The perfect nightcap for Rufus.
Her name was only important for narration purposes, Tseng's report so bluntly stated, but she was the daughter of a dissenting Shinra executive who had no idea his only little girl was a member of a rebel faction. He was just enough of a thorn in his side, though, for Rufus to order for the Turks' involvement in the humiliation of his family, the destruction of his daughter's ideals, and the increase of Shinra's power using fear to control the masses, even its own employees; her name was Annette. First they trailed her every day, taking note of her patterns and schedules, tapped her phone calls, and made sure she went only where she could be monitored, which meant visits to her cautious and paranoid boyfriend's place had to stop; a swift robbery and murder had done just the trick. The "government" really did take him out, Reno noted. Then, once they had gathered enough evidence against her, the Turks sent an intricately worded official note from the company with pictures they had more than enough copies of to her father, 'warning' him to stop his daughter's activities, lest it make the front page of the newspaper and his job be at stake... They leaked the information anyway. It was on the front page and subsequent pages after of the Shinra Times for a week, and Annette's father received hundreds of calls, complaints and threats, from Shinra employees and the rest of the upper world. One of the threats, called in by Rude in a thinly disguised voice, alluded to a kidnapping; the Turks then made sure to act as an independent organization. They kidnapped her shortly after and sent her father a ransom note for a ridiculous sum, baiting the family into paying at least half of it which became partially company profit and the rest the Turks kept. Once her father was fired from the Shinra Corporation, Reno and Rude raped and killed Annette just to make it look like a regular, sadistic crime. Then Shinra sent its condolences.
To Rufus, it was a wonderfully entertaining story - one of the best series of reports he'd read yet. Tseng describing in detail the methods they used to do their work, Rude describing the murders and rape, Elena's talk with the poor girl, and Reno's preoccupation with the irony of the situation and Annette's hair even after it was covered in blood and strewn all throughout the place after Rude had bludgeoned her -- his favorite -- to death after the rape... All those details made the reading nothing short of magnificent in Rufus' eyes and he idly wondered if he would give them a raise.
Of course, after considering that they did get to keep a partial sum of the ransom money, he decided against it and opted just to give them a congratulations instead.
II.
They were off for a while until further notice, which meant that they'd have a few days of respite until Rufus decided that he needed them again, and then they would most likely be put back on the Avalanche case. It was boring, trailing Cloud and company, searching for clues about the Promised Land and Sephiroth; after the first week, Reno begged Tseng to let Rufus know he was more than welcome to recall them for local purposes. But it seemed he was the only one truly miserable with the wild goose chase. Rude, of course, was infatuated with Tifa and no one really blamed him considering her rather large and bouyant chest; Tseng liked the dullness, and since he spent much of his time in Midgar, it was like a vacation for him; and Elena liked the inaction. For Reno, it was too much inaction, too much searching. He didn't have the patience. So Tseng would allow him to accompany him to Midgar, if only for a little while, as a break in the monotony.
While they made enough to afford to frequent one of those ritzy, high class establishments those with money and power were commonly seen at, the Turks' favorite hangout was a dingy little bar just northeast from the train station -- still on the upper plate, but definitely in one of the uglier parts. It was a place where there was a brawl at least every week and not-so-legal substances were sold in the back room, but only if you knew what to ask for when ordering from the bartender, a guy named Sam who'd been there as long as Midgar itself; the Turks were regulars.
A few nights after pulling off the Annette job, they were there, and the bar was theirs alone. Tseng never went with them because he said he had more of a sense of responsibility than to associate himself and mix with the unsavory part of the upper plate, but Rude suspected it was because of the drug bust a few years ago that had Reno suspended from duty for nearly a month. Either way, Tseng was never with them, and for a long time it had just been Reno and Rude until Cloud had injured Reno at the Sector 7 pillar and Elena had been called in as a replacement that never left; Rude knew she was only there because she desired to prove something to the rest of them. Often he wondered how a nice and sweet girl like her had ever become a Turk. Reno said he didn't care about the kid as long as she did her job, but he tended to act like an older brother, shielding her from various unpleasantries. The first time she accompanied them to the bar, she tried to order what Reno was having, but he wouldn't let her.
There was a small jukebox in the corner of that dank establishment that was as temperamental as a woman; sometimes it worked, sometimes it didn't, depending on how badly you wanted it to. Ever since he saw that it carried one of his favorite albums, Rude always wanted it to play, and because of that there was no music when the Turks came; none at all, even though Rude always spent half the night trying to get it to work. It was almost like a ritual: Reno always had the 'special' -- the drink Elena once unsuccessfully tried to order -- and when there were other patrons, most of them regulars, they'd talk him into sharing on-the-job stories, and instead of music from the jukebox that generally permeated the atmosphere, the events that went into top secret Turk reports were openly talked about and dominated the noise until they left. It didn't matter, telling 'classified' information like that; the bar's patrons were generally unsavory characters who knew what the Turks really did anyway. Recruiting those for SOLDIER was just a side job. Rarely were there fights in the bar with the Turks present because everyone was occupied otherwise, but when there was one, they never hesitated to jump in readily; the original fight and cause of it were irrelevant, rather it was the feel of excitement and physical activity that left such a feeling of elation unrivalled. Elena disapproved. She disapproved of the many things that the two guys did.
It was just the three of them there that night, which was unusual because at the very least the drunks and women of ill-repute, of whom Elena despised so passionately, were present, talking and drinking and talking and drinking. It was a seemingly endless cycle until the very last one was kicked out at closing time, but usually the Turks were gone before that. Elena was always the first to leave, and, depending on the flow of the night's events, Rude and Reno would leave separately much later. But that night was looking to be an early escape; it was quiet and boring already.
"The usual?" asked Sam as he wiped down a glass with his traditional towel and put it on the back shelf. The bar may have been dirty, but the instruments were always clean.
Reno nodded while Rude affirmed, but Elena told him she wouldn't be having anything. Had she not been a Turk and almost-loyal patron, Sam would've shot her a dirty glance for that on such a slow night.
But he didn't, and the drinks came quickly while the Turks sat, idly talking about unimportant things before Rude rose to 'liven up' the place, which meant he was going to attempt to get the jukebox working again.
"And it starts," Elena remarked with a small, apologetic smile, still feeling a bit guilty. She explained before that she had a date later that night. Reno, of course, wanted to know all the particulars, and she obliged without complaint. After all, she didn't mind him prying into her personal life for all the right reasons. She liked the feeling of closeness they had; they were like family rather than colleagues.
Amidst the vague sound of Rude muttering curses and banging on the jukebox -- Sam didn't mind because he never caused any actual harm to it -- Reno inquired about the slowness that night, and furthermore about the general emptiness of the area.
"They've all either gone or died or they're too afraid to leave their homes. Nobody wants to be in Midgar anymore with all that's happening in the world," Sam explained, his voice saddened as he leaned against the counter. "We had that Sephiroth guy go around and kill the president, and then the vice-president has made everyone afraid to dissent out of fear of going to jail or being labeled as a traitor or whatnot. The old president used to buy our cooperation, but this guy..."
Reno observed him steadily, simply holding his drink in his hands, barely having drank any of it. "Aren't you afraid of saying that sort of stuff around us? We are Turks after all..."
"Sure I am, like everyone else, but you're off-duty now."
"You know us well."
Elena didn't understand as they then laughed. Potential crisis averted, Reno began drinking more as Rude, who had paused briefly to take a break, got his second wind. "Taxes are lower now than they were before... Isn't that better?" the younger Turk mentioned, and her unsure and questioning tone betrayed her normally confident demeanor.
"Taxes are nothing if you can't be free to speak your mind," Reno answered and Elena looked at him in surprise as the bartender nodded. "Taxes generate money to pay for our saleries and public facilities, but the president has decided not to spend the money on employees or constituents and instead dictate with fear. Taxes may be lower now, but with everyone escaping the city because they're afraid, there will be few left to tax. So for Shinra to pay for itself, it will have to significantly increase the taxes it once cut."
Elena looked vaguely confused as she tried to process it in her mind; she had always placed complete and blind faith into her bosses, so the peoples' dilemma was beginning to throw everything off. Out of curiosity she asked, "Who decided to lower taxes? Wouldn't the president rather have the power and the money?"
"Reeve," Rude answered, obviously overhearing as he reconnected wires to the infernal machine. "He's one of the few suits working for the people..."
"Doesn't Shinra generate a lot of money from mako reactors? We get a lot of money from Kalm and other places, right?" she asked, still trying to understand.
Rude took another break and leaned his arm across the top of the jukebox. "Yes," he said, "and their taxes will gradually go up as well, but you have to think long-term here. Within the next ten years, at the most, Midgar will have sucked all the surrounding resources dry and the city will have to relocate. They're already preparing Junon just in case, but the administration is putting its money on the Promised Land fable of the Ancients, the one Sephiroth assassinated the president for. Either way, the move is going to cost a fortune, and if the people aren't happy -- free, in this case -- they'll find ways to evade the incredibly high taxation that'll result in the endeavor."
"So..." Elena began, but any subsequent words died just before they reached her lips. She understood what Rude was saying, but it was difficult to visualize.
"If Rufus wants to get anything done, he'll have to please the people, but he can't do that if he won't spend money on them," Reno commented, taking a sip of his drink -- it wasn't something to be gulped down -- as he held his forehead in the palm of his other hand. "But...that's something for the suits to discuss." And with that, the topic was closed for the night. Instead, Rude brought up the latest race results from the Gold Saucer: some jockey had won, as he put it, 'a shitload of dough', and it made the news the night before.
Someday they'd go and do that, Elena had said with the hopes and dreams of a young kid, and for the nth time in his life, Rude wondered why she was there. By being a Turk, did she hope to meet and marry someone high up? Did someone leak to her that they made more money than their lifestyle let on? It was such a dirty job that he couldn't comprehend why such a sweet girl... But he was always reminded of what Reno had told him once: she made it up into their ranks, which meant she was certainly competent enough to work with them; perhaps the fact that she was a young, sweet girl was exactly why she was there in the first place. Of course, the knowledge that she could give as good as she got didn't quell protective instincts for them.
It wasn't long after when Elena left to meet her date, a young entrepreneur who owned a struggling business chain in the southern half of the city, Reno had found out after a brief interrogation; she met him on the train. The Turks weren't jealous -- just protective. Elena was the greenhorn, the rookie...and as clumsy and inexperienced as she was, she was still one of them. They were more like family than co-workers, after all.
Rude and Reno barely stayed a few minutes longer before Reno decided he had enough of the oppressive stillness of the place; it was boring that night, unbearably so. He stayed only to pay off his tab, and once he left, there was no point in Rude sticking around, so he went as well.
And then the jukebox started working again.
III.
"Tell Heidegger I need to see him in my office immediately," Rufus spoke to his secretary through the intercom, his voice carrying through dully in a lower tone. She messaged back to inform him that Heidegger was on his way. That very knowledge cast a pall over his mood, and he did not look forward to meeting with that buffoonish oaf to discuss the situation with Cloud and friends; even the whoreish Scarlet was better than him. Rufus hated Heidegger, hated his laugh, hated the fact that he was one of his father's men, hated his very face... He didn't know why he didn't fire him. Heidegger screwed up so often that he really should have canned him long ago, but...there was something inside Rufus that forced him to let the man stay. Something he hated and despised but was all-too familiar with. It was the same reason he let all his father's aides keep their jobs, let his mother continue living in the President's Mansion as she practically whittled the family fortune away, and let himself stay in that cramped and god-forsaken apartment half a mile west of the city center that he had been residing in for the past five years. It actually wasn't a small place -- in one of the ritziest sectors in the city, even -- but throughout the years he had accumulated so many things from around the world that it had begun to feel crowded, though he was reluctant to give away or throw anything out. His mother had always accused him of being a pack rat, after all.
His intercom buzzed and the secretary's -- his father's secretary -- voice came through, announcing Heidegger's arrival. Reluctantly, Rufus told her to let him in as he sat at his grand desk and tried to look as intimidating and serious as possible; hopefully it would scare the idiot. Of course, he also thought dimly, Heidegger probably didn't have the sense to be intimidated, and people like that annoyed him. The man had few redeeming qualities in Rufus' eyes.
Loud and heavily, he entered the office, closing the door roughly behind him in such a way that the noise from it reverberated throughout the cold and still room, and smiled stupidly, brightly, saying, "You wanted to see me, Rufus?"
"Call me sir, Heidegger. Sir. Have a little respect, will you?" he said, his voice low, sharp, and commanding. Annoyance and fatigue betrayed his calm demeanor, however. "Sit." When Heidegger obeyed by scrambling -- he loved it when they did that -- for a nearby chair that was cold and hard, just like the president, Rufus suppressed a smirk as he continued, "What do you have to tell me about recent Avalanche developments?"
"They're near to progressing through Corel now, sir. Should be in the town and into Golden Saucer within the next few days. They seem to be taking it easy for now, I think," Heidegger reported, and Rufus was relieved that he hadn't started into that god-awful laugh until the man added, "But, of course, my men and I, we'll have them once they're there, sir." Then he began to guffaw, and Rufus wanted to leap over his desk and tear the man's infernal throat out.
His composure cracked slightly. "Stop it! How many times do I have to tell you, you buffoonish oaf, to--" Heidegger was saved from further reprimanding by the secretary, though.
"Sir?" she buzzed over the intercom, and she sounded slightly annoyed as she continued, "pardon the interruption, but Tseng wishes to see you."
"Send him in," Rufus said to her quickly, and then to Heidegger he added harshly, "You, get out." He'd had all the basic information he needed from the portly man, and the rest of it he would order his secretary to gather; reluctantly he'd hoped to discuss a bit more with Heidegger, including plans for future strategy, but Tseng was an all-too welcome distraction. Though the man had important things to discuss with him, Rufus could not stand him, and as a result...
"Of course, should I come back later to discuss future plans concerning--"
"Yes, yes, whatever, just get out," the president ordered quickly.
As he moved toward the door, he kept talking, "But what should I tell the men to--"
"I don't care, Heidegger. Use your head."
The man had his hand on the knob of the door opened ajar as he tried to further information, "But--"
"Heidegger," Rufus commanded slowly but loudly as his annoyance and impatience threatened to get the best of him, "get out."
Heidegger paused and looked at his boss, something churning within his head, and finally smiled jovially, moving to leave. "Have a good day, then," he said before he closed the door behind him, "Rufus."
The door shut, leaving only a frustrated and angry young man inside the cold office once again. "I said," Rufus murmured into his hands at no one as he rubbed his face in exasperation, "to call me sir."
IV.
Give him two days, Rude had predicted, and we'll be back trailing Avalanche again. And as the Turks sat in silence, waiting for the president to finish up his business with Reeve, it had been two days exactly. Such predictions from the quiet, bald man were always eerily accurate. Rude's baldness had made it easier for him to be in touch with the life force of the planet, Reno had told him in all seriousness once, and people with hair were never really able to feel it. Of course, the man had been drinking the house special at Sam's bar, so whatever he said was to be taken with a grain of salt, Rude was sure.
"I don't want to go to Corel," Elena sighed to Rufus' secretary, a young and proper-looking woman close to her boss' age; she hated him, though, because he wasn't interested in having an affair with her like his father was. "It's such a poor, dirty little town..."
Like the gossip-mongerer she was, the secretary leaned in conspiratorily and whispered, "Word has it that the president sent Tseng ahead with a few boys from SOLDIER to scout in the Corel area, so most likely you'll either be stationed at Corel directly or -- and I overheard him talking to Heidegger about this -- the Golden Saucer."
Elena practically squealed with delight over this bit of gossip and turned to the other Turks, exclaiming, "Oh, I really hope it's true!"
Rude only nodded briefly with a grunt, but Reno shook his head slightly, feeling mildly hung-over, and muttered, "Nah, they wouldn't station us there. We're the Turks; the Golden Saucer heads would never let us patrol there. Most likely we'll be sent on ahead, south of that area."
"Aw, Reno, you're no fun!" Elena complained, if only because she knew he was right. She then turned back to the secretary and began discussing the particulars of her most recent date. It had apparently gone fairly well.
Since nothing she said was of any particular importance or concerned him at all, Reno tuned Elena out and leaned back into the hard and stale bench, trying to relax with a pounding skull.
Rude picked up the Times and turned to the sports section. "The Zolems beat the Cockatrices three to one last night," he muttered idly.
"Damn," Reno muttered as he pressed his fingers on the bridge of his nose, "I actually had my money on the Cocks this time..."
"How much?"
"Fifty gil."
Rude chuckled and turned the page. "Why'd you do that?"
"Well I didn't think they'd lose, obviously," Reno muttered shortly. "One doesn't put money on a team in hopes that they lose, after all."
"Considering that the Cockatrices have only won four games this entire season, wouldn't it be obvious that they'd lose to the superior Zolems who've only lost one game?"
"You're only saying that because you bet in their favor."
Rude answered with another brief chuckle.
"So how much?"
"...Only twenty."
Reno leaned forward quickly and exclaimed with muted passion, "See? If you were so sure that they'd win, you'd have put more money on, wouldn't you?"
Rude didn't answer but immersed himself in the world of sports again with an idle smirk on his lips.
Elena, overhearing Reno's brief outburst, sighed and disapproved. "Boys, if you're going to indulge in betting, at least bet the big bucks! It's not like we live paycheck to paycheck, after all."
"Right," the secretary agreed, "I like a man who's not afraid to spend a little more than he should on a risk."
"Then you favor a poor man?" Reno asked, not at all interested in what kind of man the secretary liked, but he felt contrite nonetheless.
She gave him a sharp look and answered, "Certainly not," before returning to the world of idle gossip with her female companion.
He could care less anyway.
The door to the presidential office at the top of the steps opened and Rufus walked Reeve down, discussing last-minute business matters. "You can control it remotely, you say? How remote?"
"It can go anywhere in the world, sir," Reeve answered with a certain amount of pride as they reached the bottom of the steps where the Turks still sat in the waiting area, listening while trying not to show it. "Underwater, in the air, anywhere."
Rufus shook the man's hand and continued, "Quite remarkable, Reeve. I do look forward to seeing it in action." He then pat Reeve's shoulder, looking pleased for once, and bid him a good day before turning to the Turks and motioning for them to follow him up into his office.
V.
An air of absolute authority was of utmost importance in order to reign in the Turks; Tseng knew this reality all too well, though it was rather fortunate that his personality naturally demanded respect. Rufus was having a little tougher time with this, however, despite the fact that he had the ability to reduce most men to quivering masses of flesh.
Quite simply, Reno still thought of him as a greenhorn and saw to it to grate the President's nerves with contriteness.
The external part of Rufus that liked the cold wood of his desk and seeing grown men grovel at his feet wanted to fire and humiliate him for his insubordination, but inwardly he seethed because he knew he could never do such a thing. Just like he could never clean the Corporation of his father's influences or move into the President's Mansion. How could he remove such a brilliant yet wasted able body from the Turks? Reno's insubordination was his tenure in Rufus' mind -- a mind whose thoughts were in direct constrast to his father's. There he was, Rufus Shinra, President of the ever-present Shinra Corporation, practically God of Midgar, men bowed before him in droves just to appease him...yet a cocky Turk named Reno refused to bend to his will. Rufus liked it more than he would ever admit -- not that he didn't love servitude, of course, but Reno...well, Reno was a nice change of pace.
"There's an area south of the Golden Saucer that I would like the Turks to scour for the Keystone," Rufus said, mostly to Tseng, as he sat with more of an air of relaxation than he had allowed himself to induldge in previously. "SOLDIER has taken care of Corel already, is that right?"
"That is correct, sir," Tseng affirmed with a stiff nod. "We also have reason to believe that AVALANCHE is heading south as well."
The President clasped his hands together and smirked as his voice took on a smooth tone, "Well then, it's fortunate that the Turks will already be there. Perhaps they can greet them?"
"Can't we 'greet them' at Golden Saucer? I don't know about you, but I don't feel like looking around in grass for a rock," Reno mentioned as he leaned back into his chair and languidly half-crossed his legs.
Tseng glared at Reno in reproach, but he knew it was useless to actually say anything to the rogue Turk -- better to let Rufus deal with him.
"Well, Reno," Rufus murmured, "if I were you--"
"--you'd be one sexy son-of-a-bitch--"
He let it slide with a short smirk at the corner of his lips and continued, "--I'd start getting acquainted with grass and rocks rather soon."
"Already am."
There was something about his offbeat that held Rufus' lips in an upward arc. "Then you should enjoy your time there."
TBC (I swear~)