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The trip from Midgar to Junon, by company jet, takes precisely three hours, eighteen minutes, and twenty eight seconds. I know that because every second was full of the sheer and draining agony of boredom. I hate plane rides. They’re long and dull and boring and I couldn’t even sleep like Rosalind did because I was so worked up.
Usually, on trips like this, I’ll sleep. I like sleep. It’s easier than trying to occupy yourself. However, if it happens to be a trip to Junon, I’m more likely to get myself all bent outta shape because I can’t stand Junon.
Contrary to popular belief, I am entirely, utterly, and totally justified in my complete loathing of that stinking city. It’s an awful place. Midgar is an absolute haven, compared to Junon. The system in Midgar is pretty simple. Good, law-abiding, productive citizens above the plate, dangerous criminals below the plate. Some people call this kind of segregation unfair, but I’ve never been in a city that runs as smoothly as Midgar does, so I’m gonna say that, fair or not, it works. This kind of system isn’t in place in Junon (though there are upper and lower sectors, the only real difference is in age and architecture) and thus, the classes mix. Bad things happen, when you give the criminals access to the upper class. It’s really best to keep the two apart.
Now, that’s not really the reason I hate Junon. There isn’t any other city in the world like Midgar (I’ve been around, so believe me, I know) and if I hated them all just for that, I couldn’t really go anywhere. No, the reason I hate Junon has to do with the fact that I’ve never had a good experience in the city. Ever. Each and every single time I’ve been there, something hellishly bad has happened. Knowing that, I can’t think why Commander Veld keeps sending me. Maybe he hopes I’ll grow out of it or something, but I’d really sooner not take the risk, myself.
I can’t really explain it, but there’s something about Junon that turns me into a bona fide jinx. I don’t particularly care to recount most of these experiences, but one particularly unpleasant incident involved an elevator stuck in a burning building. Being stuck in an elevator is bad enough, but getting caught in one when the building it belongs to is burning down is just awful. A person’s luck has to be pretty damn bad to get stuck in either of those situations, never mind the both of them at once.
So, given that I’d had three sleepless hours to stress out about just what was going to be happening this trip, I was a nervous wreck by the time we entered Junon airspace. The co-pilot actually stuck his head out of the cockpit and told me if I didn’t stop pacing, they weren’t going to be able to land the plane. I felt kinda bad about this (it’s a tricky thing to land a plane), so I headed to the back of the plane to wake Rosalind up.
Shinran jets are designed to be the epitome of comfort. First class, all the way. The bunks at the back are very comfortable, and if you aren’t having a small panic attack, perfect for sleeping through a plane ride. Rosalind was curled up on one of these bunks, looking so goddamned cute, it was almost criminal to wake her. She’s got very long eyelashes. I don’t think she wears any makeup (she doesn’t seem the type for it), she’s just naturally very pretty. It was a terrible shame I wasn’t allowed to flirt with her, but then, since she was supposed to be my subordinate, I guess it would’ve been weird. So I just gave her a little nudge in the ribs. “Rookie? Hey, rookie, wake up! We’re over Junon.”
Rosalind sat up and yawned, stretching. “Already, sir?” she questioned sleepily, rubbing her eyes. “Did I sleep the whole way, sir?”
“The whole damn way. You’re very cute when you’re asleep,” I told her (it wasn’t flirting. I just figured she had a right to know.) “It’s a pretty damn comfy plane, isn’t it?”
“Yes, sir. Didn’t you sleep, sir?”
Immediate subject change. If I’d been flirting (but I wasn’t), that would’ve been a brush off. But, since I wasn’t, she was just embarrassed, maybe flattered. “Nah. I’m way too wired. Couldn’t sleep if I tried.”
Getting out of her bunk and straightening the cuffs of her suit (damn thing wasn’t wrinkled. Not even creased. My suits are falling off of me at the best of times, never mind after I’ve slept in them.)“Nerves, sir?” she questioned, taking her two handguns from the shelf beside the bunk and holstering them. “Your hands are shaking, sir.”
I attempted to laugh this off. “It’s nothing, rookie,” I told her, wishing I’d gotten a subordinate who wasn’t quite as sharp or an assignment that didn’t have me quite so tightly wound. “Go get ready to disembark. I’ll just be a minute.”
Rosalind nodded dutifully, and padded out of the back compartment in her stocking feet, to put her shoes on. I waited until she was occupied, then ducked into the bathroom at the back and opened the medicine cabinet above the sink. Well-stocked with a variety of drugs, the medications of choice for any of the Turks who use the plane. The top shelf is mine. I selected a small white bottle and promptly dropped it into the sink with a clatter. I was nowhere near as steady as I needed to be.
I wished I’d thought to close the door as Rosalind glanced up, then looked back down. I struggled with the cap for a little bit (damned childproofing. Don’t drug companies know that anyone who needs anti-anxiety drugs is liable to have shaky hands?) then took two pills, dry. Not advisable, I know, but I really didn’t have time to bother with water.
Taking a few deep breaths, I straightened my tie and grabbed my nightstick, slipping the leather strap attached to the handle over my wrist. Rosalind had finished tying her shoes and was waiting at the door of the plane for me. “Headache, sir?” she asked.
“Umm?” I didn’t have any idea where she’d gotten that idea, then I realized she must have seen me popping pills. Nice kid, to draw such an innocent conclusion. “Oh. Yeah. Just a headache.”
“I see, sir. I hope it gets better, sir.”
I had a feeling she knew I was lying, but I let it pass. “I’m fine, yeah. C’mon, rookie. I’d kinda figured the plane would blow up as soon as we hit Junon airspace, but it seems we’re in the clear, so we’d better go.”
Rosalind blinked at me and followed me down the foldout staircase to the tarmac. “Sir?”
“You ever been to Junon, rookie?” I asked her, glancing around the tarmac and sighing. Still the same great, stinking city.
“I haven’t, sir, no.” she declined, shaking her head.
“Hmm.” Well, it was probably best I warn her about what was coming. “I’ll tell you right now, rookie, it’s a big, stupid, ugly, dirty city and I utterly loathe and detest it.”
Rosalind seemed taken aback by this as I headed briskly for the terminal building. “You don’t like the city, sir?” she questioned, catching up to me.
“Hate it. With a passion. Junon stinks. And something bad always happens when I come here. C’mon, let’s grab a cab.”
Rosalind trotted to keep up with me. I guess I was walking kinda fast for her, but then, I was still incredibly nervous. Those drugs take some time to work, but they’d kick in when I needed them. For the moment, I was just edgy. If anything happened to get my adrenaline going, I’d probably just collapse in a twitching heap. I really need to stop coming to Junon.
We got into the airport terminal building, and promptly got separated in the bustle inside. Rosalind probably isn’t used to the constant press of bodies in the city of Junon, because it’s so poorly organized compared to Midgar. I had to go weed her out of the crowd a few times, until I eventually just grabbed her by the hand and pulled her along to the elevator down to street level.
“Mind the cable when you step on, rookie. If we get stuck in here, the building’s going to catch on fire,” I warned her seriously.
Rosalind gave me a strange look. “I don’t understand why you say that, sir. Junon doesn’t seem so bad so far.”
I can’t believe Tseng hadn’t told her about me and Junon. Or about him and Mideel. Or Rude and Rocket Town. I sighed. I guess it was my responsibility. After all, she was my subordinate. “Every Turk has an unlucky city,” I announced. “It doesn’t matter what kind of mission you’re on, be it a patrol, reconnaissance, body-guarding, or whatever. Something’s going to go wrong with whatever you do in your unlucky city. Junon is mine. And, I’m sorry that this has to be true, rookie, but something’s going to go wrong with this mission. It might be big, it might be little. But it’ll be something.”
She didn’t believe me. I could tell from the way her eyebrows were. “Are you sure you might not just be imagining things, sir?” she asked slowly.
“I’m not kidding, rookie. It’s a statistic. Ask Tseng, ask Commander Veld, ask anybody. They’ll all tell you horror stories about their cities. The branch offices in other parts of the world are for the Turks who can’t handle Midgar. Of course, I do worse in Junon than anybody else does anywhere. I dunno why Commander Veld keeps sending me. Maybe ‘cause I’m the only option, or something. Or maybe ‘cause I’m just that good.”
“Are you really serious, sir?” she asked doubtfully as we stepped off the elevator and headed out into the streets. She still didn’t believe me. Oh well. I guess it is kinda hard to believe.
“I’m perfectly serious, rookie. You’ll know when you find yours. Just watch yourself, okay? My bad Junon luck hasn’t ever affected a partner, but I dunno what the rules are about subordinates.”
There was a hint of a placatingly amused smile about her lips. “All right, sir. I’m not terribly worried, but I’ll be careful.”
“Good. Now, stay back from the curb and I’ll get a cab.” I waved her back from the edge of the road and flagged down a taxi. They always stop for Turks, because they know we tip well. Of course, I wasn’t about to tip a Junon cabby anything. I wasn’t even going to allow a Junon cabby the liberty of getting by without a quick bomb sweep.
Rosalind climbed into the cab as I went around to the front of the cab and lifted the hood. I heard the cabby complaining, but I didn’t particularly care. I pulled a small penlight from my pocket and did a quick sweep of the engine. Nope, no bombs there. I slammed the hood down and circled around to the side of the cab, dropping down to the ground and peering underneath. No bombs underneath, either. And I didn’t figure there’d be one in the trunk, because that was where people would put their luggage, and they’d probably notice a bomb.
I climbed in back with Rosalind, ignoring the cabby glaring at me. “It’s all clear, rookie,” I told her. “No bombs.” I glanced through the Plexiglas screen separating us and the driver. He looked like your standard old-timer, but you never can tell. “Listen, buddy, no funny stuff. You think a little plastic’s gonna keep me from getting atcha if you try anything screwy? Take us to the Hotel Crowley on…”
“Goddamn Turk! I know where the goddamned hotel is!” And with that, he put his cab in gear and peeled away from the curb.
“Hey, watch it! Goddamn you, trying to get us killed!” I slumped back in my seat, morosely buckling my seatbelt.
Rosalind eventually spoke up. “What’s the President like, sir?”
Oh, right. She was going to be meeting the Prez for the first time. Well, there was no sense lying to her. “He’s a crabby old dickhead who doesn’t listen to anybody. You have to know how to handle him.”
Rosalind blinked at me. What was she expecting? You’d think they warn the kids coming up about what the man they’re working for is really like. “And do you know how to handle him, sir?” she asked nervously.
“Me? Oh yeah. Better than most people, at least. He likes me. He probably won’t listen to a damn word I say, but he likes me well enough.” That was true, at least. It didn’t do much to improve the relative shittiness of the whole situation, but it was a point in our favor that the President is rather fond of me. I stared out the window as we drove through Junon. “I can’t honestly say I’m thrilled about this mission. It’s going to be pretty tough.”
“At least we know what’s coming, sir,” Rosalind answered optimistically, shrugging. If I continued to be in such a foul mood, her positive attitude was going to get really irritating.
“Yeah. A lot of trouble.” The only answer to optimism is pessimism. It balances things out.
We pulled up in front of the hotel and my PHS rang I as I got out. I left Rosalind to pay the cabby and answered. “Reno.”
“Are you at the hotel, Agent?” Commander Veld asked. I could hear the noise of the War Room in the background. This thing was being coordinated, no doubt about that. I wasn’t the only one expecting problems.
“Affirmative, sir.”
“Good. The President is in his suite on the top floor. He’s expecting you. Report to him immediately. Your task will be to escort the President to the branch office. It’s not too far away, and the streets are already clearing, so you should have an easy time of it. However, Avalanche members have been spotted in the streets.”
“Isn’t that just peachy?”
Commander Veld grunted. “If any of them interfere, it will be your responsibility to stop them from damaging the President.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah…”
“You seem edgy, agent. Have you taken anything for that?” Veld asked.
I don’t know why, but this set me off and I was probably a little snappy when I answered. “Well, yes I did, sir. Same as goddamn always when you send me to this stupid city. One of these days I’m gonna overdose and die.”
There was a pause on the other end of the line. I winced. I could feel the scolding he was about to give me. Instead he just sighed. “Listen, Reno, I’m not any happier about this. You’re there because the President needs to be managed and you’re the best agent we have for that. If I’d had my way, he’d be on a plane back here by now and we’d have called off the whole address. But, my way is not what matters. His way is. So I’d like to be able to do this with as little resistance from you as possible. Are we clear?”
Commander Veld has a way of guilting me that no one else can manage. “Sorry, sir. I’m just nervous.”
“Well, try to calm down. And remember you’ve got Rosalind there. That girl has good sense. Cover for each other, all right? You’ll be fine.”
“Roger, sir.”
“What did the Commander say, sir?” Rosalind asked when I snapped my phone closed.
She didn’t really need to know the details, so I glossed over the majority of his lecture. “Oh, he just wanted to know if we were at the hotel yet, and to tell us that the President is waiting for us in his suite. We’re supposed to report to him immediately.”
“What did you apologize to him for, sir? Did we do something wrong?” she asked as we went into the lobby of the hotel.
Man. Aren’t blondes supposed to be dumb? Maybe Rosalind is a natural brunette and she dyes her hair blonde. I shrugged uncomfortably and pressed the up button on the elevator. “He just told me not to be short with him.”
“Oh.” She dropped the issue. The Commander was right. She does have good sense. Absently, she stared around the lobby of the hotel, taking in the richness of the surroundings. The Crowley is a pretty nice place, even when your room reservations get mixed up and you end up in a crappy little main floor suite as opposed to one of the deluxe suites on the higher up floors. Rosalind seemed to notice two guards with guns standing by the entrance. “Don’t the guards make the guests nervous?”
I glanced at her. “There aren’t any other guests, rookie. This is the President’s annual address to the City of Junon. It’s a big enough deal that he books the entire hotel.”
Rosalind stared at me. “The entire hotel?” she echoed disbelievingly.
I couldn’t help laughing at her, she looked so incredulous. “It’s not that big of a hotel. If he’d booked one of the high-rise hotels in Midgar, it’d be different, but this one’s old and kinda small. Only four stories. His entourage takes up the top floor. The rest are empty, except for a handful of guards. That’s mostly for security reasons. Anyone can check into a hotel, rookie. They’ve even taken most of the hotel staff off. It’s a pretty big deal.”
“You can say that again,” she agreed, wide-eyed, as the elevator arrived. “How many guards are there, sir?”
I thought about this for a moment, then counted quickly on my fingers. “As of right now? Ten. Usually there are thirty or so, but most of them are setting up a perimeter at the Junon Branch Office. That’s where his press conference is, and where the address he gives is broadcasted from. It’s a really big deal, rookie. They plan this thing for an entire year, from the end of the last one, to the start of the next one. In the entire process, there is a single lull. Just one. And we’re in it.”
Rosalind looked grave, understanding the connotations of this statement. “How long does it last, sir?”
“It’s a six-hour window. We’re three hours into it now. The majority of his bodyguards and entourage are occupied away from him, getting things set up for the broadcast and the conference and the parade. They’ve got the whole thing down to a science, and apparently this lull can’t be avoided. So it’s a danger zone. And now we have Avalanche to worry about.”
“How bad do you think it’ll be, sir? With Avalanche, I mean.”
I shrugged. There was no sense in my being anything but realistic. Realistic, not pessimistic, although, given the circumstances, the two weren’t all that far apart. “I couldn’t tell you for sure. If you want me to honest, it could be pretty damn bad. When all was said and done, there were a lot of them in Midgar. It’s obvious that this is a coordinated attack, and they know about the lull, because of the way they’ve timed it…I dunno, rookie.”
Rosalind nodded as the elevator stopped at the top floor and we stepped off. She had a vaguely distant expression. “This place is nice,” she remarked absently, running her fingertips over the wood paneling. Probably getting herself psyched up.
“Nothing but the best for President Shinra.” I gave her a wink. No sense in her getting all bent outta shape. “That’s why we’re here, of course. Don’t you worry about it, rookie. Just keep your head up and we’ll be fine.”
She gave me a grateful little smile (I love it when she smiles. Really, really love it. I mean, really) and followed me down the hallway to the President’s room. There were two grunts posted outside. Grunts are fun to mess with.
“Good morning, gentlemen.”
“Sir!” they said in unison, saluting.
“All quiet on the western front, I trust?”
The one on the right nodded. “Sir, yes sir. The President is waiting for you, sir.”
“Oh, good. It’s good to be expected. Do you know if he’s had anything to drink yet this morning? Nip of scotch, a bit of brandy, maybe? He would’ve snuck it into his coffee?”
The guard flushed slightly. “I wouldn’t know anything about that, sir.”
“Bah. Well, we’ll see. He’s a bitch to deal with if he hasn’t had a little something to drink.”
I waved him aside and entered the President’s hotel room, leaving Rosalind to offer the guard a few kind words. “Ah, Mr. President. You’re looking well today, sir.”
“Can it, Turk,” the President growled, sitting at a table in the living room, still in his pajamas and robe. Sky blue and magenta. The President’s sense of style is best described as…flamboyant. But only if flamboyant is understood to mean “severely lacking in taste.” In which case I should probably say “garish,” but one doesn’t say such things of the President of Shinra. To sum the matter up, he has orange hair and a penchant for the color magenta. Now, I’m a redhead and I understand that there are certain colors of the spectrum that are off-limits to me. If the President’s tailors weren’t so scared of him, maybe they’d have the sense to explain that fact to him. In any case, he glanced at me appraisingly. “Got anything to drink?”
“Of course, sir. One shot or two, sir?” I produced a small silver flask from my jacket. Most Turks carry some kind of liquor. There are various reasons for this, some of which are medicinal. For example, Rude carries some kind of Wutain saké with the approximate potency of a general anesthetic and I’ve had Loretta dump half a flask of vodka on an open wound. After I stopped screaming, she told me it was to prevent infection. I think she just likes seeing me in pain. The other reason is, obviously, stress management. The pressures we’re all under, it’s a wonder we’re all not alcoholics. None of us get absolutely hammered on jobs, of course, but it’s rare to go into a job without a little something in your system to keep you calm.
“Make it a double,” the President snapped, rustling his newspaper. He accepted his coffee and drank it all in one go, then looked up at Rosalind. “Who’s the blonde, Turk?” he questioned, eyeing Rosalind as she snapped to attention and saluted.
“She’s my subordinate, sir.” I couldn’t help feeling just a little bit proud about that. After all, she was my first one ever, and probably one of the best fifth classes in the company.
“Rosalind Kramer, sir,” she reported crisply. “Fifth class.”
The President laughed gruffly. “Aren’t there rules against you being in charge of people, Turk?”
I’ll tell ya, nothing undermines the emotion of pride faster than being laughed at by the most powerful man in the world. “She’s very talented, sir.”
“She’d have to be, if she’s working for you.” The President laughed again and crooked a finger at Rosalind. “C’mon over here, blondie.”
Rosalind hesitated and glanced at me. I gave her a brief nod, so she walked over to stand at attention by the President, giving another salute. He smiled at her, looking all bemused and benevolent, then beckoned her closer again, looking her up and down and motioning for her to turn around.
I should’ve expected this. It was naïve and stupid of me not to have. In point of fact, the President is a disgusting letch, who treats all female operatives like trashy hookers. In any case, Rosalind yelped and was across the room in two seconds, blushing like crazy. Poor kid.
“Oh, loosen up,” the President laughed.
“S-sorry, sir.”
I felt awful. If it had been anyone else, she’d have broken his neck—any woman I know (most of whom are Turks) would’ve. And, if the woman in question hadn’t, I would’ve. But he’s the President and, as much as we might like to sometimes, attempting to kill him is frowned upon. “Maybe you should go get dressed for your speech, sir,” I suggested.
The President sighed and got up heavily. “If I have to. Stupid city. The population is a bunch of chowderheads. I honestly don’t know why I bother with Junon.”
The obvious reason is that of the Junon Cannon, the single most formidable piece of weaponry on the face of the Planet. It was built in a final expenditure of Shinra’s weapon industry, as a deterrent of war. Anyone steps outta line, the Company steps in and prudently reminds the aggressor that there’s a big-ass Mako energy blast with their name on it, if they don’t straighten up and fly right. Once they got into the energy business, it wasn’t profitable to have nations at each other’s throats all the time.
“I’m sorry about him, rookie,” I told Rosalind, as soon as the President had gone into his room. I took up the standard position in front of his door. “Really, I should’ve warned you. He’s usually not this bad.”
Rosalind shook her head and pressed her palms against her cheeks. “O-oh, n-no, sir. It wasn’t your fault.” She cleared her throat and toyed with the cuffs of her jacket, trying to compose herself again.
“Well…no, I guess not, but still. I should’ve said something.” I still felt terrible about the whole thing. ”I swear, if he were anyone else, I’d beat the shit outta him.”
“If he were anyone else I’d do it myself!” Rosalind answered hotly. And that was the first indication I got that Rosalind could take care of herself. Of course, she paled several shades when she realized what she’d said and clapped a hand over her mouth. “I didn’t mean that, sir!” she apologized quickly.
I couldn’t help laughing at her. “Aww, rookie, don’t worry about it. You’re all right. Believe me, you’re not the only one who wants to.”
She shook her head. “Oh no, sir. It’s one thing to think it; it’s quite another to say it. I shouldn’t say such things. I just can’t believe the public don’t realize what a…a…”
“There are a lot of words for what the President is, none of which should be repeated in present company. And it’s entirely possible the public does know.”
“Well, then why doesn’t someone say something?”
I glanced at her. “Well rookie, you’re a plucky little bird. Why don’t you go in there and tell the President precisely what you think of him?”
Rosalind stared at me. “Because that’s suicide, sir.”
“Right. That’s why. Besides, he might be naked and lord knows, not even Mrs. Shinra enjoys that. Nah, rookie. There’s no sense in bucking against all the abuse he dishes out. It’s just the job. But don’t forget, you are capable of killing him. I wouldn’t advise trying it, but remember you could if you wanted to.”
She laughed. I thought it was a pretty nice thing when she smiled, but hearing her laugh is the sort of thing that makes a person forget there’s anything bad in the world. “I’ll keep that in mind, sir.”
“Good on ya, rookie. You’re gonna be just fine.”
The door of the President’s room flew open and the door handle caught me in the small of the back, causing no small amount of pain. He’s a big fellow and I’m not exactly a heavyweight, so I was pretty lucky to remain standing as he came out of his room. “Giving your…ahem…‘subordinate’ a pep talk, Turk?”
“You might say that, sir,” Rosalind answered, fixing the President with a frigid stare. Wow. The President cringed a little and even I was a bit unnerved at the look in her eyes. Cute or not, she’s dangerous as all hell. (I like that.)
In any case, the President avoided her eyes and cleared his throat. “Commander Veld sent you, did he? Hmm.”
I went over to the closet and retrieved the President’s coat. “We’ll be escorting you to the Branch Office from here, sir,” I informed him politely, winking at Rosalind as I passed.
“Hmph.” The President pulled a cigar from a case in his front pocket and came over to the closet. Handing it to me, he accepted his coat and pulled it on, while I trimmed the end off his cigar and gave it back to him. Regrettable as it is, I am the best at handling the President, god knows why. It’s lucky he has a contingent of personal guards, or he’d probably enlist me as a bodyguard. And I don’t think I could handle that.
“Ready to leave, sir?” I asked him, handing him a book of matches from the front pocket of my jacket.
Rosalind went over to open the door, but just as she reached it, it flew open and a red suited man with a mask and goggles over his eyes stood at ready stance. “Death to the President!” he shouted.
The both of us, Rosalind and me, reacted. I stuffed the President in the closet and shut the door, drawing my nightstick, while she whipped a handgun out and shot the guy. It’s a credit to her reaction time, but unfortunately it didn’t do much. The assassin was probably wearing a bulletproof vest.
Rosalind arched an eyebrow as he rushed her, dodging his attack and rolling neatly away as he recovered from the miss. She had already taken aim as he turned to face her, and she fired again, taking out one of his kneecaps, then was on her feet as he fell, shooting him in the back of the neck almost before he hit the ground. Now that is talent. Talent with minimal bleeding.
“Very nice!” I approved, grinning at her. “I would’ve been more help, but…” I jerked a thumb over my shoulder at the closet door I was holding closed, and then the President yanked it open. Nearly took my arm out of my socket. Lord, he’s a beefy guy.
“What the hell was the meaning of that, Turk?” he roared at me, turning purple. Maybe that’s why he likes magenta—because it’s semi-natural coloring for him. “What’re you trying to do, suffocate me? I don’t care what Veld authorizes; you do not lay hands on my person! Dammit, Turk…”
“Sir!” Rosalind interrupted, gesturing at the assassin.
The President spun around to shout at Rosalind, then stopped as he spotted the assassin. “Who the hell is that?”
I gave the body a bit of a gingerly kick. “A member of Avalanche, sir. An assassin. Had Veld told you about them, sir?”
The President got even purpler. “One of the terrorists from Midgar? They’re in Junon? In two of my cities?! How dare they…”
The TV on the far wall turned on. That’s one of the really freaky things about the Company. They’re wired into everywhere and can piggyback cameras and video systems just about anywhere in the world. Essentially, the President’s TV was a window into the War Room back at HQ and the camera on top of the TV meant that Veld had the same deal. His face appeared on the screen. “Mr. President! Are you all right, sir?”
The President looked up from glaring at the dead assassin and went over to the TV. “I’m fine, Veld. What the hell are terrorists doing in my cities?”
“I briefed you about it when I told you I was sending in the Turks, sir. They’re moving into Junon as we speak. In the interests of your protection, I really must suggest we pull you out of the city and return you to Midgar. To proceed with the reduced level of security afforded to us now is too great a risk.”
I was all for the idea of pulling out. Hell, if the worst thing that was going to happen was a doorknob in the back, I could almost count this experience as a positive one. Obviously, though, it wasn’t in the cards. Not with my luck, and not with the President’s stubborn determination to show the people what a tough old asshole he is.
“We will proceed as planned, Veld,” the President said stiffly. “The public will not see that we are afraid of these foolish miscreants.”
Despite this, Veld wasn’t finished. “Do not dismiss the idea yet, Mr. President. Tseng, patch through the security camera footage, so the President can see.”
The screen suddenly divided into four and showed Avalanche members, creeping through the halls. “Aww…shit,” I grumbled. But still, it was possible for some good to come out of this…
Veld came back on screen. “Now, sir, I really must insist you pull out of Junon and…”
“Hell no, Veld!” the President snapped. “I’m not calling off the biggest event of the year, just because of a few measly terrorists! Fix it!”
“But sir, I can have a helicopter there in…”
President Shinra ground his cigar between his jaws. Nasty habit, smoking. You won’t find a Turk who smokes. To hell with stress relief or whatever. I’ve never understood the rationale behind smoking. Those things’ll kill ya. We’re all strictly monitored, because substance abuse is a huge liability in the business. “We will proceed as planned. End of discussion.”
It’s kind of a scary thing, that the most powerful man in the world is so goddamned stupid. In fact, one of the only things that I’d consider scarier is having to work for him.
Commander Veld sighed. He’s got a tough job. I feel for the guy, sometimes. Taking orders directly from the President, when they aren’t watered down and manipulated by a few other hands, is a tough thing. “I’ll send a few guards from the parade ground.”
The President grunted. “Not too many. The parade is always perfect. I won’t have it messed up.”
The camera above the TV, which sent video feed directly back to the HQ (Tseng set all this up, by the way. He’s absolutely incredible when it comes to these kinds of things) whirred and turned to Rosalind. “You’ll be heading down and clearing the building, agent. There are only five of them. Can you handle that?”
“Sir. Yes, sir.” She saluted and brushed her hair out of her eyes.
The camera turned to me. “And you’ll stay here with the President, Reno.”
I was about to suggest that I go clear the building, but I stopped myself. Rosalind probably wouldn’t appreciate being left alone with the President. Besides which, if he did get fresh with her, there was no guarantee she wouldn’t kill him. Or injure him. In the long run, it was just better that I stay. She could handle herself. “Right, sir. I doubt we’ll have any problems.”
“I should hope not. Be careful, agents.” And the TV turned off.
The President grunted. “Try not to take forever, Blondie. I have things to do today.”
Rosalind nodded once, a little stiffly. “Yes, sir. I’ll be back soon, sir.” And then she left. I went over to the door. The assassin had kicked it open, busting the lock. I closed it anyway, even if it wasn’t going to hold. It was a comfort thing.
President Shinra picked up his coffee cup and swirled the dregs around, swallowing the remnants and licking his lips. He went over to the TV and turned it back on, standing in front of the couch and watching the screen, split four ways again.
After a few silent minutes of watching Rosalind, he chuckled. “That little blonde sure is a looker. Bit uptight, but still. Quite a body. Don’t you think so, Turk?”
I shrugged. “I’m really not supposed to have an opinion about these kinds of things, sir.” That wasn’t entirely true. I had an opinion; I just doubted he’d like it. I was of the opinion that if he didn’t quit talking about Rosalind like that, I was going to hurt him.
“Oh, come off it. Tight little ass, decently endowed, the baby girl face…she doesn’t do it for you?”
It’s also a very upsetting thing that the most powerful man in the world is such a disgusting letch. “Sir, really. It’s against company charter for me to…”
The President laughed. “Shit, Turk. You’re really trying at this, aren’t you? You aren’t going to get anywhere, don’t you know that?”
“That’s no reason for me not to do it right, sir.”
“You people are all so goddamned moral about each other. Ah well. No matter. You keep it up, Turk. It’s a damn stupid way of doing things, but you keep it up.” The President glanced at his watch. “Fetch my wallet from my room, Turk,” he ordered, glancing at the TV screen. “She should be just about done.”
“Yes, sir. Please, wait in the hall for me.” I left the front room. Sometimes, it’s a hard thing to be in the same room as the President and not kill him. His wallet wasn’t immediately in evidence, so I hunted around a bit. I found it, in the pocket of one of his jackets, just as I heard the hotel room door open and shut.
“Ah, shit!” I cursed to myself, stuffing his wallet in my front pocket and taking off after him. I don’t know why the President hires bodyguards, if he doesn’t intend to use us.
I yanked open the hotel room door and crashed right into Rosalind, throwing the both of us to the floor. “Hey, rookie!” I got up and pulled her to her feet. “Sorry, rookie. You okay?”
She nodded and dusted off her suit. “Yes, sir. Where’d the President go, sir?”
I suddenly realized the hallway was empty. “He’s not out here! Goddamnit, I told him to wait for me! Damned bastard. Aww…man, if anything happens to him, I’ll be in so much shit…”
Rosalind shook her head. “The hotel is clear, sir. If he took the elevator, we can take the stairs and beat him down.”
Sensible girl. I like working with someone who’s got a good head on their shoulders. It means less thinking for me. “All right…yeah, all right. C’mon rookie.”
I took off down the hallway and down the stairs to the lobby. I was lucky I didn’t fall and break my neck. That would’ve been pretty damned embarrassing, in retrospect. I got to the lobby at least a flight of stairs ahead of Rosalind and stopped in front of the elevator, slightly winded. I hate stairs.
“Too damn much work, going down stairs,” I told Rosalind, when she caught up.
She nodded, gasping a little. Don’t misunderstand this. Neither of us were really badly impacted by the whole deal. We’re just trained to breathe deeply and take in a lot of air, so we recover faster after things like that. “He’s still only on the second floor, sir,” she remarked, glancing up at the dial above the elevator, indicating its position.
“Oh. Well then, we should make a bit of an effort to make ourselves look professional. Straighten up, rookie. Thatta girl. Pretend like you didn’t just fall down a flight of stairs.”
Rosalind flashed a brief smile, straightening the lapels of her jacket. “Junon hasn’t been so bad so far, sir,” she said cheerfully.
I’d forgotten about that, actually. I was supposed to be having a terribly bad time of things. Right. So maybe this time was a bit different. I still had to save face, though. “Yeah, well, just you wait. It’ll get a helluva lot worse before it gets better. The day is young.”
She sighed at me and rolled her eyes. “Whatever you say, sir.” I wasn’t entirely sure of it, knowing what a straight-and-narrow type of agent she is, but she might have been patronizing me.
The elevator doors slid open and the President stepped out, carrying a cane he’d acquired somewhere and puffing contentedly on his cigar. He waltzed past the both of us, lifting a hand. “Turk. Blondie. Let’s go. We don’t have all day.”
Turk and Blondie. It sounded like some kind of twisted sitcom. “Yes, sir.”
Rosalind ran ahead and held open the door for the President. We headed out into the bright sunlight outside the hotel. The streets were empty, everyone having gone to the stadium at the center of the city, for the President’s address. It’s a very big deal. However, there was a contingent of four guards waiting for us at the entrance.
Rosalind looked around curiously. “Where is everyone?” she asked, a little nervously.
The President snorted and strode out in front of the squad of guards. “They’re waiting for me to give my address to the city. And I’m already late. So let’s move out.”
Now, this contingent might’ve sounded like a good thing, but, in point of fact, it wasn’t. These weren’t soldiers. These were the President’s Personal Guard. They’re good for pretty much nothing. Well, no. I should give them their due credit. If you need someone to stand around for an hour and look shiny, you get one of the Guard. If you need someone to march in perfect time to the President’s anthem, you get one of the Guard. If some hapless ballet dancer breaks an ankle and you need someone who can pirouette and sashay on command, you get one of the Guard. But, given that not much pirouetting goes on when crossing enemy territory (though it has been known to happen), they’re essentially useless.
The guards all saluted crisply and snapped their heels together. “Yes, sir!”
I stuck my tongue out and saluted at Rosalind behind the President’s back and she grinned at me. Then she glanced at the Guard and came to the same realization I had. She suddenly looked dismayed and looked at me again. “Told you so,” I mouthed, rolling my eyes. I knew things were gonna start going wrong.
The President clapped his hands brusquely. “All right. Blondie, you’re on point. Turk, take the rear.”
It pains me to hear a man of such military incompetence using military terms. But, in any case, Rosalind took the lead, with two guards behind her, then the President, then the other two guards. And I hung around at the back of the pack.
It was slow going. Turks, by nature, move like smoke on the wind. We aren’t used to moving around out in the open, nor are we accustomed to working with show guards. Rosalind had to allow her pace to match the President’s, and the guards in front of me were actually marching in step.
Now, there’s only so much marching a guy can take. After about ten minutes, I’d had enough. I’m the type of person that gets really, really upset by constant, repetitive actions. They drive me nuts. Besides which, marching is really, really slow. Even compared to the President’s speed. So, more out of necessity than malice (but you can’t entirely discount malice), I flicked my nightstick out and tripped one of ‘em. He stumbled and broke step, then shot a glare over his shoulder at me and took up his march again.
So I tripped the other one. “Pick up the pace,” I ordered as he scrambled to regain his timing.
“We’re marching as fast as we can, sir,” the other told me, through gritted teeth.
“Well, then quit marching and walk like goddamned normal people!” Honestly, sometimes the solutions to problems like this are so simple.
“When we’re in formation with the President, we’re supposed to march,” the most recently tripped guard informed me.
Pompous ass. “Yeah, well, when I’m trying to get through enemy territory, I’m supposed to go as fast as possible, to avoid being killed.”
The first guard snorted. “This is the city of Junon! It’s not enemy territory.”
Dumb ass. “Listen, dickhead, had you heard anything about the terrorists moving into the city? Far as I’m concerned, there are hostiles around and we’re outnumbered. That makes it enemy territory.”
“Nevertheless, we must adhere to the pace set by the President,” Pompy said.
I gave him a light jolt with my nightstick. “He’s not going fast enough. And we’re like ten yards behind him even so! Seriously, get your asses in gear!”
Dumbo glared at me again. “I didn’t hear about any terrorists.”
“My security clearance is higher than yours, asshole. If I say there’s terrorists, then there’s terrorists,” I told him bluntly. I hate working with people who aren’t Turks. They just don’t get it. “Get moving.”
Pompy cut in again. “We’re members the President’s Personal Guard. I wouldn’t boast so loudly of my security clearance, if I were you. It’s measly compared to ours.”
I really didn’t have time for this. “Oh, really? Well, if I were you, I’d fucking shoot myself. Gawd, you’re an ass! I’m on a job right now. My directives take priority over whatever the hell orders you’ve been given. Now, let me put this simply, in terms you can understand. Go fast or I’ll hurt you.”
Dumbo was about to reply to that, but I pushed past the pair of them. It was stupid to waste time arguing. Stupid guards. Wastes of time, air, and space. I sped up and started to close the distance between the President and myself. I glanced ahead to see how Rosalind was faring, only to see a regrettably familiar torso emerge from a third story window, holding an explosive high above his head.
“Remember this, Shinra!” Shears yelled, hurling the bomb down.
It wasn’t a large bomb, but I did what I was trained for and threw myself to the ground. Duck and cover. The subsequent explosion was upsetting, but hardly something new in this line of work. Immediately after, I heard gunfire. Good. That meant Rosalind was okay. Man, she’s on the ball. She probably couldn’t even see what she was shooting at, but she was trying anyway. Clouds of smoke and steam from the pipes beneath the road billowed up and dust clouded the air for a few minutes.
The dust settled slowly and I pushed myself up, coughing a bit. Brushing ineffectually at the dirt coating my suit, I moved forward cautiously. Lucky I was careful, seeing as the blast had taken out a large chunk of the street.
“Reno, sir?” Rosalind called across the gap. It was at least five yards across, and dropped about two stories down into the subway tunnels. Someone was going to have to be alerted about that.
I waved at her as the dust cleared. “Hey! You all right, rookie?”
“I’m all right, sir. So is the President,” she called. Oh, right. I’d forgotten about him. Rosalind looked over her shoulder. “I have two guards over here, sir.”
Erm. Forgot about them, too. “Uh…hang on, I think I probably have the same…hey, assholes! Sound off!”
“One,” Dumbo muttered, creeping out from where he’d taken cover behind a dumpster.
“T-two,” Pompy stammered.
I couldn’t help grinning. That’d show them. “Yeah, everybody’s alive and accounted for. Pretty bit of luck, that is.”
Rosalind stared at me. “Luck, sir? In Junon?” she asked incredulously.
Now, that was patronizing. “Yeah, yeah, shut up.”
“How are you going to get across, sir?” Rosalind asked, smoothly changing the subject and gesturing at the crater in the street.
I paused, glancing up at the window. That had been Shears. I owed him a moderate beating. It’s really not good to let these things lie for too long. “I’m going after the bomber. It was Shears, I’m sure of it. Can you handle the President, rookie?”
Rosalind hesitated, but nodded. “Yes, sir.”
“You’ll be okay, right?”
She smiled at me. “Of course, sir. Good luck, sir.”
You wouldn’t think it if you didn’t start to get to know her, but she’s got a damned ironic sense of humor. I waved a hand at my guards and headed toward the building Shears had been in. “Very funny, rookie. I’ll catch up with you. Keep your head up!”
The interior of the building I entered was dim and cool, empty of people. Outside, it was already late-morning and the sun was bright in the streets. It was probably abandoned, even at the best of times, given the state of disrepair it appeared to be in. Junon’s economy sucks. You’d never find something like this in Midgar.
The door creaked open and I nearly had a heart attack, much to the amusement of the two guards. Gah. I’d meant to shoo them. I guess they’d taken it wrong. I didn’t need either of them, except maybe for Shears fodder. And I was prepared to take a few risks along that line. “All right, gentlemen. We have separated from the President, I have things to do, and god knows, I don’t want to be responsible for either of you bumbling idiots. Now, I’m going after an assassin. I leave you to your own devices.”
And with that, I strode across the lobby of the building and up the stairs to the second floor. I never saw either of them again, so I can’t honestly say for sure if they got out of Junon alive. Probably, though. It wouldn’t have been a difficult matter for them to bumble on back to wherever they came from.
I decided the building had probably been a small, crummy apartment block at one point, given the layout on the third floor. I crept down the hallway to the door of the apartment the bomb had been thrown from. Shears was probably already gone. But, hey, maybe Rosalind had managed to shoot the bastard. I wouldn’t begrudge her for it, if she had. Hell, I didn’t care who got to him, just so long as he got what he deserved.
In any case, I recognized the fact that the element of surprise was going to be rather essential to the whole deal, so I kicked the door down and rushed into…an empty apartment. Damn. I’d kinda gotten a bit pumped about the whole thing, and it was a bit of a let down that he wasn’t there.
On the bright side, it was evident that he had been. Five or six bullets had pierced the window, and there were drops of blood on the floor. So Rosalind had hit him. She hadn’t killed him, but she’d definitely marked him, possibly crippled him. And that made my job easier.
There was a smear of blood on the windowsill, a boot print, and the window was open, so presumably Shears had climbed onto the fire escape outside the window. I followed suit, climbing up a narrow ladder to the roof. There was a path of blood drops leading across the rough gray gravel of the roof and I followed them to the edge. Again a dusty boot print on the ledge at the edge indicated that Shears had leapt the gap between the buildings and was traveling along by roof.
As well as he knows my methods, the stupid ass doesn’t seem aware of the fact that I like to travel above ground too. And he’d left me a consistent path to follow, leading away from where Rosalind was taking the President. I hesitated at the edge of the roof. Away from the President. It probably wasn’t a good idea for me to be heading in the opposite direction that I was supposed to be. If Shears had been going back for another run at the President, it would be different, but going after him solely for the purpose of kicking his ass was kind of shaky justification.
I decided I’d spend no more than five minutes chasing Shears. If I didn’t catch him by then, I’d let him go. I set my watch to go off in five minutes, then vaulted over the gap between the buildings and followed the trail he’d left me. Given the way the drops were spaced, he wasn’t moving very fast. That meant that he was either moderately badly hurt, or not expecting pursuit. Both worked in my favor.
Sometimes, it got a little tricky to navigate from building to building and I wondered if Shears might not have returned to the ground. I managed a tricky jump onto another fire escape on the side of a rather tall building and discovered another blood smear. I had to hand it to the guy, he certainly had stamina. Climbing up to the top of the roof, I spotted Shears a few buildings over.
I crossed the roof quickly and clambered down another fire escape, executing a leap over to the shorter building alongside the one I’d seen Shears from. He hadn’t seen me yet and I intended to keep it that way. Creeping across the top of the building, keeping low and out of sight behind the half wall at the edge of the roof, I got close enough to see him.
He’d stopped on the next roof over, crouching down with a hand over a steadily bleeding wound in his shoulder. I would have to give Rosalind a big hug the next time I saw her. He tore a strip of cloth from his khaki jacket and clamped it over the wound, but it didn’t seem to do much. This was just too good. Grinning to myself, I stood up slowly and jumped this last gap. “Well, hey there!”
Shears jerked his head up and gaped at me. Then he scrambled to his feet, discarding the makeshift bandage he’d been holding and putting up his fists. “Turk!” he snarled, glaring fiercely at me.
“Seems you’ve picked up a bit of a nasty scratch there, Shears. I hope you aren’t a hemophiliac or anything.” I really and sincerely did. Ugh. He really was a mess. Bloody people are so unpleasant. Still, I’m happy I handled it as well as I did. I pulled my nightstick out and extended it. I jacked the current up a fair ways, and gave it a bit of a charge. It hummed and sparked, electricity leaping from the tip to the ground.
Shears eyed the weapon nervously. He seemed to realize the balance was a bit different this time around as I started advancing on him. God, I love making people squirm. Especially people to whom I owe an ass kicking. And I had every intention of absolutely thrashing Shears.
Unfortunately, though, it was not to be. Just as I jumped at him, he threw himself off the side of the building. Crazy bastard. I suppose he must have had that in mind though, because he landed in a pile of garbage in the alley between the buildings. If we’d been in Midgar, he would have broken his neck, because the trash collection happens on such an incredibly efficient basis.
I started to climb over the edge, totally ready to go after him, when my watch beeped softly. Shears was struggling to get out of the pile of garbage, but he paused and stared up at me when he saw me glance at my watch. I looked back down at him. It was a three-story building and I didn’t particularly feel like making that kind of drop, if I didn’t have to. Besides, it would probably wind up leading to more chasing, and he’d probably run into backup before I did. And on top of all that, I wasn’t technically supposed to be after him in the first place. It was against protocol.
“Forget it, Shears,” I called, grinning at him. “You’re not worth that kind of trouble. I kinda doubt you’ll be that much of a problem. I’ll see you around.”
And so I left him. He was probably moderately offended by that. I hoped so, at least. He seems the type who would take offense to the fact that I wasn’t even gonna bother killing him personally. Besides, it was entirely possible he’d bleed to death before he got help.
I returned to street level after a little while and headed straight for the branch office, following the trail of downed Avalanche agents. I know I say this a lot, and it must be getting repetitive, but man is Rosalind ever good. At least, I think so. I dunno. Maybe I’m just biased.
Eventually, I came across the bodies of both the guards that had been with the President. I sped up a bit after that. It wasn’t far to the Branch Office, but it was still a bit of a nervous business if Rosalind was without any kind of backup. These terrorists were obviously ruthless. It was a wonder I hadn’t run into any yet. Though I guess if their prime target was the President they weren’t likely to have people flooding the streets.
I found myself wondering about Avalanche. At that point, we didn’t really have much information. So far as I understood it, they were a terrorist faction with some kind of beef with Shinra. In my opinion, you have to be pretty damn reckless and have one hell of a cause to take on the biggest economic, political, and military superpower in the world. It’s suicide.
Shinra are present in every single major city in the world, supplying Mako Power. They’ve got a monopoly on the energy business and a hand in everything else under the sun. Beyond that, the corporation employs fully twenty percent of the entire population of Midgar. That’s over twenty thousand people, in Midgar alone. And that doesn’t count the Shinran special police force, the Shinran military, the Turks, or the First Class SOLDIER. It’s a goddamn huge company.
Which is why the rationale behind these attacks was completely beyond my understanding. Anyone who’d take on Shinra is delusional. One way or another, economically, politically, or militarily, you’ll be crushed. Even if they had a force of hundreds, the Shinran army would still outnumber them three to one. But then, I guess they weren’t really trying to severely damage Shinra. Logically, they couldn’t. Any idiot can see that. The real dangerous thing was if they started to gain support for whatever their cause was.
So that was basically what was going through my head as I headed for the Branch Office. I was rather relieved to get there in the end, and glad to see a bunch of guards waiting on the steps. Something clicked all of a sudden and I ducked into an alleyway before they saw me. There was something off about these guards. They were lounging around on the front steps. Their uniforms were all improperly sized. They weren’t properly armed. And it appeared they’d gotten their hands on several bottles of liquor and a case of Mideelian cigars. Even in Junon, the military personnel aren’t that slack.
Now, there were four of them and one of me. And they weren’t armed, so it wasn’t even a fair fight. I decided to have a little fun with them. After all, what could it hurt?
“Hey!” I yelled, coming out of the alley and shouldering my nightstick. “Is this the Junon Branch office?”
The “guards” stared at me for a minute, then one of them spoke up. “Uh…yeah. Yeah, it is. You need something, Turk?”
I shrugged. “A slug of whatever you’re drinking probably wouldn’t hurt. Man, I’m beat. I’ve been all over this stupid city, trying to find the Branch Office and for what? Everything’s obviously under control here. Terrorists, hell. Paranoid company. I never should’ve left Midgar.”
“Hah. Yeah,” one of the guards agreed, grinning at his comrades and laughing. Sometimes, I love playing the idiot. Goading people into that false sense of security is always fun. Especially when it’s a buildup to tearing down all hell for ‘em afterward.
“I mean, really. You guys are…hey, am I gonna get a drink, or not? …professionals. You’ve got a handle on things, right?”
“Oh, sure, sure,” another guard laughed, handing me a bottle. Stupid terrorists. I wondered how long they’d been drinking. They all looked a little tipsy. “Nothing to worry about here, Turk.”
I grinned at him. “Oh, good. Well, then. I suppose I’d better get back to work.” And so, because I’ve got such a weakness for drama, I smashed the bottle down on the head of the closest guard (it really takes a hard hit to do that right. And typically it’s just a waste of good liquor) and brought my nightstick into play.
Once the first guard had gone down, I had a broken bottle in one hand and my nightstick in the other, so it really wasn’t much of a chore to take the rest of them down. I left the four of them moaning and groaning on the front steps, and headed in to find Rosalind. And the President.
They were supposed to be in the pressroom down the main hallway. I headed down the corridor, and found an Avalanche assassin blocking the doorway. He was facing into the room and had a knife in one hand. Apparently, he was also a bit preoccupied by Rosalind, whose gun had jammed up on her. Once again, the rookie was in trouble.
It was a very small matter to give the guy a light tazing and knock him over. “Heya, rookie. Hope I didn’t keep you waiting too long.” I stepped over the assassin and took note of the other two, lying dead on the ground. “I just got a little held up at the entrance. Man, what’s gotten into these Junon guards?”
Rosalind ejected the shell casing that had jammed her gun up and shrugged a bit sheepishly. “I’m glad to see you, sir. I don’t know that I could’ve taken a man with a knife.”
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