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Chapter Five - One Step Closer
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“First mission, huh rookie? Nervous?”
“No.”
“Good.” The sharply dressed Turk ran a hand through his wheaten blonde hair, his cold eyes resting on a much younger, much less field-experienced Vincent Valentine. After a breath the light-haired Turk continued, this time addressing the four ShinRa soldiers that had been assigned to accompany them on the mission. “This should be fairly easy. Our target is a man named Chaucer Erikson; our objective is extraction. If at all possible we take him alive, but breathing or not he is coming with us. Resistance is to be met with deadly force.” He drew a battered photo from the inner pocket of his jacket, handing it to the closest soldier. “Here he is.”
“Who is the girl with him?”
“Rose Erikson, his younger sister. Intelligence tells us that she isn’t a factor. Erikson should be alone. You soldiers are to stay outside of the domicile while Mr. Valentine and myself enter. You only enter if we call for you via radio or you hear gunfire, is this understood?” There was a collective nod from the soldiers, though no reply from the stoic, dark-haired, rookie Turk who was driving the vehicle. “Mr. Valentine? Do you understand?”
Vincent’s crimson gaze darted from the road to the light-haired Turk. “Yes,” he murmured, “I do.” As if to emphasize his response he slammed on the breaks and came to a quick stop beside one of a hundred broken down hovels. This one was Erikson’s home. Without a word, Vincent unclasped the seatbelt and opened his door, sliding effortlessly out of the car and into the dark night of whatever sector of the Midgar slums they had ended up in. Vincent hadn’t felt that it was necessary to memorize such trivial details as names and sector numbers. All he needed to know was how to get there, whom to take care of, and how to get out of there. The fewer the details, the fewer the complications.
While he waited for his light-haired superior, Vincent checked his gun, making sure the clip was full before snapping it home and placing the weapon in his shoulder holster, with the safety on of course.
The light-haired Turk stepped out of the car and strode around the front, going right up to the front door of the dilapidated home and trying the knob. It was locked, but that would be of little consequence to this man. He withdrew from another coat pocket a small satchel that held lock picks. He pondered for just a second or two before deciding which pick was the most appropriate and going to work. Within five minutes the door was open and the light-haired Turk was adamant about going in first. “Sorry rookie,” he murmured when Vincent tried to enter before him. “You have to crawl before you walk.”
After a terse moment between the men, Vincent stepped back and made a sweeping gesture. “Very well.” He watched as the light-haired man entered the building and then followed him. The more experienced Turk strolled into the poverty stricken residence as if he owned it.
That was his first, and last, mistake.
The minute they entered the living room they were confronted with Chaucer Erikson sitting in his patched recliner, with a hunting shotgun cradled in his lap and a smug expression on his face. “I knew you were coming,” he announced. With those words he raised the gun and opened fire.
Vincent’s reaction was quick and deadly. Stepping behind his light-haired superior to use him as a shield, he drew his own weapon. The violent dance of the light-haired Turk’s fragile human body as it was violently punctured by the two rounds of shotgun fire did little to phase Vincent, and the moment the light-haired Turk’s body collapsed, Vincent raised his own weapon and fired only once, sending a .22 calibre hollow point straight through the frontal bone in Chaucer Erikson’s skull, killing him instantly.
“No!” came a girlish cry. A blur, in Vincent’s peripheral vision, came at him.
It took only seconds for him to register the information crucial to the situation: it was a person, a woman, she was offering resistance, and she was armed with a pair of scissors. Waiting until the absolute last second, the Turk turned and reached out, grabbing the wrist of his adversary’s armed hand and twisting it. With lethal skill he turned the weapon on her, redistributing the momentum to bury the scissors deep into the girl’s midsection. Vincent didn’t stop there either. He withdrew the scissors and stabbed them back four more times, the last time driving them into her chest and hitting what he believed to be the aortic artery. Blood spurted, staining half of his face, hair, and suit crimson.
It was about now that the ShinRa soldiers that had been waiting outside finally made their appearance, each with weapon raised and ready for action. When they saw the aftermath of what had happened in the living room, they could do little more than stare with jaws slack. One of the braver soldiers stepped forward. “Sir? What happened?”
“Resistance is to be met with deadly force.”
“Vincent?”
“Resistance is to be met with deadly force.”
“What?!?”
Vincent opened his eyes and jumped in his seat, his heart skipping a beat. For a split second he’d thought that the woman before him was the girl from so long ago, eyes wide and lifeless and scissors sticking out of her chest as if they somehow belonged there. But no, it wasn’t that girl. Rose Erikson was long dead and now Mina, the newest hire at the gun shop, was standing before him. And boy did she look worried. “What is it?” Vincent managed to croak, trying to compose himself.
“You asked me to wake you after your break. I thought you might need the rest because you look a bit more pale and drawn than usual and it was slow so I let you sleep an extra fifteen minutes,” Mina had a way of babbling when she was nervous, and it was then that her voice took on a slightly annoying higher pitch. “It sounded like you were having some bad dreams and I thought waking you might be a good idea. I’m sorry.” She was wringing her hands, her dark brown eyes directed at the floor. Vincent always made her nervous.
Vincent shook his head and stood, straightening his shirt and tucking a strand of hair out of his face. “No, its okay. Just give me a minute and I’ll be right out, then you can clock out and head home, all right?”
Mina nodded and went back into the main store while Vincent headed into the small bathroom located at the back of the storeroom. Switching on the single, dirty light bulb in the cramped space, he turned on the icy water and splashed it across his face, his crimson gaze meeting that of his reflection for just a moment. The haunting images of his dream flashed through his mind: a young man with a bullet hole in the center of his forehead, his kid sister with scissors embedded in her chest, and an over-anxious Turk lying in a growing pool of his own blood. Vincent couldn’t help but think that every memory that his dreams forced him to relive brought him one step closer to the brink of insanity.
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