Final Fantasy - All Series Fan Fiction ❯ Why Me? A Love Story For Manic Depressives ❯ The Sordid Details ( Chapter 5 )

[ T - Teen: Not suitable for readers under 13 ]

Disclaimer: There are some things in the Author's Note at the end that may upset some of you. If so, don't read it. This is your first and only warning.

"Sometimes I remember, the darkness of my past. Bringing back these memories, I wish I didn't have. Sometimes I think of letting go, and never looking back, and never moving forward so, there'd never be a past. If could change I would, take back the pain I would, retrace every wrong move that I made I would, if I could stand up and take the blame I would, if I could take all the shame to the grave I would. Just washing it aside, all of the helplessness inside, pretending I don't feel this pain, is so much simpler than change. It's easier to run, replacing this pain with something numb, it's so much easier to go, than facing this pain here all alone..." -Linkin' Park, Easier to Run

Vincent had been accused of being many things in his long and somewhat miserable existance. Vampire, zombie, demon, these things were common words used to describe the eerie, silent gunman. If Vincent were to be perfectly candid with such an accuser, he would have had to tell them that he wasn't sure WHAT he was...

He knew that he started out as human, but that had all changed with betrayal, a gunshot, and a seeming eternity of hellish experimentation. What he was now... only the Planet, and Professor Hojo, in whatever cold, agonizing hell they'd reserved for him, could be certain.

Neither one was talking much.

He knew that he wasn't normal. Before the resounding "Duh!" sounds, let us remember that Vincent wasn't the most normal individual to begin with. Before the Mako experiments, he was inhumanly fast and graceful, like a cat.

The list of his differences after the change was... considerably longer.

His wounds healed impossibly quickly, his reactions had been sharpened to a razor's edge. He could see in the dark, or at the very least, close to it. He was over 70 years old and yet remained as youthful as he had the day he'd been shot.

Of course, there was the arm that set off metal detectors at five paces, and the matter of the particularly touchy demons hidden away just beneath the skin of his soul, but those went without saying.

The point of this little insight into that most enigmatic of characters is simply that with Vincent, outside appearance can and very often are... deceiving.

For instance, at the moment, Vincent was NOT asleep.

Certainly to the untrained eye he might appear so, but if one were to observe him carefully, one would occasion to notice that he was quite aware of his surroundings, at least, at a subconscious level. Every little noise and crack of breaking foliage brought a subtle awareness.

Certainly Vincent was exhausted, and had he been afforded the opportunity, he would sleep.

However, sleep was denied him. This was an unfortunate side effect of being Mako "enhanced". The treatment that was refined into standard fare for SOLDIER recruits was first tested on the enigmatic gunman, and it had all the landmarks of an early, clumsy attempt at Mako enhancement, the first adolescent, backseat fumblings of science. As such, Vincent didn't dream.

He remembered.

Unfortunately, there weren't many memories of his past life that were pleasant, and there aren't many things one can do in a coffin BUT remember. This might go a long way towards explaining certain personality quirks of his.

Equally unfortunate was the fact that the demon within him had the ability to choose WHAT he remembered, when he decided to rest. It goes without saying that the demon did not allow him to remember things that might give him the strength to continue his fight with apathy and grief. Just one more example of the underhanded tactics the demon had unleashed upon his battle weary psyche during the thirty some odd years of constant struggle for supremacy.

People had accused Vincent of being unable to forget about the past and move on.

People were right.


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It was a hot, sticky night in Junon, and the guards clustered miserably around the barracaded Reactor, wishing for all the world they didn't have to be there, this evening. Certainly they shouldn't have been. Unions, or the organizing of Unions, had been forbidden by the Shinra top brass, and yet the Junon Mako Reactor had been silent for several days, courtesy of disgruntled workers who had lost too many comrades to poor safety conditions, incompetant maintenance, and even less competant management. The resulting rolling brownouts were raising quite the shit storm in the various townships surrounding the Reactor.

The workers were on strike.

The management didn't take this too well, since the organization of strikes was also strictly forbidden (as per an upper management urgent memo) but after a few run-ins with the security detachment attached to the Reactor, and then when that proved inadequate, the local law enforcement, the strike had become more a siege, in all actuality. One that showed no signs of relenting, at least any time soon.

The Shinra Corporation was losing millions of gil in revenue every day the Reactor remained unoperated. This was, of course, unacceptable.

None of which much mattered to Barney Filmore, Security Guard for the Junon Reactor. In his armor he sweltered, and frankly, he could give a rats ass as to what the conditions were like on the Reactor floor. The only worry on his mind, aside from passing out from a heat stroke, was the likelyhood of him retaining his rather comfortable (usually) position as a guard from whom control of a multi-billion gil Reactor had wrested control from.

Thus it was that in the middle of the third revision of his somewhat limited resume, he was nearly startled out of his wits by the tall, silent figure in the blue suit who appeared out of the gloom before him like magic.

He dropped his pen and clipboard and reached for his submachine gun, as the figure came closer. The figure resolved itself into a tall man, pale, with just shy of shoulder length black hair neatly tied in a poney tail behind him, his eyes hidden behind black sunglasses, even at night. His suit was immaculate, pressed and starched and perfectly tailored. He carried a flat black and silver metal briefcase, and wore tight, black leather gloves.

He was expressionless, all business, and moved with all the confidence of a professional killer, the grace of a shark cruising through cool midnight waters.

All of this went without saying however, to Barney, as he recognized the tell-tall signs of a living nightmare standing before him.

He was a Turk.

"Sir, excuse me sir... may I see some-"

The Turk eyed him silently, then in one fluid motion reached into his coat and removed a black wallet, flipping the top flap to reveal his identification.

Barney made a show of examining his ID, then saluted and opened the security gate. The Turk entered silently, turning to regard Barney once he'd closed the gate.

"Where is your supervisor?" He said quietly, his voice a smooth, monotone tenor.

"Er, that'd be Captain Marsh, sir. I could take him to yo-" He gulped and let out a breath. "I mean, I could take you to him. Sir."

The Turk continued to eye Barney for a moment, then almost imperceptively shook his head. "No. Continue manning your post. I'll find him."

"A-as you wish, sir." Barney fumbled a salute, then turned back to the security gate, diligently watching the road, his clipboard and pen lying forgotten a few feet away from him.

He didn't envy the Captain. He didn't envy him at all.


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Captain Marsh was a busy man. He'd been up for almost 48 hours, and it showed. As the Shinra Captain on duty, the security of the Reactor was his overall responsibility. That meant that anything that happened during his watch could be considered his fault, at least in the eyes of the higher ups he so desperately wanted to impress. For an up-and-comer like Marsh, this sort of situation was a nightmare made reality.

The door quietly opened and closed, and Marsh didn't bother to look up.

"Marcus, you remembered to bring my coffee didn't you? Don't tell me I have to tell you aga-"

"Captain Marsh, I presume?" A unexpected, dry, monotone tenor caused Captain Marsh to look up to see who had entered his post.

Look up and scowl.

"A Turk, huh? Listen here, son. I ain't impressed. I've got a helluva situation on my hands, an' with all due respect, I don't need one of you thugs aggravatin' the situation any worse."

The Turk was equally unimpressed. He cocked his head slightly. "With all due respect Captain, if I'm here, the situation is already as aggravated as it is going to get."

"What I need is a negotiator, that's the only thing that's gonna solve this situation without destroying that damn Reactor, or getting some damn managers killed, so unless you got some real fancy papers in that briefcase of yours, I suggest-"

"I am here with the full authority of the board of trustees, and with the President's approval. I am, as you put it, here to negotiate." The Turk fixed him with a gaze that wouldn't allow the older man to turn away, like a snake staring down a baby bird. "Frankly, this situation has gone beyond your ability to handle it. Now, either you can give me your full cooperation, or I can handle YOU. Your choice."

Captain Marsh swallowed, his mouth suddenly cotton dry. Something told him that this was not a man he should be playing "who's got the bigger corporate dick" with. He got the impression the Turk would quite gleefully hand him his ass.

Gift-wrapped.

"Lemme give you a head's up on the situation." He said, quickly.

A glimmer of something that might have been a smile crossed the man's features. "Wise choice."

Captain Marsh gestured to a map that up until three days ago had been a blueprint of the building. It had been scribbled on, various doors and hallways marked as impassable and such, showing that the workers had done quite a reasonable job of securing the building.

"Three days ago, around four o'clock the workers simultaneously stopped working at their stations and shutdown the main Mako pump. They immediately surprised and subsequently subdued the ten guards on duty, depositing them outside the facility. No contact was made for four hours, during which a list of demands was sent out stapled to one of the managers, of whom there are currently three being held hostage. An attempt was made to retake the Reactor, but subsequent teams discovered that all of the side and rear entry ways had been welded or blocked shut, and came under heavy small arms fire when the main entry way was tried. The local police tried to force the doors, they were unsuccessful."

The Turk was silent, apparently unconcerned. In fact, Captain Marsh wasn't entirely sure he was listening. Eyeing the quiet man uneasily, Captain Marsh continued.

"The local police then attempted to use tear gas to disorient the workers, then made a second attempt at forced entry, this was also rather brutal repelled, upon which it was discovered that the workers were using their hazmat suits to circumnavigate the gas." Captain Marsh grimaced. "Apparently those suits are good for SOMETHING."

"Is that all?" The Turk asked quietly.

"That's about it." Captain Marsh sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

"Do you have a way to contact them?" The Turk continued, not missing a beat.

"Yeah, they've responded to our megaphones in the past, though they've been quiet lately." Marsh noted.

"Tell them a negotiator is being sent. Tell them the Company wishes to redetermine the conditions of their contract."

"They aren't exactly looking upon corporate suit types like you with favor, sir. Are you sure you want to-" Captain Marsh muttered.

"Just do it, Captain." The Turk ordered.

The Captain sighed. "Your funeral."

The Turk ignored him.


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"HOLD YOUR FIRE, WE'RE SENDING OUT THE NEGOTIATOR!" The words echoed out into the night, met with only silence.

The Turk walked forward slowly, gloved hands raised, briefcase in his right hand. As he walked, he noted that the muzzles of several guns followed his progress towards the dark building, and behind them, dark, angry eyes. Eyes that itched to reduce him to a bloodsoaked blue rag.

It didn't much impress him. His expression showed no more animation than it had when he was talking to the guard outside. He stopped once he heard a haggard voice shout out at him.

"That's far enough, Corporate Dog. You keep those hands up, ya hear? You drop 'em, or move an inch, and you'll be so full a' holes they'll have ta hunt across the tarmac lookin' fer all your teeth ta identify ya, ya got me?"

The Turk nodded quietly and kept very still, hands raised. They let him stand like that for a full five minutes, whether from indecision or purposefully, the Turk wasn't sure, nor did he much care. Finally, the double doors opened, and two burly workers, one an older individual, full of swaggering confidence, the other a young man with just a hint of a limp to him, came slinking up towards him, guns pointed at his chest.

"Cover 'em, Zeke. I gotta search him. He moves, you blast him."

"Gotcha." The younger man, nodded enthusiastically, looking as though he wished the Turk would move.

The Turk did not, despite the rough treatment the grizzled worker gave him as he searched the man for weapons. He seemed to take a perverse delight in ruining the taller man's perfect image, pulling out one shirt tail here, unbuttoning a button there, tugging up one pants leg here. Throughout it all, the Turk waited in impassive silence, until finally the Worker regarded his briefcase.

"Whatcha got in the case, Suit?" He asked crudely.

The Turk regarded him. "Papers. Pens."

"Riiight. Why don't you just hand that over so I can make sure?" He scoffed.

The Turk never missed a beat. "You can't open it. It's keyed to me, specifically."

The guard glowered suspicious. "Then why don't YOU open it, Suit."

The Turk shrugged and released the catches on the case, opening it and then turning it around for the worker's inspection. The man rummaged through it thoroughly, then looked up at the Turk disappointedly as though he was hoping it held something other than what the man had said was in it. He eyed the Turk for a long, poignant moment, then jerked his head towards the man, never taking his eyes off of him.

"He's clean."

The Turk closed the briefcase and allowed himself to be roughly led at gunpoint into the silent Reactor.

They took him into a short, claustrophobic hallway, made more so by the chairs and broken up tables stacked to provide a more bottlenecked chokepoint. The Turk made no effort to resist the brutal pace the angry workers turned jailors made for him, concerning himself only with returning his appearance to its previous serenity as he walked. Once again pristine, he continued the journey, past the guard post, which was now manned by three hazmat suited workers with captured Shinra submachine guns, and onto the Reactor floor, currently silent. A grey, tired looking man who obviously had not shaved in three days flanked by two other men in hazmat suits with the helmets flopping over their shoulders, and submachine guns slung, stepped forward to meet him.

They did not offer to shake hands. The weary looking man who appeared to have the most authority looked him over dubiously, then cleared his throat.

"I guess it was too much to hope for that they'd send one a' the upper brass, huh?"

The Turk said nothing. If anything, his silence merely confirmed the resistance leader's suspicions.

"Well I don't know who you are, Suit, but you've got balls, I'll give you that. How'd you know we wouldn't just shoot you as soon as look at you?"

The Turk gazed back at him blandly, his poker face completely perfect. "I didn't."

The leader nodded, his only reaction to this blatant disregard for personal safety being one raised bushy grey eyebrow.

"Like I figured. Balls. Balls, or so goddamn crazy it don't matter what happens to ya, huh? Well, maybe you'll do right by us, Suit. Maybe. Man with those kinda stones, he'd not be too concerned what those who ain't been in the thick of it think of 'im, would he? Maybe..." the leader raised a handkerchief to his mouth, coughing thickly into it. There was blood on the fabric when he lowered it. "Maybe even do something that'd upset some folks, if it were the right thing to do."

The Turk continued to stare at the leader without concern. The leader continued anyway.

"So are you just a mouthpiece, or can you actually do something fer us?"

The Turk cocked his head slightly, then spoke in a quiet, monotone tenor. "I have been granted full authority by the board of trustees and the President of Shinra himself to handle the situation." He responded smoothly.

"Well, that's just swell, ain't it boys?" The leader hawked and spat, the blood-mottled, grey spittle pattered scant inches from the Turk's black, mirror shined shoes. The Turk never batted an eye.

The "boys" in question made a growling, angry affirmative. The leader continued.

"'Fore we start this little tour, I want you to look each a' my boys in the eyes, an' tell me what you see?"

The Turk glanced around the room, then looked at the leader. "A glow. Phosphorescent, a little green. Various severities."

The leader continues. "'s called Mako-"

"Poisoning," The Turk interrupted. "Yes, I'm aware of the situation. Judging from the number of cases, I'd say several levels above the safety limit."

The leader took the interruption in stride. "Good, so you ain't completely ignorant. The safe limit o' Mako exposure is forty-three milligasts per week. These suits," he gestured at the hazmat suits, "Have internal gastometers that are supposed to chime when the safe limit is hit. Key word, SUPPOSED to."

He gestured for the Turk to follow him, though in truth he wasn't given much choice when his "escorts" roughly moved him along. The leader stopped at the reactor floor, next to a barrel of irridescent green fluid. He nodded.

"This here's Mako contaminated water. Minimal exposure ain't so bad, long as you don't get it on yer skin. It don't radiate too much, Mako has this wierd property a' becoming mostly stable when mixed with water, or any natural substance, fer that matter. Point is, this stuff produces less than 3 er 4 microgasts radiation per hour, which ain't a whole lot worse than natural daily exposure. Contact with it..." He grimaced. "It'll turn yer eyes bright neon green and kill ya in jus' a few days. 50 gasts per square inch exposed."

The Turk took this without batting an eye, as well as when the leader dipped an unused helmet into the mixture and poured it back in. Mako contaminated water beaded clearly on the internal gastometer.

It was dead silent.

The leader tossed the helmet aside. It clattered noisily on the metal floor.

"That's just one of many safety violations, Mr. Suit. If you'll follow me, I'll show ya a few more."

The tour began. Throughout it all, the Turk remained quiet, though obviously focused, as the resistance leader pointed out a gruesome checklist of workplace violations. Subsidance on the Reactor floor had allowed the heavy Mako shielding to sag, allowing the upper tier of monitor instruments and gantry ways, common access points used at all times through the day, to be exposed to unhealthy amounts of the deadly radiation. The coolant system had numerous corrosion caused seam leaks, allowing the contaminated water to drip steadily onto the Reactor floor. This runoff then spilled into the sewage system, where due to improperly sealed pipes it then contaminated the Reactor's own drinking water supply; a supply the workers were forced by Shinra regulation to drink from daily to prevent loss of manhours by dehydration in the often brutally hot hazmat suits.

The list of employees who'd had to take sick days to recooperate from workplace related injuries, Mako caused or otherwise, was appaling.

Equally appaling were the number of workers laid off without compensation due to permenant illness, and thus, inability to work.

Or families uncompensated when the accidents led to more gruesome results.

The leader finally stopped and regarded his silent charge with quiet contempt. "You don't talk much, do ya?"

The Turk regarded him fully. "You didn't seem to want someone to argue with you. You wanted someone to listen. Was I wrong?"

The leader shook his head. "Naw... yer right. It don't matter much ta me, ya understand. I ain't got much time left." He gestured to his brilliant neon gaze. "'S fer the other, younger fellas. An' fer their families. The pay is good, ya unner stand, but there ain't much else ta do in this town, 'cept work fer Shinra, an' us uneducated folks get sent ta places like this."

He turned to stare at the Reactor floor. "Workin' here is a death sentence, Suit. Maybe a year, maybe several, but it catches up ta ev'rybody. All we want is what Shinra said it'd provide inna first place; a safe goddamn workin' environment."

He glanced up. "My son starts workin' here in jus' three weeks, Suit. I want him ta be able to play with his gran' kids."

"That's all we got ta show ya, Suit. If you'll come this way, we'll show ya were we can all sit down an' hash this out."

The Turk was led past the beaten but still very much alive managers, bound and gagged in a supply closet not too far from the breakroom where the meeting would finally take place. As he passed, they pleaded with him silently with their eyes, recognizing him for what he was.

He ignored them.

The resistance, some fifteen souls minus the three guarding the gate, were gathered in the small breakroom. Judging from its upholstery and refrigerator, it was probably the managers' break room. It was also too small for the number of people in it, but clustered as they were around the Turk and his briefcase, this hardly mattered much.

The Turk set the briefcase down on the table, then flipped open the case, revealing several papers. He pulled these out and regarded the leader quietly.

"As I said, I have been granted full authority to handle this situation. Not only to resolve the current conflict, but to ensure that it never happens again. Obviously some reports are being falsified, since the extent of the damage I've seen far exceeds what I was told to expect."

The leader and his men looked at one another grimly.

"In order to ensure this Reactor remains fully operational, and that such a situation never happens again, this reactor will be shutdown until it can be brought completely up to code, and new regulations will be codified to ensure this state of neglect never happens again."

The leader let out a deep breath and smiled, as his men cheered loudly, clapping one another on the back.

The Turk let them cheer for a moment, then glanced up, continuing without a single change of expression.

They stopped cheering.

"However, this strike is clearly a violation of contract, and in the event of a breach of contract, both parties, the contractee and the contractor, have the right to renegotiate said contract."

The Turk set the papers down quietly, but they fell with all the weight of a coffin lid.

"Shinra corporation, as the contractor, has no wish to renegotiate these contracts."

The workers looked in confusion at their leader, who stared at the Turk grimly. "So what yer sayin' is-"

"Your contracts have been severed, by you, as soon as you started this strike. As such, you have no rights to any sort of compensation, and no legal recourse. You are therefore no longer employees of Shinra Corporation, and are currently tresspassing on private property."

He closed the briefcase with a snap, then regarded the leader with cold finality.

"You will vacate the building, or you will be removed."

"What the?!" The leader snarled out, standing and slamming his fists against the table. "What kinda bastard ARE you? This.. this is-"

"If you are concerned about paying for damages caused during the strike, allow me to assure you that Shinra Corporation has decided to write off said damages."

"You can't just... I've... we've got families to feed! Where else are we going to work?!"

The Turk shrugged. "I don't much care. You have one choice at the moment. Are you leaving or not?"

"You can't be friggin' serious!!" The man thundered.

The Turk watched him steadily, as the workers angrily pressed in, just inches from violence. Several fingered their weapons.

"Yes, or no?" The Turk said calmly.

"You son of a bitch, NO!" The leader said angrily.

"As you wish." The Turk said, then pressed down on the briefcase handle with only his middle and ring fingers.

The papers on the desk immediately flashed up, having been impregnated with a highly flammable substance and remotely keyed to a detonator in the briefcase handle. The resulting explosion wasn't very big, scarcely raising a blister and certainly not blackening the faux-wooden tabletop on which the papers rested. What it was, however, was agonizingly bright, as well as loud. Everyone in the room, with the exception of the Turk, who's eyes were closed and currently shielded behind dark sunglasses, and who had well disguised flesh-toned earplugs, staggered back clutching their abused ears and bumping into one another in blinded, disoriented agony. The Turk grabbed the briefcase and ducked down low, then slipped through the milling, angry, stumbling crowd to its edge, pulling several oddly shaped portions of the metal briefcase from their cleverly concealed locations and reattaching them in a slightly... different configuration.

Everything was quiet for one surreal second, and then the dull slide-click of a slide behind drawn back echoed through the room.

The room errupted in a cacaphony of angry shouting voices.

"What the hell was that?!"

"My eyes, I can't friggin' see!"

"Where is that son of a bitch, I'll kill him!"

"I think I've got 'em!"

"That's me you friggin' moron!"

"Quiet you dumb bastards, I can't hear-"

A strange sound echoed through the room. It was like a cross between a dry pop and a clicking noise, followed by the thumb of something striking flesh at high speed. A sort of "plick-thump".

It sounded two more times.

Plick-thump. Plick-thump.

A muffled, weezing groan/sigh followed by the sound of a body striking the ground heavily.

"That sonuvabitch just shot someone!"

"Get the bastard."

Gunfire errupted into the room, from several different sides. Shrieking and wailing soon followed, as the leader yelled at the top of his lungs.

"CEASE FIRE! CEASE FIRE GODDAMNIT, YOU CAN'T EVEN SEE! WHO'S FIRING, YOU'RE HITTING OUR OWN GUYS!"

The cacaphony continued.

"AH, MY LEG, HOLY PLANET IT HURTS, I CAN'T MOVE MY LEG!"

"Errrrggg." Gurgle, thump.

Plick-thump.

"Erk....uhhhhh." Thump.

"Who was that, goddamn it, call out! Names folks, can anybody see?"

Only seven voices spoke aloud.

"I can't even open my damn eyes, they hurt so much."

"I think... I think I'm startin' ta see somethin'"

"Where is that son of a bitch?!"

"Oh god, my leg..."

Plick-thump. Plick-thump.

"ARGH!" Something clattered loudly into a table, collapsing it, then the noises stopped.

Plick-thump, Plick-thump, Plick-thump.

The room got quieter.

Finally...

"Bill? Bob?"

"Joe?"

"Zeke?"

"Who the hell are you? I know you're still out there. Where ever you are, you son of a bitch. I can't see you, but I know you're there, watching me. Your time is comin'. Sooner or later, someone's gonna come along who you can't shove under the carpet. Sooner or later, Shinra ain't gonna need you no more either, and then you'll see. You'll-"

Plick-thump. Clack.

"Beck....y..."

Silence.


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He walked out of the room, smoke still slowly oozing from the silenced silver and black pistol he held loosely in his right hand. He walked without a sense of urgency, his long legs eating up a naturally ground eating pace, as though he had nowhere particularly important to go.

He released the current magazine from the pistol and reloaded a fresh one, releasing the slide back into its ready position. Then he stepped into the storeroom which contained the three bound and gagged Managers.

They looked at him with a mixture of gratitude, fear, and awe.

He stared back.

Out of the corner of his gaze he caught sight of the Reactor floor, with its steady drip of contaminated water, and its malfunctioning gastometers. He remembered certain falsified reports that had led to this.

He raised the pistol in a graceful, almost lazy fashion. Three sets of eyes widened in sudden, shrieking alarm.

Muffled protests.

Plick-thump.

Plick-thump.

Plick-thump.

A lone man walked out of the storage room.

He didn't look back.


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The three hazmat suited workers continued watching the narrow entry way into the facility in monotonous boredom. Anyone who has ever stood any kind of watch knows that after a while, you start making up things to entertain yourself, anything, to keep you alert, and awake. The three had long since exhausted any sort of personal stories, and were quite frankly, bored to tears with one another.

Still, they kept up the small talk, since it was something to do.

"So what do you think'll happen Hal?"

"I dunno Frank. I hope this whole thing ends soon. I'm gettin' pretty tired of this standin' around, doing nothin' routine."

The third, quieter one shift his submachine gun over one shoulder and frowned.

"How do you think the meetin's going?"

"Probably not very well..." Frank spat. "Them corporate goons 's all alike. Not a soul between the lot of 'em. He'll throw alotta corporate mumbojumbo at us, then things'll go back ta bein' the way they was."

"You really think so? I hope not." He looked down and sighed. "I really hope not. Me an' Liz were thinkin' about having kids, you know?"

A knock on the inside door startled all three out of their skins. Curious, Hal turned and opened the door.

"What the hell?!"

The man in the blue suit stood before them, though he no longer carried his briefcase. Instead, in his right hand, he held a strangely shaped silver and black pistol.

"Since you three missed the meeting, I'm giving you the benefit of the doubt. Leave now, or be dealt with."

The three guards stared at one another in slackjawed amazement.

"The fuck you say?"

The Turk shook his head slightly. "I said leave."

They blinked at him stupidly.

"NOW." He intoned. It held with it the finality of the grave.

It would never be known what made Frank decide to raise his submachine gun. Maybe it was the way the stranger stood there, relaxed and poised, with weapon in hand, brazenly waiting for them to move. Maybe he just didn't like the smug bastard's tone. In any case, raise it he did, and in a heartbeat, the silver and black gun jumped up as though it had a life of its own, coughing politely.

Frank slumped back, a single perfectly round black little hole in the left part of the goggles of his suit.

"Holy shit!" Hal thundered, then reached for his own submachine gun, which he'd set down on the desk in front of him.

He never made it more than a few inches. The gunman shot him neatly in the back of the head. He slumped over his weapon then slid to the ground, his right boot twitching spasmodically.

The last man stood shaking, raising his hands quickly as though to ward off evil. "Wait, I-"

Seeing the man raise his hands quickly out of the corner of his eye, the Turk turned and shot him twice in the chest.

He groaned softly then fell slowly onto his face, a pool of blood quickly spreading from his prone body.

The Turk turned quietly and, before the blood could even reach his shoes, walked out of the guardpost, pocketing his pistol as he went.
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The guards didn't expect to see anyone leave the silent Reactor. As such, for a moment they simply stared in shock at the still perfectly attired gentleman who walked casually towards them. He no longer carried the briefcase, instead, he had a cellphone in his right hand. He was speaking into it. Captain Marsh only caught the tail end of the conversation.

It was enough.

"-done. Send a helicopter. I'll be waiting outside." A pause. "Eliminated. No, I don't think that'll be necessary. Agreed. Yes sir, I'll be waiting." He hung up.

Captain Marsh blinked at him.

"What... do you mean, eliminated?"

The Turk raised his calm... no, not calm. Dead, like a shark's gaze, empty and cold, a bottomless pit, gaze up to the Captain, and blinked slowly.

"The tresspassers are all eliminated. The strike is over." He said quietly.

The Captain licked his lips, as the guards around him looked at each other uneasily.

"W-What about the hostages?"

The Turk cocked his head. "I was given orders to terminate the employment of all those in the building, and eliminate the subsequent tresspassers if they refused to vacate the premises." He paused, blinking. "They didn't vacate."

Captain Marsh shook his head, stunned. "They COULDN'T vacate! They were goddamn tied up!"

The Turk stared at the Captain for a moment longer, then shrugged. "Orders are orders."

"What the hell do you-"

The Turk narrowed his eyes. "Captain, you and your men have a building to secure. I suggest you secure it. I have a chopper to catch."

The Captain stuttered to a halt. He blinked, woodenly.

"Need I remind you that employee interferance in official Turk business is grounds for immediate termination?" The Turk said quietly. Something about the way he said termination made the Captain blanch.

"N-no... I'll... um." He turned to his men. "YOU HEARD THE MAN, MOVE!"

They moved.

When he turned back to the Turk, the man was already gone.
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The wind from the helicoptor tossed the Turk's coat and pants legs around violently, wiping small bits of debris around in the clearing. He stood watching it impassively, his black sunglasses covered gaze following its progress. n it got close enough, a black gloved hand reached out from the interior and helped him onboard. The black chopper raised up into the night sky and disappeared to points unknown.

Onboard, the man who'd helped the Turk in grinned at him, his short blonde hair hardly tossled from the wind.

"Excellent work, Herr Valentine."

Vincent Valentine did not answer the younger Turk, he simply leaned back into the wall of the chopper and continued the ride in quiet solitude.
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-So, did you like my little presentation, Vincent? It's one of your better moments. I like to call it, "Portrait of a Professional Psychopath".- As usual, the demon's voice was smug and oily in his head, like a spot of mold on an otherwise pristine apple.

-That was a long time ago, Chaos.- He thought back, but even he could taste the insincerity of his comeback.

-You and I both know that time means little to someone like you, Vincent. Once a killer, always a killer. Isn't that how it works? You are and always will be a wolf, Vincent. No matter how many sheep suits you put on.-

Vincent was silent. After a pregnant pause, the demon continued.

-I was just thinking you needed a little reminder. You've been acting a little too... heroic of late. I wouldn't want you thinking that little girl should be looking up to you, Vincent.-

-There's no danger of that, Chaos.- He thought tiredly, then paused. There was a defensiveness that was seldom present in the demon's tone. It aroused Vincent's curiousity.

-Why should you care?-

-I don't.- The demon answered, a trifle too quickly. -YOU do. I'm just making sure you know how these things end, Vincent. Wolves don't protect little girls. They eat them ALLLL up.-

-Yuffie is a strong girl, Chaos. If it comes to that... she can take care of herself.-

-Reeeally? Then why, pray tell, are you here, Vincent?-

-Because she's also even more stubborn and singleminded than...-

The demon's voice turned sickly sweet. -Than who, Vincent?-

-You know who, demon.-

-I just want to hear you say it.-

-What does it matter? She's dead.- saying that, thinking it, still hurt, even after all these years.

-Not for you, Vincent.-

-Not. For. You.- The demon's laughter faded out once again into blessed silence.

At least, for the moment.
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Yuffie awoke to severe amounts of pain.

Not to say that her current sleeping arangement wasn't comfortable. Well, it wasn't, actually, but that wasn't her companion's fault.

Then Yuffie remembered that it basically was, and this annoyed her all the more.

Every muscle in Yuffie's body screamed at her for the abuses she'd put it through up to this point. Yuffie's brain reminded it that this was a dictatorship, not a democracy, and her body fell silent, brooding and plotting vengeance.

She groaned and opened one sleep encrusted eye. With sight came awareness of other little details, like the weather had gone from frickin' freezin' to good Lord it's hot.

Funny, how jungles will do that to you.

Another, more pressing need caught her attention. She bit her lip.

"Vinnie... are you awake?" She croaked.

Vincent's reaction was subtle, but noticable. He breathed in deeply, then let it out in a sigh that mussed her hair.

"Geez, could you answer, please?" She said, irritated.

"Yes." He answered.

Though he didn't clarify which question he was answering.

Not that it mattered much.

"I think it's stopped raining." She said awkwardly, then cursed her stupid brain for coming up with such an idiotic remark. What was with this guy, that he made her turn into a drooling moron?

Vincent didn't answer for a long time, then he sighed again. "Yes."

"So, um... does this work with all the girls, or just me?" She said, trying to break the one-sided tension a bit.

In answer he stood up and stepped over her, his joints creaking in an oddly comforting, human manner.

"Jerk." She stuck her tongue out at him.

He turned and stared down at her, an unreadable expression on his blank face.

She avoided looking at him, fidgeting slightly. "Anyway... I, uh... kinda have to..."

He didn't even bat an eye.

"That is, I gotta go... you know."

He blinked.

"Geez Vinnie! Do you have to be such an insensative PRICK all the time, or is it just with me? What is it about me that makes you such an ASSHOLE?! I gotta PEE! You happy now?! Do I need to draw a damn diagram for you?! Oh wait, I CAN'T! My friggin' hands are tied. Gee, I wonder who did that!! Asshole!!"

He took a single step around her side, then crouched down, fiddling awkwardly with her bonds. She felt them loosen, and the somewhat sluggish circulation returned to them, giving her pins and needles. She rubbed her wrists.

"Thanks, Vinnie. Why the hell'd you tie me up, anyway?"

He gave her an unamused look.

"Oh yeah... I kinda ran away." She answered her own question.

"That reminds me..." She looked him seriously in the eyes, adopting a quizzical expression rather than an angry one. Which was not to say she wasn't still angry, just that her need to know why he'd done it was more important to her than letting him know she hadn't forgiven him.

"Why did you shoot me, Vinnie?"

He looked at her cooly for a few moments, then raised an eyebrow. "I thought you said you had to go to the bathroom."

She pouted at him. "I do, but I wanna know." She leaned forward.

"Tell me!" She ordered, then noticed that their faces were considerably closer than the conversational topic strictly called for. Embarassed, she leaned back. "Please?" She'd never tried polite before with Vincent. It might be worth a try.

Gee, ya think?

He regarded her for a moment, then sighed. "Have you ever tried to save someone who was drowning?"

She blinked at this sudden, unexpected answer. "No... what the hell does that have to do with-"

He continued, blandly. "Someone who's panicking forgets everything they know, about swimming or anything else. They just react."

She frowned, but quietly.

"If you just go in and try to save them, chances are they'll end up dragging you down with them."

She narrowed her eyes, not liking where this was going.

"When it comes right down to it, someone who's unconscious is alot easier to save then someone who's flailing around." He finished quietly.

She thought about this for a moment, then scowled at him. "I wasn't panicking. Nor was I drowning, Vinnie."

He raised an eyebrow. "That's not the point."

"Well then what the hell IS? Oh I get it, I'm NOT as fucking stupid or clueless as you people seem to think, and you know what Vincent? You're just like Godo, you think you know what's best for me? That you can just come in and run MY goddamn life?! Why is it that nobody thinks I can decide what's damned best for me!? Well the hell with you, Vinnie! I-"

"You're right."

"Fuck you! I'll don't care what y... huh?"

He sighed. "You're right."

"I am?! I mean, yeah, so..." She deflated. "You really irritate me, you know that, Vinnie? I had a good head of steam going there."

He shrugged. Only a little shrug, but a shrug nonetheless.

She stood up. He followed her.

"Well, I..." She stopped, looking around, as though for the first time. Severe cliff faces faced her to the north and south, and east and west the gorge continued until the natural bend of the walls cut off the view of further down.

"Where the hell are we?"

He raised an eyebrow. "I thought you had to go to the bathroom."

"I just said that to get to you to take off those ropes." She said flippantly. "We've moved past that, Vinnie. Try to keep up."

He sighed.

"Well, where the hell are we?"

"I thought you weren't interested in my opinion." He said. Then blinked, as though surprised at himself.

She took it completely in stride. "I never said I wasn't interested in you, Vinnie... just that you don't have any right to run my life. Up to and including shooting me in the leg and tying me up, then taking me somewhere I already said I didn't want to go."

He sighed. "Point taken."

She brightened. "Does this mean you aren't taking me back to Wutai?"

"No."

"Dang."

He turned to the east. "We were headed in this direction before we fell into this crack. We might as well continue until we find a spot that's easy enough to climb out."

She grinned at him. "You know, this is the most I've ever heard outta you, Vinnie. Should I be writing this down? Is this qoutable Vincent?"

He started walking east.

She followed after a short time.

"Don't get used to it." He said, after a while.

"Oh. My. Gawd. Was that an attempt at humor?"

Silence.

"Nice try, Vinnie. Your delivery was off, though."

More silence.

"You kinda have to snap 'em back for it to be effective. Like, five seconds or less."

Still more silence.

It just continues along this vein for the next few hours, so lets just leave them to it, shall we?
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A/N: I know some of you are thinking at this point, "What the fuck?!" Two months of waiting and all we get is a thirty page flashback scene, some schizophrenic ranting, and barely five pages of Vincent/Yuffie?

My answer is, of course, that this flashback is a necessary evil.

Something disturbed me about alot of you readers recently that I wanted to get off my chest. In chapter 2, when Vincent coldly dispatches the helpless machine gunner on the last lizard, the response I got from alot of you was that this was cool.

It took me a moment to wrap my head around that. I mean, here we have this former VILLAIN who's trying to redeem himself, and yet he's still pragmatically ending lives without much thought.

This doesn't disturb any of you? I think people have fallen into the trap of believing that what Vincent did back in his Turk days was "OK" because he's such a cool character in the now. Not because he's trying to redeem himself, but because he's cool. I don't know if I'm ok with that. I mean, I like cool gun fighting scenes and violence as much as the next man, probably more so, but I don't think its cool to just end somebody's life without thinking about it. That's what kinda got on my nerves about the Matrix... I mean, I understand that these people don't know you're trying to save them, and that they're trying to kill you, but does that make it alright to just haphazardly slaughter your way through them? That really bugs me, and I apologize... I used this fic as a way to illustrate this.

Yes Vincent is cool. Yes he's a badass. He's also a man struggling to climb out of the mire that was his former life. Vincent is convinced that there is no salvation for him, and most fics just kinda skim over that.

I think it's really important. That's why I wrote that scene the way it is.

Is Vincent an unrepentant killer?

No.

Is he a killer?

Yes.

Even then, I tried to show that there were some SEEDS of redemption in him, because other wise, how could he have fallen in love? In the flashback, the black far outweighs the white, and I think its important to stress that.

Vincent makes a very good villain, I think. Does he make a good hero?

I guess that'll depend on him... and Yuffie, won't it?

In any case, lemme know what you think, ok? I appreciate you all hanging on as much as you have, I really do.

Chris, DT