Manual Not Included
This fic was written as part of the Genesis Awards Secret Santa 2011 for Licoriceallsorts. Thanks to Sylla, Tasha and especially Pen Against Sword for all their help.
Summary:
Reno’s first mission goes disastrously well. Pre-BC.
Manual Not Included
A 'Final Fantasy VII' Story
It was one of those nights again. You know the type: gloomy, overcast, with that fine drizzle that felt more like walking through a cloud of cold steam. Somehow these nights always appeared for these types of missions. It could be the deep heat of summer, but as soon as he scheduled a Class T mission it was guaranteed to be one of those nights. It was almost like they were ruled by the laws of narrative or something.
Once again the Director was awake. It seemed he was always awake these days no matter the hour. They joked that the Director was a machine, that he needed no sleep and that any act of going to bed was merely an excuse to change suits. When not out in the field he could be found in his office, regardless of the hour. It was there that Tseng found him, standing by the office window and staring out at the city below.
“Sir…”
Veld turned away from the window to face his rather soggy lieutenant. Despite the dampness of his uniform and rain water dripping from his hair, Tseng looked as calm and composed as he always did. Yet Veld didn’t fail to notice the slightest splash of blood on the man’s right earlobe. Hmm… That didn’t bode well.
“Tseng,” the Director acknowledged the presence of his Second. “Report?”
“There were… complications, sir…”
- - - - - - - - - -
This was Tseng’s first assessment. Oh, he’d participated in a number of assessments before, both as the one being assessed and as an aid to the assessor. But this would be the first time he took the helm on weighing up a new Turk.
Most Turks were recruited by invite. They possessed unique talents and these talents had usually gotten them noticed by all the wrong people. They could find themselves lying beaten in an alley somewhere staring down the barrel of a gun, or else locked in a cell facing a long lonely night at the end of which they’d dance the hempen jig. That’s when Veld would step in, offering these kids a way out. It would be a path of discipline and unquestioning loyalty, but it was a future and one that would refine and showcase their skills. Besides, the pay wasn’t half bad.
This particular recruit had been picked up only a couple days before. He’d been on Veld’s radar for a while now. But there was an incident with a low level gang member putting a hit order on him had forced the Director to take action a little sooner. Something about a Shinra security camera, the guy’s girlfriend and a bedroom window were to blame.
Rude had been sent to drag the kid in and, after a beating for the damage caused to Shinra property, Veld laid down the rules: take a job with us or go back out there. Unsurprisingly he had chosen the Turks, but that wasn’t enough. Not all recruits were suitable for a life in the Turks. It was now Tseng’s job to see how this one measured up.
Tseng entered the room usually reserved for interrogations. It was in here that the victim - sorry, applicant - waited, slouched in his chair. The kid was a wiry thing, not much more than 15 years old. His face, currently a mess of bruises, was partially hidden beneath a shock of red hair. The boy had been staring intently at the ceiling, possibly counting ceiling tiles, but turned to watch Tseng as he entered.
Tseng closed the door behind him and headed to the table in the centre of the room, placing on it a wrapped bundle tied with string.
“My name is Tseng,” he introduced himself. “And you are Reno?” It was more a courtesy than a real question. Tseng knew exactly who the boy was, including every alias he had ever used.
“That’s what they call me, yo.”
“Sir.”
“Hey, Wu, there’s no need to go calling me ‘sir’!”
Tseng’s eyes narrowed. “You will address me as ‘sir’,” he said coldly.
Reno’s grin faded. “Sir. Yeah, gotcha.”
Eyes still narrowed, Tseng took the package from the table and threw it at the boy with force. “Your uniform,” he stated. “Your training begins in three minutes.” Without another word, he turned and left the room.
- - - - - - - - - -
A Turk’s job wasn’t a straight forward one. The director firmly believed in ‘on the job’ training, and as most Turks were already graduates of the School of Hard Knocks, recruits were normally given only a crash course in ‘Turkology’ as Rude called it.
Reno’s first lesson: what the floor looked like from close up. Turned out it was a cream coloured wood.
Tseng had put him through his paces against Rude with hand to hand combat. Reno’s experience of combat to date had been street fighting. It was brutal and undisciplined; where an elbow in the face and a knee in the gut would help you survive. Rude, however, was an experienced boxer, with a year of Turk discipline honing the natural talent he had arrived with. Every move was deliberate, intended to do something specific. He had been trained to kill.
Tseng watched the bouts with unease. As the most junior of Turks, Rude was the most closely matched to fight the red-head. Reno was fast, he’d give him that, but there was still a years experience between them. He didn’t expect Reno to win, but he did expect the kid to learn.
“Get up,” Tseng ordered, as Rude once again sent the boy sprawling. “You’re no good to the company if you’re dead.”
Reno did so, only to find himself on the floor once more. Rude stood over him, trying not to grin.
Reno rolled over and stumbled to his feet. Then, as he had done so many times during this session, he charged at his partner. Rude prepared to beat him down again, but suddenly the boy wasn’t there. He’d dropped to his side and slid across the floor, kicking out at Rude’s legs. The larger man, taken by surprise came down like a log. But the momentum caused by the speed and force behind Reno’s attack sent Reno into the wall behind.
“Get up,” Tseng instructed once again.
Dazed and a little surprised that this tactic had actually worked, Reno remained lying on the ground. Suddenly Rude loomed over him, his face set. Nervously, Reno put on his ‘no hard feelings?’ smile.
Finally, Rude smiled in return and offered his hand.
- - - - - - - - - -
Most of the Turks shared a central office. Only the Director and his lieutenant had their own offices, Tseng’s situated further down the corridor and Veld’s being on the Executive floor. This office contained the usual collection of shelves and filing cabinets and few desks. As there were always Turks out on field work, the general rule was to hotdesk on a firstcome, first-serve basis. The office was pretty empty at the moment. Rude was busy watching surveillance footage on his computer, whilst Reno sat at an empty desk, an unlit cigarette in his mouth. He’d already asked the older man if he had a light.
“Remind me to get a box of lighters for you, yo,” Reno said, spinning gently on his chair.
“I don’t smoke,” Rude replied.
“No, but I do.”
“Shouldn’t you keep them for yourself?”
“Then who would I ask for a light?”
Reno sighed, picked up a mouse mat and tried to balance it on his head whilst his chair continued to spin. The bundle Tseng had given him earlier had contained an old shirt and dark blue suit. And boy, was it old! It was worn thin in places, and parts of the fabric had been patched over. The suit was about two sizes too big for him and there were dark stains in places. It was obviously recycled through new recruits.
They were joined only minutes later by a tall female, who made a beeline straight to her desk. What was her name again? Nicola? Natalie? Natalya? Yeah, that was it, Natalya. Reno stopped spinning to watch her as she booted up the computer and set out her work. After about five minutes, she finally spoke, her eyes still fixed on her work.
“What’s the problem, rookie?”
“…Got a light?”
She sighed and opened a drawer. Reaching in, she pulled out a silver lighter and held it out to him.
Reno pulled himself out of the chair and strode over to the woman. The lighter was a heavy silver thing, engraved with the Shinra logo. Taking it, he lit his cigarette and leaned against the desk.
“So…” he began, trying to look nonchalantly around the room. “How you doing?”
Natalya froze in her work and looked at him, an eyebrow raised.
“Are you tired?” he asked, changing tact. “You look tired.”
“I’m fine, Reno…” she replied, leaning back in her chair. She knew exactly where this was going.
“Well, you should be tired,” Reno went on. “’Cos, y’know, you’ve been running through my mind all day.”
There was a snort of laughter from the other side of the room. Natalya closed her eyes, cringing slightly. “I’m twice your age, kid,” she said, trying hard not to laugh.
“What’s that got to do with it?” he grinning. “Look, you can’t blame a guy for trying…”
“I can if he uses lines like that!”
There was a cough from the doorway. Tseng was stood there, his face blank, but his eyes narrowed. “Put that out, Reno,” he ordered. “Then come with me.”
- - - - - - - - - -
The range was a concrete tunnel about 25 meters long. At the far end were a number of Shinra training dummies. At this end was a table with a number of weapons spread out on it. Reno stood next to it whilst his teacher, a tall intimidating Turk by the name of Charlie talked him through the weapons.
“This is the Browning L9A1,” Charlie explained. “Its Shinra standard issue, so we all learn to use it. But we also carry more personalised weapons. Take Natalya for instance. That girl can pin a passing wasp to a dartboard with her knives.” He chuckled. “So, kid, what’s your weapon of choice?”
Reno shrugged. “I ain’t got one.”
“What do you mean you ain’t got one? Look, you took out that Dino kid last year, right?” Reno didn’t ask how he knew, but nodded anyway. “Well, what did you use for that?”
Reno thought for a moment. It had all been a blur at the time, it wasn’t planned. He vaguely remembered standing over Dino’s lifeless body, holding something metallic in his hand.
“A crowbar, I think,” he said finally. “Yeah, I grabbed a crowbar off the bench.”
“A crowbar?” Charlie asked, surprised. “Shit, you think you’re in a video game or something?” He laughed and walked down the range towards the dummies, beckoning for Reno to follow.
At the bottom end, Charlie moved one of the dummies and replaced it with a defeathered chocobo carcass hanging on a chain. Then he handed Reno an aluminium bat.
“Go on,” he said nodding towards hunk of meat. Reno stepped up to the target and swung the bat hard. He heard bones break.
“Not bad,” Charlie stated. “But you’re slow. How about something with a little more juice in it?” He grinned as he reached inside his jacket and pulled out what looked like a nightstick. “This is a Shinra Electro-Mag Rod.” Charlie flicked a switch and the weapon began to glow and sizzle as electricity danced on the end. “It’s great for stunning targets. This one is a little more powerful than the standard issue. Here, have a go.”
Reno took the stick from him. He could feel the static in his hand. It felt good. Stepping up to the chocobo once again, he pulled his arm back and swung the rod-
The chocobo exploded. Chunks of meat covered the walls, the dummies, the floor, but mostly they covered Reno. He blinked in surprise and then choked on the overwhelming stench of chargrilled chocobo. Behind him he could hear Charlie roaring with laughter.
“Did I say a little more powerful? I meant a helluva more!”
Reno just looked at the weapon and grinned.
- - - - - - - - - -
Reeve Tuesti was the newest Executive on the company board and was responsible for the design and construction of all Shinra owned facilities. He’d initially been promoted after the reactor explosion at Gongaga had forced his predecessor to take early retirement. Now the young man was working on plans for the renovation of Midgar.
“It’s our mission to identify and eliminate any and all threats to the President and the Company,” Tseng explained. “Naturally, the biggest threat to the President comes from those around him.” Tseng pulled open his desk drawer and pulled out a small electrical device, no bigger than a pin. “You’ll need to enter Tuesti’s office and plant this microphone where it cannot be found.”
Reno took the microphone from Tseng and nodded his acknowledgement before heading towards the door.
“Reno,” Tseng added before the boy left the room. “Be discrete. We won’t bail you out if you’re caught.”
“Discrete. Gotcha.”
Tseng waited five minutes before leaving the room himself. However, he headed down a set of stairs into the surveillance room. This room contained a large screen divided into a number of video images that could be cycled through using the control panel in front. From here, the Turks could watch over any part of the building. Veld was already in there, flicking through the cameras.
“He’s just emerged from the stairwell on the 60th floor,” the Director told him, showing Tseng the video. Tseng could see Reno walking purposely down the corridor. Employees gave the red-head a wide berth, probably subconsciously. They see the suit, he told himself. It’s the suit, not the boy. But he knew that it wasn’t just that. It was how Reno wore the suit, and this air the kid had about him that seemed to say, I belong here.
Tseng watched as Reno headed into the 60th floor bathroom. Sixty seconds later, he emerged again. What was that he was slipping into his pocket? Reno then headed back down the far end of the corridor towards the stairwell. He paused outside the furthest office, mentally counted to ten and then charged in.
Inside, Reno seemed to be yelling at a startled office worker. Tseng couldn’t tell what was being said, but there was a lot of arm waving and pointing out the corridor on Reno’s behalf. Clumsily, the employee staggered from his chair and out the door. He ran down the corridor whilst behind him, Reno ducked out into the stairwell once again. What was that?
As Tseng watched Reno reach the Executive floor, an alarm sounded.
“What the-” Veld flicked through cameras, trying to find the source of the disturbance. There it was on the 60th floor. Smoke was billowing from the bathroom, and the employee Reno had spoken to stood by the fire alarm shouting for everyone to leave. Corridors filled with evacuating people.
“Tseng, the President,” Veld said racing out the door.
Tseng searched through the images, trying to find Reno but failing. Where the hell had he gone? Inwardly cursing, Tseng followed after the director.
Reno finally turned up 45 minutes later. As Tseng followed the stream of chattering employees back into the now clear building, he spotted the teen lounging against a wall, a cigarette between his teeth. Making a beeline straight for the recruit, the Turk noticed him playing with a small rectangular object: a silver lighter.
“I told you to be discrete,” Tseng hissed, not wanting to make a scene with so many people around. “Not to be noticed.”
Reno looked confused. “Shit, that’s what that means?” Shrugging, he slipped the lighter into his jacket pocket again. “Well, it worked, didn’t it?”
- - - - - - - - - -
Despite having to deal with an irate President, Veld was inclined to agree with Reno. Tseng, on the other hand, had some serious misgivings. Having talked these over with Veld, all the Director could do was shrug.
“This is your assignment,” he said. “It’ll be your decision at the end of the day.” He handed Tseng a manilla folder. “Reno’s briefing. It needs to be done tonight.”
Tseng took the folder from the old man. “Understood, sir.”
“You know what to do if he fails. But I want that suit back.”
- - - - - - - - - -
Reno’s first real mission had started so well. Carter, a black-market materia dealer was attending a party down in Wall Market. Reno was meant to carry out surveillance, noting who the guy talked to so the Turks could check them out and pick them up in the morning. Then he was supposed to tail him back home to see where he stopped along the way. For two hours, Reno had sat in the building across the street in the dark with his binoculars and notepad. Tseng watched him from another building. But at about 1am, things started to go wrong.
Obviously bored, the trainee Turk had decided he was missing out on some serious fun, and so left his post to join in. He’d ditched his jacket somewhere, rolled up his sleeves, and just appeared as though he’d been there all along. Tseng frowned. So that was the way it was going to be, huh? Well, he couldn’t just bust in there and pull the boy out, so he’d have to wait until the party started to disperse. For the next few hours, Reno wandered around the crowd, moving from one girl to the next. Eventually, he seemed to settle on a pretty blonde thing who couldn’t be much older than 17. Tseng watched as they talked and joked. Reno was obviously having another go at that boyish charm he’d tried to use on Natalya.
At about 4am, the couple bumped into Carter. It was obvious that Carter had been searching for this girl for the last half hour and wasn’t pleased to find her having a good time with someone else, let alone some punk-ass kid. There was a brief scuffle as Carter put Reno against a wall and snarled something threatening at him. Then he threw the kid on the floor and stalked off, dragging the girl away by the arm.
Tseng sighed. It was time to finish this.
Reno came back to his observation post to collect his jacket. The door closed behind him, revealing Tseng hiding in the shadows behind the door.
“Hey, boss…” For a split second, there was guilt on Reno’s face, but he quickly rearranged his face into that of blank expression. “Before you say anything, I just want to say no hard feelings, yo.”
And without warning, Reno launched himself at the Turk. Taken by surprise, Tseng took a punch to the gut before he was able to grab the wiry kid. Spinning him, he forced Reno’s left arm up his back, smashed his face into the wall a couple times and breaking his nose, and then pushed him down to the floor.
“What the hell was that?” he asked, angrily.
“Don’t think I don’t know,” Reno spat, his voice slightly muffled from both the broken nose and the fact that he was talking to the floor. “I fail this mission and I’m dead, right? That’s why you’ve been watching me all night from the third floor in that building across the park.”
Tseng blinked, both surprised and confused. “How-”
“I ain’t fucking stupid. I notice things, read people. I see how you watch me, just waiting for me to fail. You’ve been waiting to shoot me all night, yo.”
“Well, if you’d rather party than work…”
The kid laughed at that. At him.
“Shit, man… Ain’t you listening?” He laughed again.
Tseng rolled the boy over onto his back and placed the muzzle of his pistol at Reno’s temple. The boy stopped laughing. He didn’t look afraid, just annoyed.
“I said I can read people, tell what they’re thinking just by looking them in the eyes. I was sat up here writing down descriptions and shit, and I thought, what the hell? How am I gonna learn anything up here? So I figured the best way to get the information you need is to go down there, talk to people. That girl, Tamara? She’s Carter’s latest squeeze. He’s been seeing her 4 months now, but ignores her most the time. She stays quiet, listens, learns things. So I go talk to her, and she enjoys the company, enjoys someone paying attention to her for once. I’m just a kid, yo, what harm could I do? She lets slip all sorts of things. Jimmy the Mouth has been hanging round a lot. Carter likes to go play cards at the old shoe warehouse in the sector one slums. That kind of thing. He’s got a card game tomorrow night as it happens. Apparently some guy who goes by the name ‘Wheelz’ will be there to do business.”
Tseng processed all this. Turks were used to this kind of work, going undercover for weeks, sometimes months to get information like this. But this kid had used his initiative and had managed to do it all in a few hours, just because he had spotted the weak link on Carter’s armour.
Below him, Reno sighed. “Look, boss-man, are you gonna get this over with or what?”
Tseng stood up. “All right, get up,” he ordered. “Don’t waste this.”
Reno grinned and got to his feet. “Fine. Whatever. Looks like you’ve got some red on you,” he said nodding at Tseng. His blood had managed to splatter over the right side of Tseng’s face.
“Come on,” Tseng said, ignoring this. “Let’s get you fixed up.”
- - - - - - - - - -
“There were… complications, sir…”
Tseng thought over the last few days. ‘Complications’ were an understatement, but were they really a bad thing?
“Complications?” Veld asked suspiciously.
“Yes sir, but nothing to worry about. The mission was a success. It’ll all be in my report.”
Veld grunted his acknowledgement. “And young Reno?” he asked.
“Promising, sir. He’d make an excellent addition to the team, though he still needs a lot of training.”
Veld nodded. “We all do, Tseng. We all do.”
- - - - - - - - - -
Reno sat in the empty office, an ice-pack held firmly to his face. Geez, it had been one hell of a night.
Tseng entered the office. He’d cleaned up, put on a less blood splattered shirt. Reno thought about maybe standing up, but then decided against it. He didn’t like the guy that much. Had too much of a stick up his arse.
Tseng eyed Reno carefully as he entered the room. He noticed how the rookie didn’t bother to stand up or even sit straighter as he neared. Disrespectful twerp.
“Your new uniform will arrive in a couple of days,” Tseng informed him. “But in the meantime, you’ll need this.” Tseng reached into jacket and pulled out what looked like a piece of dark cloth. Reno took the item and examined it. It was a black silk tie, the words ‘Department of Administrative Research, Turks’ embroidered on the back.
“Well done,” Tseng said, before adding, “Don’t fuck up.”
“It’s sir.”
And years later, Tseng would think back and remember how Reno only wore that tie for about a week before he got tired of it. He moved it into the inside pocket of his suit jacket, and made sure he always carried it with him. Although Reno would never say it to his face, Tseng wondered if it was a message aimed at him, a subtle reminder that you don’t have to be a typical applicant to make it in the Turks.
Fin.
Quote of the Day:
'Cuddy had only been a guard for a few days, but already he had absorbed one important and basic fact: it is almost impossible for anyone to be in a street without breaking the law.'
Men At Arms - Terry Pratchett