coming from, considering the chapped and dried out lips that spoke it. “It doesn’t need to hurt this bad.”
The speaker lashed out suddenly with a knife, laying open the cheek of the man tied to a chair in front of
him, as if he was trying to make himself out to be a liar. There was no doubt that the speaker had an
extremely ugly face, but he was long on his way to making his victim look ever worse than he did. It was no
easy task, many bitter women reminsecent of one night stands would attest with a grudging longing of how
attractive the victim was before all of this started. For his part, the targer hardly let out a noise as a new
opening was forciby added to his face- after all, he’d had it happen before, twice- in fact, at the exact same
place.
“The last person,” Reno said, face screaming in agony from wounds both fresh and drying. “who cut me
there ate seven inches of cylindrical steel while pressed up against a wall, and I’m not talking about my
dick.”
The man let out a short bray of empty, almost mocking laughter, but Reno just stared at him stonil as blood
dripped down onto his chest from his chin. Whether or not this was a sign of defiance or simply a sign of
how drained the man was, that was anybodies guess. The only other man who was in the room said nothing-
he’d been stationed there only to stand in the room and wait. If it became apparent that their captive was
about to escape, the 3rd man had been ordered to put a glass-tipped bullet into his brain. In fact, he hadn’t
made a sound the entire time. And that had been quite awhile, but with no clock in the room, there was only
Reno’s face to tell the tale of the hours. He’d been beaten, hard, and the eye that didn’t have a three inch cut
above it had swollen shut.
“Now let’s do this again,” the sweetness had returned instantly, as if it could erase the events that just took
place from Reno’s mind. “What did you do for Shin-Ra? Why were you one of the only peoples whos file
had dissapeared from their archives?”
Reno spat a long stream of crimson onto the floor, then rolled his eyes up to meet those of his assailant. In
them he saw gentle compassion, an easy mask, and beneath that the cold ruthlessness that any sort of man in
such a position would need. He saw the same ruthlessness in the reflection. “I was in Weapons
Development,” He said slowly, not to antagonize his captor but literally because it expelled his entire breath
to get the words out.”
The man who loomed above him lashed out, landing a punch just once in the concave of Reno’s gut. But it
was just a half hearted attack, practically playing around, the attack of a man who already considered himself
a victor. “Weapons Development,” the man said, and the sweetness was gone, replaced with a razor edge,
“would not have their file pulled.”
Neither would a Turk, Reno mentally snarled, the only place he could put such energy into the words being
his mind. But the company hadn’t pulled the files, they’d had nothing to do with it. The Turks had pulled
their files themselves. “All right,” he suddenly conceded, sounding suddenly even more brow beaten than
before, “you’re right. I was Rufus’ special assisstant. I specialize in blowjobs, but the pres was a busy guy,
so most of the time I just snapped him off while he was still wearing his clothes. Why do you think he wears
all white? Like it isn’t cold enough in Midgar... and he doesn’t walk so stiffly because he’s a hardass, its
because he can’t bend his fucking pa-”
There was no gentle ease or playfulness about the hits this time, the man slammed into Reno with a vicious
passion that mixed causticly with the layer of tar that lined Reno’s lungs and sent him into a coughing git
that ended with blood running freely from between his lips. Tensisng up with effort, Reno deposited some of
the bodily fluid directly onto his interogators new looking shoes. Growling a curse, the man hit him once
more with a backhad, sending his head blancing backward and away from the assailant’s footwear.
“You really are stupid,” Reno spoke to the ceiling, as his head had been tilted backwards and he couldn’t
spare the energy it took to look back straight- he needed that for talking, “to capture the leadt important
man in the world who you would still die for capturing.”
No words. No sweetness. Waiting. This was the final part of the interrogation process, when the target
began to ramble, thinking he was just passing his time. But the telltale clues would slip soon enough, the
information he needed would be spoken out loud. “I have a family,” the redhead said, fighting hard to
assume some kind of cocky drawl through his bruised throat. It had only been a half an hour ago or so that
choking had been the game of the moment, and he had 5 oval shaped marks on his windpipe to prove it,
“and they’re going to nail your ass to a wall.”
The man snorted, actually managing to twist his face into an even more unattractive figure. “You aren’t in
the mob you carrot topped fuck,” the man said, and Reno had to fight not to break out laughing, “Shin-Ra
doesn’t deal with mobsters. The only government that ever has is Wutai, and they stopped that once they
lost the war.”
“Tried to stop,” Reno corrected him under his breath. He was surprised how well informed the man was for
seeming so stupid. “But you’re right. I’m not in the mob. Wrong kind of family.”
His attacker glared down at him with beady eyes and a sneer stretched across his mouth. “Oh really?” he
asked, “why don’t you tell me what kind of family it is then?”
“Oh come on,” Reno said laborously, trying to mimick the tones of the other mans voice, “one of us in this
room doesn’t let information go that easily.” He glanced back at the third man, the silent man. “Well, two of
us.”
“And I do?”
Reno paused, not entirely sure of the wisdom of what he was about to do. It would buy him some time, but
it would also buy him a bullet if he pushed it to far. “You work at Labyrinth,” he said slowly, working
through the pain and trying to build up speed, “one of a dozen wannabe Shin-Ra replacements who can’t
figure out how to properly use Mako. You guys happened to have the dumb luck of thinking to buy out their
files. You also picked up a few of their key employees who were still alive, and still unemployed. Reeve.
Scarley. Heidigger. But you didn’t... come on, end this for me.” Reno promted. “You didn’t...”
“Tell the public about it,” the man growled, but then froze as realization washed over him. “You mean
someone offered to hire you? We don’t even have your file!”
“Actually,” Reno said, “they offered one to my co worker. Former co worker,” he added hastily, cursing
himself. His headache was fucking him up. “And my old boss. They’d seen the two of them lurking in the
backround with the pres enough times to take them on good faith, with or without their files. I’m too behind
the scenes though.”
There was a very long period where neither of them spoke, and while Reno would usually use such an
occasion to try to recuperate some strength, he’d been cut in too many places- he was actually wearing
down as time went on. Even so, over the blood rushing through his ears he could practically hear the
tumblers working in his assailants head. C’mon, he promted mentally, its too fucking easy. All this man
needed to do was think about what men they had sent prepositions too... unless he wasn’t privy to that
information. It was almost insulting to think he’d been assinged a freelance interogator. But suddenly the
man’s eyes flew open as the truth finalyl surfaced in his mind, piercing through that seemingly endlessly
dense skull. “You’re a Turk!” he blurted, tipping what was left of his hand so completely it would have
made poker players all over the world cringe.
Almost synamanous with his words there was a muffled boom, amplified towards the end by a cascade of
high pitched screams. An explosion, and panic. The man turned towards the door, as if he was planning to
run to aide the situation- or run away- but then he turned angrily towards Reno. “What’s this?” he
commanded, as if Reno had been outside of this room planning what was going on instead of tied up inside it
since the night before.
But Reno actually grinned at the man, revealing two rows of bloodstained teeth. “I’ll give you three
guesses,” he said simply. “I think it’s time for my family reunion.”
The man hit him harder than he ever had before, harder than your ever supposed to hit a captive in an
interrogation situation- unconsious men didn’t speak. But there was no aim, no presision, the man simply
reared back and buried four knuckles into Reno’s face, sending both the Turk and the chair he was trapped
into falling backwards. The third man in the room moved for the first time since the escapade had begun,
stepping forward to catch hold of the chair before it smashed into the room’s tile floor. He fumbled with the
weight of it for several seconds, and then straightened it up as a burst of gun fire ripped through the hallway.
The man stared at the two of them, then sized up the silent member of the party. “Shoot him,” he
commanded.
Reno jerked. “What?”
“Shoot him,” the man said again, ignoring Reno and speaking directly to the silent man. “His friends are
trying to get him out.”
Reno leapt up from the chair, hurling the ropes to the ground and spreading his arms outward angrily as he
did so. It hurt like hell, but the dramatic effect was priceless- just like the look on his interrogators face.
“Well that’s bullshit!” He yelled.
The man froze, staring at Reno in a kind of stupified horror. “What the fuck...” he muttered, finally realizing
he probably should have brought a better weapon with him than his sets of brass knuckles.
Reno reached shakily into his bloodstained jacket, pulling out one of the few items they hadn’t confiscated
from him- a pack of cigarettes. He slowly flipped open the top and drew one out, then went searching vainly
for a lighter that wasn’t there. That, they had taken. Reno glanced over at the third man of the room, holding
out his hand with the cigarette inside. “Got a light, man?” he asked.
The man flicked a match into flame with one hand, extending it to meet with the tip of the cigarette Reno
held out to him. It lit up, glowing red, and Reno took a quick inhalation on the cancer stick, blowing smoke
out and speaking again at the same time, finally aiming his attention back at his former captor. “Don’t do
enough homework, big guy,” he tauned, but weakly, “one of my co workers did accept the job. Rude?”
The silent man raised a small black pistol, and with three quick squueses of the trigger reduced th
einterogators face to just another bloody smear on the wall. Reno stared as the body folded up and collapsed
to the floor, took a final drag on his cigarette, and then tossed it away. “Damn I wanted to do that,” he
murmered into a puff of smoke, and then turned to his friend. “Looks like your inside job just got terminated
without pension, man. So what’s the game plan?”
Rude shrugged. “Just walk out. Tsengs shooting wild out there, so he’s not in a gun fight, he’s keeping the
path clear. “ As if to punctuate his remark, another spray of gunfire rang through the hallway. The two
shared a brief look, and went for the door, Reno much more slowly, but then he suddenly stopped
alotgether, grabbing hold of Rude’s arm.
“Thanks, man” he said, as Rude looked over.
Rude let a smile slowly creep onto his usually passive face. “Sure thing, brother.”