Chapter Text

Sector 7 - Year 2007

Reno stared at the glowing screen with furrowed eyebrows. His thumb hovered over the 'home' button as he willed himself to look away, his slumped position straining his aching ribs and back. That damned AVALANCHE girl had hit him like a truck, spinning her petite body like a drill and lodging her heel into his spine before he'd had time to recover. Not to mention that Mister-First-Class must've tossed him like a ragdoll across the Sector 7 pillar at least a dozen times, making it rather difficult to dodge the spray of bullets Man-With-Gun-For-An-Arm had delivered. But at least Reno and Rude had another successful mission to add to the books, the Turk thought wryly as his eyes flickered across the screen of his phone, even if they weren't able to put an end to AVALANCHE. The cell had escape, just barely, zip-lining above the sector's destruction, dangling from Gun-Arm-Man's waist.

But the civilians of Sector 7 didn't have that luxury.

So he didn't make it out in time, huh?

The redhead tossed his phone aside. It bounced off the leather couch with a quiet thud.

He pinched the bridge of his thin nose, working the knot in his brow with bony fingers.

"Drink this."

The ringing in the younger man's ears from the battle prior remained present, and he hadn't even heard his partner enter the briefing room. He reached out blindly for the potion Rude offered him.

Reno removed his hand from his face, swallowing the potion as the couch squeaked and then sunk in next to him. Rude stared at the wall, tossing Reno's phone into his lap and tapping his fingers lightly on the arm of his seat.

"Where the fuck's Tseng at," Reno asked, scrunching his nose in disgust after chugging the medicine.

"They were out of the flavor you like," Rude said, "and I dunno. Probably settling Aerith in."

Reno choked out a nasally chuckle. "So that Ancient girl's really in our custody now."

He leaned into the back of the couch hesitantly, gripping the tops of his thighs to brace himself against the pain. "Good goin', 'bodyguard,'" he mocked, smirking at the thought of that arrogant blonde failing.

His eyes fluttered shut.

"You good?" Rude asked, clearing his throat awkwardly.

"'Course I'm good," he snapped. "Why wouldn't I be?"

"You're just... quieter than usual."

"Well I'm good," the man growled out. He rubbed his tender ribs, fingers trembling as he bowed his head in an attempt to conceal his expression with his bangs. "I'm fuckin' good, alright?"

Rude sighed in defeat, as he was often the target of Reno's defensive sniping, but he couldn't ignore the tremor that ran through his partner's body. He'd felt it, too, that same foreign twinge of emotion that coursed through him as the events of the night before played out in his mind. The bald Turk racked his brain looking for words to ease his friend's mind - and to ease his own.

Rude cleared his throat with awkward hesitation. "Reeve is gathering information on all of the damage done to Sector 7 -"

"I don't give a shit about Sector 7," the redhead interrupted. He stood up swiftly, disregarding the pain lancing through his spine and up the back of his head. His phone clanked against the marble floor, the sound making his temples ache. He paced back and forth, hands on his scrawny hips. "He's dead," he muttered, chuckling darkly. "He's fucking dead."

The bald man straightened, regarding his colleague with a concerned stare behind his shades. Reno returned it, sardonic smirk faltering.

"Who?" he asked.

The redhead scoffed. "You know who."

He looked down at the floor, scuffing the heel of his shoe back and forth against the tile. The younger Turk wished he'd kept that Titan materia in his pocket; maybe the Planet could swallow him up and bury him beneath the rubble along with this Midgar mayhem. He gestured vaguely to his phone.

"Oh."

Rude reached for the redhead's device, dropped carelessly in front of the couch. It was Reno's personal phone, he noted, not the ones ShinRa supplied, and he punched in the passcode eagerly with gloved fingers. ShinRa Network lit up the phone.

List of Deceased in Sector 7 Attack - Is AVALANCHE to blame?

The man scrolled through the slander piece above the list until he reached the bottom.

Names of confirmed deceased listed alphabetically. ShinRa Network is working valiantly to recover information on the Sector 7 attack. Continue refreshing this page for updates.

Rude's heart thudded in his chest. The look of anguish on Reno's face had said it all, and he knew whose name he was searching for before he'd even reached it. He could see the redhead peripherally, fidgeting with anxious excitement as he waited for his response.

Rude turned off the screen. "This is wrong. He lived in Sector 4. They all did."

"They transferred him to Sector 7, man. He went between all the fucking time, and we - we, I..."

Reno's turquoise eyes darted wildly as he tried to make sense of it all. "I killed him. Again. I-"

He was going to Hell.

He laughed. His eyes glistened with tears he refused to shed, tears he'd thought had all been beaten out of him from the grueling training it took to become a Turk. He felt firm arms encircle him, a muscular chest against his cheek. He tensed, wanting to pull away.

"Let it out."

Reno's arms remained stiff by his side, but he leaned into Rude's warmth. "I - I can't," said Reno. "We made a vow."

The older man rubbed the back of Reno's shoulder gently, cautiously, at a loss for words but desperate to help his longtime friend and colleague. For the first time in a long time, he felt regret.

Reno just hoped he could pull himself together before the Director arrived.

Chapter Text

Loveless - Year 1999

"He went this way!"

Reno suppressed a snicker as he crouched down behind the brick building, watching with glee as ShinRa troop after clueless ShinRa troop passed him by on Loveless Avenue. He twirled a worn thread on the knee of his jeans with nimble fingertips as he watched transfixed, waiting for his chance to evade the soldiers.

Morons.

He spotted an opening when the last line of troops disappeared around the corner and sprung from his crouch in a fluid motion, sprinting the opposite way, as silent as a shadow, and making his way toward the shortcut in Sector 7 that would eventually lead him to the Sector 5 train station.

Plateside was always crawling with ShinRa military and pretentious elitists.

Fucking yuppies.

He stopped abruptly to slide smoothly along the cobblestone before grasping the side of a steel building, granting him the momentum he needed to turn the corner and continue his sprint down another dank alley. The street lamps lit his way, and he could make out the edge of Sector 8.

There's no way those assholes are ever gonna catch me, he thought, zipping and weaving behind buildings and dumpsters, through alleyways and mazes of hidden streets. There were few civilians to be found at this time of night, but Reno could see the power shining through the townspeople's mako-fueled homes, casting light from their windows and front porches. He remained in the shadows, although he was positive he had lost track of those ShinRa idiots.

He darted toward the Sector 8 border, the red tendrils of his hair whipping wildly behind him, almost home free, before colliding with something hard. He yelped and fell backward, skidding on his ass before peering up wild-eyed at the mysterious source of his fall.

"What's up?"

Reno's eyes widened.

Shit. SOLDIER.

"You're done," a voice boomed behind him. He glanced back over his shoulder, spotting another SOLDIER at his back. They were both Third Class, made obvious by their uniforms, and the SOLDIER behind him gave him what he could only assume to be a disappointed look behind the metal helmet that covered his face. He returned his attention to the man in front of him. He leaned back on his palms, wincing as miniature pieces of pebbles dug into his hands, and squinted against the abrasive light of the SOLDIER's flashlight. Glancing up, he shielded his eyes with a grimy hand and spotted two pipes leading up to the gutter of the rooftop. Reno sighed and reached into his pocket.

Could climb that... but I'll need...

"The target is reaching for a weapon," the SOLDIER in front of him shouted into his radio, poised and ready to strike the capricious redhead. However, the Third Class before him relaxed immediately when the teenager retrieved a yellow, faintly glowing orb.

"Luck up materia?"

"See ya!" Reno laughed with maniacal glee, making to jump up and clasp the metal pipe that would be his escape. The pipe was centimeters from his grasp when Mister SOLDIER behind him tackled him around the middle, sending him face-first into the concrete. The materia slipped from his hand and rolled away. The other SOLDIER stopped it with the side of his heavy boot and scooped it up. It pulsed dully in the trooper's hand, and it was evident that Reno had gotten a lot of use from it.

The brat can use materia? he thought.

He shoved it in his pocket.

"Ow - shit, you're fuckin' heavy."

"Shut up, Red," the man who tackled him said, pinning the teenager with a knee to his delicate spine. "And stop resisting."

Reno's arms were wrenched behind his back when the SOLDIER in front of him knelt down to aid his friend. The sound of the flex-tie constricting his skinny wrists was an all too familiar one.

"God damn hoodrat. Stand up."

"Ha! Fuck you, too- ow, god dammit. I'm just a kid, c'mon man, lemme go!"

"Nineteen don't qualify as a kid under the law, dumbass." His elbow was roughly gripped as he was hoisted up. "And you know luck up materia don't do shit, right?"

"Then give it back, asshole," Reno demanded, cyan eyes fierce as he challenged the SOLDIER, but the wicked smirk on his lips told a different story.

"This a game to you?" SOLDIER one asked as he shoved Reno down the alley, walking confidently next to his colleague. "Cuz you don't have a very good track record."

"We made contact with the target. Taking him to HQ now."

The boy rolled his eyes.
-
Reno crossed his legs and tapped impatiently on his ankle, attempting to distract himself from the dull throb his wrists were exerting. The plastic chair hurt his bottom and the fluorescent office lights made his temples throb. The door to the small, white room clicked open, and the boy let his leg drop, smirking when a man revealed himself from behind the door.

"Sir," he mocked.

"Reno - let's save the pleasantries this time. Sound good to you?"

The boy shook his head as he chuckled, sending red bangs to and fro.

The man seemed ancient to the teenager, and was slightly overweight, his round belly extending past his belt buckle. He was in his mid to late sixties, Reno assumed, with thinning gray hair and perhaps the most atrocious comb-over Gaia has ever seen. Thin, rectangular glasses perched on top of the wide bridge of his nose as he peered over the frames to scan the file in his wrinkled hands.

He looked over his glasses, locking eyes with the redhead's steely gaze. He dropped the folder on the plastic fold-up desk and took his seat across from Reno.

"You gave those officers quite the chase."

"They didn't find nothin' on me. I have nothin' to hide. So can I go?"

"Why were you running if you had nothing to hide?"

"'Was going for a late night jog. Just because I'm from the slums don't mean I did anything wrong, yo."

The old man's fingers trembled, proof of his age, as he opened the off-yellow file. Reno didn't have to look at what the file contained. He already knew. Every Bad Thing he'd ever done in his life, most of them petty crimes, were listed in that file, going back to age thirteen.

"You think I believe that," the man responded gruffly, "yo? My men found the owner of Studio White. 'Says someone matching your description attacked him when he confronted them shoplifting."

"You topsiders don't believe anything we say, anyways."

"You evaded the officers. I could put you away for that alone."

"But I didn't do shit!"

"Why do you think you're here, then?" the man asked. His self-restraint was weaning.

"I don't know, because you're a dick?"

Reno regretted opening his mouth that day. The old man's nostrils flared and his gaze hardened. He shut the file angrily, delivering a soft breeze across the redhead's worried face, and prayed to Shiva that he hadn't just made a horrible mistake.

Fuck.
-
Rude adjusted his tie and gazed at his reflection in the full-length mirror, admiring his newly acquired Turk uniform. His handsome, clean-shaven face wore a confident smile, which would have looked more like a smirk to anyone else, had anyone else been watching. He preferred his facial hair, but was eager to make a good impression on his first day out of training and kept it sparse.

His suit was void of any creases or wrinkles and hugged his well-toned body like a glove, his dark purple button-up shirt clasped up to his neck. He gave an appreciative glance to the details of his work pants before pinning his tie to his shirt, smoothing his gloved hands over it before adding the last touch: the shades.

Despite what others may have thought, the shades were more out of necessity than a fashion statement, although he thought they made him look pretty good. His new company had paid for the prescription glasses, tinted to fit his preferences. ShinRa could be quite generous, he mused, but that wasn't why he was here.

The bald man left the Turk's housing with his head held high, making his way to headquarters with confidence in his step. The walk was a short one, he noted.

Rude opened the gigantic glass doors and made his way to the elevators. He pushed the arrow that signaled 'down' before entering the elevator silently.

The woman next to him was dressed in a black pencil skirt and a blazer, a stack of papers held close to her breast. She glanced over at him. "Hello," she said with a friendly smile.

Rude returned the greeting with an awkward "hi", and gave the woman a curt nod. The people of Midgar seemed kinder than those back home in Costa del Sol. Or maybe they were just fake, as many people on the island had warned Rude growing up.
The elevator came to a smooth stop on the third floor, jingling pleasantly as the steel doors divided. A young man peered into the elevator, looking unsure, before the doors began to close again. The woman next to Rude rushed to the door to hold it open and almost dropped her papers in the process when the man changed his mind and attempted to enter.

"Sorry," the young man chuckled. "Thank you."

"Of course," the woman replied.

The man entered and took his spot in between Rude and the young woman.

She just seemed nice. Not fake.
-
B-3. This is it.

Rude stepped off of the elevator after fiddling with its ID system for 5 minutes. ShinRa wanted to make sure he belonged here before letting him enter such a confidential floor.

His long legs quickly took him to the Briefing Room, where he sat with his back stiff on the leather couch and waited for directions. He checked his watch. He was an hour early and no one else was around.

The Turk let himself relax, sighing as he allowed his shoulders to droop.

When his superior Veld arrived, Rude stood swiftly. "Sir."

"Veld," the dark-haired man said, extending his hand to Rude, "head of the Department of Administrative Research. I think we've met."

"Yes. I'm a new recruit."

Veld gave a brusque nod, scratching his stubbled chin in an absent gesture. "You'll be shadowing Tseng, my second in command and your superior. He'll be here shortly."

"Yes, sir."

Rude wanted to smile. He thought of his mother and how proud she'd be when he went back home, her kind, wrinkled smile that was always present, even when it shouldn't be.

He was happy.

Chapter Text

Ultimatums Pt. 1 - Year 1999

Reno huffed listlessly and folded his arms beneath his head, draping himself across the paper-thin mattress with a grimace. The steel frame jutted through the bedding, greeting his flesh with unrelenting force and making comfort an impossible feat. He blew away the fiery bangs that fell in front of his face, goggles absent and forehead bare. The pillow was flat and hard beneath him and felt more like a sack of bricks than a cushion, and the sage-green case scratched at his arms, leaving behind tiny pills of fabric in his wild tresses; he would try to brush it out with his fingers later. He blinked twice and rolled to his side, shivering and hugging his knees to his chest.

Guess it was only a matter of time before I wound up back here.

The boy’s clever eyes surveyed the tiny cell, compact and barren, save for the sink fastened atop the industrial toilet and his roomie snoring on the bunk above him. He cocked a dark brow, impassive gaze trailing down in a line. A puddle extruded from beneath the plaster of the toilet’s base and glowed a luminous green against the concrete. Agitated, Reno concluded that there must have been punctured piping behind the studs of the walls if mako was mixing in with the water.

With a dramatic sigh, the boy sat up and grabbed the blanket at the end of the bed. The fabric was a muted green that matched the pillowcase, and so fine he could nearly see his hand through the stretched material.

Sheesh. It looks like an old arthritic grandma sewed this thing together. He pulled the blanket around his thin shoulders. But at least it’s somethin’, he thought, flopping back down with a thud and a wince.

The bleak confines of this prison were a place he could call home, despite how much Reno protested the idea, the guarantee of sustenance, showers, and a bed to sleep in a rare and welcoming luxury -- a place where expectations and ultimatums were all but null. The routine was refreshing and sometimes felt like a vacation from the real world, away from the eccentricities of undercity life. Oftentimes, he felt as though he didn’t belong on Midgar’s gravely ground floor, but at least in prison, he’d never go hungry.

He let his eyelids slowly shut once sufficiently warm, drifting off into a nebulous daze before an electronic keyboard being typed on and an ear-splitting buzz started him awake. Bolting upright, he glared fiercely at the door. A splat of white paint reading the number ‘14’ oozed down the steel, drying above the locked handle and then splintering off around it. Last time he’d been number 26. His bunkie stirred and grumbled.

What now?

A Shinra troop emerged, holding a shotgun near his navel. His helmet glowed red through the goggles of his headpiece. Reno rubbed the sleep from his eyes with his knuckles.

“Come on.”

“What’s the big idea, G.I. Joe?” Reno snapped.

“You get a phone call.”

The boy blinked owlishly at the man, then cackled.

“You must be new here,” he proclaimed, words ripe with condescension. “I don’t--” He paused and pursed his lips.

Maybe I should call him… see how he’s doing.

He tossed the blanket from his lap.

“Fine.”

Slipping on his shoes, he flattened the cloth with his heel and scuffled behind the troop with a reluctant drag in his step, eyes flickering to the nightstick swaying from the man’s belt. A sneer tugged at the teenager’s lips as he trudged after the Shinra grunt, and wondered briefly how many grounders he had brutalized with his metal truncheon. ShinRa and corruption worked in tandem, like Ifrit and fire, and Reno was no exception to the company’s savagery. Bruised ribs and cracked bones were a common punishment dealt to him by the hands of Shinra security, but the boy never could get used to it. The thought made bile rise to his throat and his ears burn crimson.

How I’d love to give ‘em a taste of their own medicine. Just once.

As they approached the common area, the walls began to bustle with life as the sound of his fellow inmates’ chatting simultaneously penetrated the corridors. Paranoia washed over him like a suffocating wave and kicked his senses into overdrive. Despite the goosebumps rising on his flesh, the redhead let his arms dangle and then swing by his sides. Any display of vulnerability was something to be avoided in a place like this, and he couldn’t afford to rub the chill from his arms in a moment of weakness.

The pair arrived at the wall of payphones, where the guard pivoted on his heel and looked straight ahead. Reno rolled his eyes and plucked the phone off its latch, muffling the clamoring inmates from his head as he concentrated.

His nimble fingers punched the familiar phone number in, like he’d done a thousand times, but faltered at the last digit.

Yeah. Call them from jail, dumbass. His family’d love that.

His stomach flipped pitifully.

‘Your call to Sector 4 could not be completed at this time.’

“Yeah, yeah.”

Clamping the hook down, he moved his hand to hover over the number pad. The boy chanced a glimpse at the guard, and much to his amusement, the man failed to acknowledge him.

Could call Ronny…

Nah. The only reason he’d bail me out is so he could kill me after.

He hung up.

“Y’know what, yo? I’m gonna go back to my cell.”

Reno went to turn, but the guard’s head swiveled toward him and stopped him in his tracks. He lowered his eyes, finding it more comfortable than looking into the holes of the helmet where the man’s eyes were supposed to be, but when his stare descended upon the shotgun the man wielded, he averted his gaze entirely.

“You don’t give orders! I do! Back to your cell, inmate!”

The redhead chuckled and gave a sarcastic salute. “At ease, sergeant.”

The guard’s lips thinned before he gave a harsh shove to Reno’s shoulder. He chuckled and put his hands up in a display of feigned submission before slinking back to his cell.

~~

The days dragged on like a recurrent nightmare, but the facade never slipped, even as he felt the delicate folds beneath his eyes sag and his face start to blanch. You’re detoxing, his ghoulish roommate had rasped as he pressed a damp cloth to his sweaty forehead - the rough linen vaguely resembled his pillowcase and caused tiny red bumps to blemish his skin. His reply was a cocksure snicker, as he was too weak to muster a retort. His eyelids felt glued shut and he was certain his limbs were made of lead.

“No’m not. This place’s a fuckin’ dump. There’s lice… everywhere.”

Reno went to scratch the sudden itch from his neck, but a strong hand pinned his wrist beside his waist. He writhed in agony, longing to tear at his flesh and purge the tickling sensation from the inside out.

As the hours passed, he began to feel like a fish in a bowl as he wandered from place to place, from the canteen to the showers and back to his cell. Whispers of “mako junkie” caused his thoughts to race and his knees to buckle, and when he’d collapse in his cell in the middle of the night, skeletal fingers would cradle his shoulder blade as he crouched over the toilet, dry heaving as his empty stomach searched for content to rid itself of. He’d always laugh it off and shrug the hand from his back before crawling back to bed.

“You’re a tough one,” his bunkie once praised, peering down at him with eyes that seemed to bug out of his skull. “It’ll be over soon. Almost there.”

After that, he began to hide beneath the covers.

On the last night of his withdrawal-induced stupor, Reno gasped awake, gripping the sweat-dampened sheets until his knuckles turned white. His neck was stiff from tossing his head to and fro in an attempt to rid himself of his own accusations, and his ears rang as remnants of a thin and reedy voice ebbed from his consciousness.

You killed him. This is your fault.

It sounded like his own voice.

Reno’s fists loosened in the sheets as the dream began to fade, his heartbeat slowing to a steady thud. He watched as a blurry shadow dove from the top bunk, listened as it landed with a heavy clunk. The shadow advanced toward him, and a frigid hand reached out to grasp his wrist with startling strength. He gasped aloud.

“You okay?” his cellmate croaked.

“Shit. Yeah, I’m okay,” he whispered and wrenched his arm away. “Don’t fuckin’ touch me, yo.”

Creepy fuck.

He sat up with a wince. A stifling pause permeated the blackness, and as his sight adjusted in the dark, Reno tried not to notice the jagged scar descending from the man’s brow to his lower eyelid.

“I told ‘em you had the flu.”

“Told who? And who are you? You’ve been following me around like a fuckin’ ghost for three weeks.”

“The guards, and it’s been four days. You were pretty out of it, but looks like your ability to use hyperbole is still intact.”

The teenager rolled his eyes and momentarily wondered if he had met this man before, or if the man was just a presumptuous prick. “Yeah, looks like I’m over it now.”

The gray-haired man slit his eyes at him with an accusatory expression. “What?” Reno snapped. “It was just a stomach bug like you said. This place is crawling with germs. I ain’t a mako junkie, yo.”

“Don’t worry. It’s not like the people here are any cleaner. You look just like him, you know. Like Ron.”

Reno sneered, accustomed to comments of his likeness to Ronny, but annoyed, nevertheless. “Dunno who the fuck Ron is,” he fibbed, frowning as he rolled to his side, “but I ain’t like nobody but myself. So just mind your own business and leave me be.”

He nuzzled into the stiff bedding and closed his eyes, but the expected argument never came. The man gently introduced himself as Lee, but the boy ignored him, instead opting to crack an eye open when the bunk above him creaked.

A swarm of angry wasps filled his stomach with anxiety. Whether it was apprehension toward his cellmate or residual panic provoked by his nightmares, he wasn’t sure, and frankly, he didn’t have the mental energy to ruminate over it.

Echoes of his dreams dwindled into almost-nothingness, but the feelings remained tangible and haunted him mercilessly. He clutched his head and tried to banish the images from his mind, but when the effort proved to be too much, he swallowed thickly and lay awake until sleep eventually possessed him.

This time, his slumber was dreamless.

“Just so we’re clear,” Reno scathed the next morning, crowding in close to Lee, “I don’t owe you shit. So don’t go thinkin’ I do just because you told a couple of ShinRa scumbags I had the flu.”

The boy’s typically playful demeanor had vanished, transforming into something fierce. Lee’s chocolate, bugging gaze met the floor. He hesitated but nodded his understanding, and then the redhead knocked their shoulders together as he brushed past.

When Reno sat at an empty table in the canteen, his sinewy hands trembled as he brought a plastic spoonful of chocobo bean soup to his lips. His stomach clenched painfully and accepted the lukewarm liquid with a booming roar, although the soup left a sour aftertaste on the back of his tongue. Prison slop wasn’t quite the same as the chocobo soup they made back in Sector 4 and 5, but boy, was he starving.

Wish they’d just hire me a lawyer already so they can hurry up and find me guilty. Just as long as they don’t find out ‘bout that other thing… or that other, other thing… or, shit, I’ve done a lot of stupid shit, haven’t I?

He chuckled, tearing off a chunk of shriveled cornbread and shoving it into his mouth.

Damn, maybe I wanted to get caught.

But he’d be damned if he had to spend another night with that creepy fuck, Lee. The man’s entire presence, and just the thought of him at all, was enough to make Reno shiver.

He kept to himself, only chancing glances at the other men who walked by every so often. There was no one he recognized this time around, and he’d decided he’d try and find his people later. His body ached and he only wanted to sleep.

“Well, if it ain’t Little Red!”

“Huh?”

The redhead glanced up, licking away flecks of dry cornbread from the corner of his mouth.

“Uh -- you remember me, right?”

“Oh yeah… I remember you,” he lied.

Before him stood another boy who looked no older than him, with scarlet hair that resembled his own in color but styled in a gaudy bouffant that had been shaped mere hours ago. A freshly applied and excessive amount of hair gel greased the ends. The young man sat across from him, hazel eyes glittering with near-blinding intensity. The brown prison garb crinkled around his muscled forearms as he folded his wrists and leaned forward.

“Yep, it’s good ole’ Johnny! Can’t believe you got locked up again - well, actually, I can-”

“Hold up,” interrupted Reno. “Am I ‘sposed to be Little Red? Does that make you Big Red, yo?”

“Harsh, man,” Johnny whined, looking genuinely hurt. The smaller of the two knit his skinny brows together and retrieved his plastic cup from the table. “I just figured that… our kind…” He pointed at his crimson locks to clarify. “...should stick together in here, if you know what I mean.”

Reno was mid-sip when his new Breakfast Buddy responded, and barely choked down the grainy water before sputtering out a sound between a snort and a laugh. “Yo, at best you’re like, a Two Gil General version of me, you know? So maybe you should be Little Red… or, you could just leave me the hell alone,” he deadpanned with a shrug.

Johnny jerked back in a motion of apparent astonishment. His eyelashes fluttered rapidly as he stammered out a jumble of nonsensical noises, to which the smaller redhead returned with a wicked leer.

“Dude, don’t be like that! I didn’t mean anything by it. Ugh! Anyways, I heard we were both working in Laundry so I thought we could walk there together. You know what we grounders always say - “Those who stick together can brave the harsh weather!” So whaddya say, bro?”

“Yeah, I know the damn saying,” the other chided, waving his hand dismissively. “Fine, we can walk together, but this doesn’t mean I’m your bodyguard, okay?”

“Oh, sweet! Thank you so much, man!”

As Johnny continued to sing his praises, Reno resumed sipping his water and scanned the sprawling cafeteria. To his luck and surprise, only a handful of other inmates scowled in their direction. He grinned pridefully. The fact that someone had flocked to him as a shield meant the facade he clung to so desperately went unscathed, and that realization began to warm his cold heart. He stretched the kink from his thin neck, disregarding the bout of vertigo the movement gave, and drummed his fingers against the plastic table.

Fuck, I’m jonesin’, he mused, before trailing off in a fit of denial… For a cigarette.

“You have no idea how much this means to me. When I first got here, I didn’t know what to do. Not that this is my first time in the-”

“Inmate!”

He twitched violently as he was thrust back into reality, focusing his attention back to Johnny and returning his cup next to his plate of picked-over food. The liquid sloshed in its confines as his hands trembled. A troop scurried over to their corner and regarded them with a stern glare.

“Keep it down or you’re outta here!”

Johnny shook his head in spastic earnest and folded his hands in a display of obedience.

“Yessir!”

Reno laughed before his stomach protested the presence of food, and he shoved his tray away with a scowl. He clutched at his midsection before resting his head on top of the table, cushioned by his folded arms.

“You good, man?” asked Johnny just above a whisper.

He grunted and gestured at him to go away. The other boy stayed.

The murmur of gossip and chairs scraping against tiled flooring lulled him into a gentle haze, embracing him in its hold, between sleep and alertness. He shifted his head to find a comfortable position atop his forearms and groaned.

The mystery of his sentence was grating on his nerves. The amount of time he’d receive wasn’t the problem, but rather it was the anxiety the unknown produced, and the fact that people knew him well enough to know he wouldn’t - and couldn’t - fight his punishment. ShinRa owned him, along with everything else, and it didn’t matter how many bleeding-hearted Platies looked down at him sympathetically because once behind lock and key, he became invisible.

Public security’s just tired of seein’ my fuckin’ face. They’ll let me rot in here this time.

Being a product of the great system of Midgar and a lifetime of petty crime would do that to an individual.

And people had always told Reno he was lucky. The war with Wutai had taken far too many of Midgar’s glorious men and women, leaving children orphaned and partners widowed, but he still had his folks, the ignorant would prattle, he should be grateful.

But he wasn’t grateful. He knew how life was “meant” to be, how parents were supposed to nurse their children’s blackened eyes and kiss their scraped knees, how even slum-kids were meant to be loved by their mothers and fathers, or the closest figures they had to it. That way of life always seemed to be just out of the redhead’s reach, forbidden and unattainable, despite what others would chant. Work hard, play by the rules, fight tooth and nail to the top of the social and economic ladder, and maybe even you could make it all the way to the Plate, escaping the shackles of fate and leaving the dirty undercity beneath your polished shoes without a second thought. And he had tried to play that game - once.

“Fuck this,” his moist lips whispered against his arm.

“What’d they bust you for this time, bro?”

The teen raised his mop of cherry-red hair, resting his chin on his wrists and blinking slow and cat-like. “Fuck if I know.”

Johnny squinted in suspicious confusion.

Reno sighed. “Public security chased my ass all over Sector 8, yo. Got caught lifting from Studio White in the shopping district. The owner fucking attacked me! It was self-defense and I dropped the damn thing running from them, anyways.”

Heh. Though I must’ve fucked him up bad if SOLDIER was chasing me, he presumed as he remembered the spray of blood flying out of the shop owner’s nose as he hit the pavement.

“Ah, yikes,” the other boy gulped.

“What?”

“N-nothing! I just - I’m not much of a fighter, man. Just don’t come after me, yeah?”

Reno flashed him a toothy sneer. “Then stay on my good side, yeah?”

Johnny agreed with a vehement bob of his head.

“Hey, I wanted to ask - you still in the fake ID business?”

“Hey! Keep your voice down, idiot,” Reno sputtered, before adding in a hushed tone, “dunno if you’ve noticed, but we’re in a fuckin’ prison. The walls have ears in here, man.”

The imbecilic man gawked like a slimy Sahagin. “Shit, my bad, bro… but are you?” he whispered back.

“I’m in a lotta businesses, but I’m unfortunately going to have to reject your patronage seeing as you're a moron that can’t keep his mouth shut,” the redhead sniped.

Ha, look at me and my fancy topside talk. But holy hell, this guy’s a dumbass.

“You’re a dick, you know that?”

Reno chortled and pointed at him.

This fucking guy.

“Okay, okay. I’ll see what I can do for you, yo, but keep it on the down low, yeah?”

Johnny huffed a sigh of relief and doubled over. “Thanks-”

“Don’t mention it. See? I’m a nice guy after all! Since you’re here, you mind taking my tray for me?”

Before he let the buffoon answer, he stood on thin, wobbly legs to make for the exit, but a large hand gripped his shoulder and anchored him back down to his chair. He pouted and attempted to shrug the heavy extremity from his arm, but failed and glanced at the source of the baritone voice instead.

“Who’re you?”

“Aw, is that any way to talk to a friend of the family?” The stranger tossed his brown, shaggy locks from his eyes and regarded him with a piercing gray stare, interjecting himself into the teenager’s space as he took the seat beside him.

Ah, here we go.

“Yo, you definitely have the wrong guy.”

Defiant cyan crashed with steely ash. Constricting silence engulfed the three men as Reno and the stranger dared the other to speak first.

Reno caved.

“I don’t got family.”

The other beamed and exposed a crooked row of teeth. Reno recoiled in disgust at the golden specks of plaque caked between them and briefly considered buying him a toothbrush from commissary.

“Tell your friend to take a hike, will you?”

The teen’s exotic gaze shifted to a comically petrified Johnny whose masculine jaw pulled taut into a horizontal line. He nodded once toward his newly acquired ally and dismissed him. The idiot scampered off, feet thumping away in exaggerated fear, and disappeared from his line of sight.

The wild-haired boy focused his attention back to the threat beside him.

Shit. His arm’s practically the size of my whole body. This guy’s a fuckin’ ogre.

He resisted the urge to flinch when the stranger’s hand trailed from his shoulder to the side of his face. The shaggy-headed man twirled a lock of his fiery bangs, watching intently as it slid around his index finger, and then moved to thumb the ruby striped tattoo on his cheekbone.

“These are pretty.”

His heart thumped wildly against his ribcage.

“You’re pretty,” the burly man added, caressing his cheek, “when you’re not dope sick, I mean.”

“Cut the crap, tough guy.” Reno seized his thick wrist, wrenching it away from his face. “Whaddya want?”

“Feisty.”

The willowy boy snorted.

“You wouldn’t happen to know Ronny, by any chance? Because you look an awful lot like him.”

He paused sardonically and pretended to think about the question. “Nah, never heard of him.”

“Thing is, Ron owes my boss a lotta money.”

The teen’s small pupils darted rapidly between the man’s eyes, nose, and lips.

“Give your boss my condolences,” he finally replied, a twisted smirk spreading across his features as he went to stand again.

“Not so fast,” the man cooed with faux civility. He trapped Reno’s arm, his beefy digits leaving pink, bruising impressions in his skin, pulling him back to his side. The boy held his nose from the inside in an attempt to block out the man’s pungent aroma, but he could taste it on his tongue. “Think real hard about it for me.”

The goon held his other palm out beneath the table and away from prying eyes, and Reno didn’t have to look farther than his peripherals to see what it was: a baggie, filled with radiant green powder, and with it the sweet bliss the boy was craving. He gulped, aching to feel the familiar burn in his nostrils and the bitter taste as the dust dripped down the back of his throat.

“You’re one of Corneo’s men, right?” he inquired. He hoped the man couldn’t feel his bicep quivering in his steady grasp.

“Ah, so you do know Ronny. He musta’ told you about his little ordeal, then.”

Shit. Me and my big mouth.

“Nah. I just know he likes to keep his cronies well-fed,” he chuckled, eyeing the man’s stout figure with unconcealed criticism before jabbing the man’s fat belly with his finger.

The man released his hold on the teenager’s arm, glaring frostily as he seized the boy’s chin, causing him to pucker his lips and prevent him from speaking any further.

“You listen to me, you little slum-rat-”

“Hey, no touching!”

Corneo’s lackey reluctantly released his jaw, glowering at the security guard who shouted his command and then directed that withering look to the smug boy beside him. A vicious grin transformed his features as his hand slipped over the nineteen-year-old’s inner thigh. Leaning in, he hovered his lips above the delicate shell of Reno’s ear. “Good to see Ronny still keeps his subordinates in check,” he whispered, dropping the baggy of powdered mako against his crotch. “But you just think about it. There’s more where this came from. And remember - I don’t like liars.”

Subordinates? More like Ronny’s wrath scares me more than yours, jackass.

Still, Reno exhaled shakily as the man retreated to his own table, where his men looked him up and down with devious smirks. He grabbed the pouch of drugs and tactfully slipped it into his pocket, feeling the guard bore into his temple.

On his way to the canteen’s exit, Lee caught his eye; it felt as though the man was trying to communicate something to him. He mustered the nastiest look he could at his bunkie and walked away.

When he went to work after that, Johnny had appeared beside him, sloppily folding inmates’ garbs and trying to catch Reno’s eye. The drugs were burning a hole in his pocket as he organized the other workers’ piles, making his mouth water and his body shudder with desire. He almost didn’t notice Johnny repeatedly clearing his throat in a dramatic attempt to get him to engage him.

“Spit it out,” Reno eventually growled out.

The other inmates around them went silent, looking at the two redheads with conspicuous curiosity.

“Uhh - n-nothing! Just… you know that was Jasper… right?”

Reno arched a thin brow, moving to help Johnny fold in an equally clumsy manner.

“Who?”

“He’s - well, he’s uh… I just wouldn’t get on his bad side, bro,” muttered Johnny.

“And why is that?”

“Just… be careful.”

Something sharp poked his pinky, and he quickly realized what it was without looking. A homemade shiv, or rather, a toothbrush with the end sharpened into an arrowhead. Swiftly, Reno took the weapon from Johnny and concealed it in the waistband of his pants.

“For self-defense, bro.”

A dryer buzzed. Johnny flashed Reno a sympathetic smile and went to tend to the machine.

~~

President ShinRa.

That man made Rude feel like a glorified bouncer, at times.

Take President ShinRa from point A to point B, ensure his safety, look menacing. Get paid, go home. The young Turk was starting to feel a bit overqualified.

He craved excitement.

"Even I started with these menial tasks, as a new recruit," the second-in-command had told him once, catching the minute crease to Rude's brow. "Be patient."

His mouth had dropped slightly, and he wondered vaguely if Tseng had been a mind reader, as Rude was not the most expressive guy.

No. He's just observant, as a Turk should be.

Rude let his arms fall before him, clasping his hands together and letting them dangle beneath his tie. He stood outside the conference room in the hall, his directions crystal clear: guard the door. Look tough. Go home.

Though the Turk pondered if anyone passing by would even be able to see his menacing expression, as the hallway was so poorly lit, but it was obvious that the dim, randomly placed lights were stationed in such a way that expressed the President’s ostentatious tastes.

The intense training Rude was subjected to when becoming a Turk was starting to feel like it had been overkill, if these were the tasks he would be assigned to. He recognized that protecting the President was a hefty job in itself, but he pined for more… adventure.

A meeting was in session, involving President ShinRa and his lackeys.

Palmer. Scarlet. Hojo. Reeve, among a few others Rude couldn't remember.

Passersby eyed him wearily, scurrying away with papers clutched to their chests when they felt his ice-cold stare penetrate their confidence behind his shades. The satisfaction he felt from their fear was starting to dwindle and fade.

Looks like the peons aren't trusted, he thought bitterly.

He wrinkled his freckled nose. Something stunk.

The meeting went off without a hitch, which came as no surprise to the bald man. He nursed a steaming cup of coffee, grasping the styrofoam cup gently in his large hands.

Tseng entered the break room on the Turk's floor, his aristocratic features blank and emotionless. His presence demanded attention, respect, his title of second-in-command a fitting one. He walked with purpose, his raven hair swaying behind him as he weaved gracefully between the Suits. The other Turks, as few as they were, eyed him wearily - prepared for any command their leader may deliver.

Rude's back erected ram-rod straight when it became clear to him that Tseng was heading his way.

"Sir," said Rude.

"Follow me.”

Rude didn't need to be told twice. He tossed his cup in the trashcan and followed the raven-haired man.

~~

Reno paced back and forth in his cell, rubbing his clammy palms together. He felt electrified, like he might short-circuit if the problem at hand wasn’t solved immediately.

If I snort this, I’ll be his little bitch forever, yo, and then I’ll have to rat out Ron so I can get more, and then Ron's little minions will be on my ass and I’ll never make it out alive. And where the fuck is my lawyer? Has one even been assigned to me yet? What if one of the guards catches me with the weapon or the dr-

“Get rid of it.”

“What the fuck did you just say?” Reno hollered, whipping his head around toward Lee who was lying on the top bunk and gazing at the ceiling.

“Get. Rid. Of. It,” Lee repeated, sitting up slowly. He reminded Reno of the dead coming back to life. “The drugs.”

The boy audibly scowled, throwing his fist down as if to punch the air. “Shit! I don’t know what the fuck you’re on about, but I’m getting really tired of you--”

“I saw you in the cafeteria,” Lee stated in that signature scratchy voice of his. “I saw Jasper give it to you. You’d be smart not to get involved with him.”

“You think I have a choice? He practically snapped my neck right there in the canteen, yo!”

“Can’t you fight?”

“‘Course I can fight. Hell, all I do is fight! But if Corneo’s men come after me, I’m done. My lawyer’s supposed to be here any day now, and if I get in any more fucking trouble, I’m gonna rot in here. I’m sick of fighting Ronny’s fucking battles!” He kicked his bed, causing the frame to clatter against the brick wall and making Lee sway with it, before resuming his anxious gait around the room. His lips moved, mouthing thoughts he couldn’t say out loud.

Lee observed the young man, weighing his next words carefully.

“He didn’t treat you right, Reno. I’m sorry.”

Booming laughter erupted from the teenager’s chest, maniacal and deranged, and Lee wondered how such an enormous sound could come from someone so small.

“Ha! I don’t expect Jasper or any other scumfuck to “treat me right”. What, you trying to use that Platie fucking empathy on me? You a topsider or somethin’, yo? Fuck, you sure as hell don’t look like it. This your first time in the joint?”

“Ronny didn’t treat you right.”

The redhead froze in his tracks, feeling like the air and all the smart-ass retorts had been knocked out of him.

Does everyone fucking know about Ronny?

“He didn’t deserve to be your father.”

“Stop acting like you know me!”

He wanted to puke.

Lee raised a wrinkled hand, signaling for the boy to be quiet.

“I’m not. But I do know your dad. You don’t have to be like him. You’re young and smart; your entire life’s ahead of you. How old’re you - eighteen, nineteen?”

“Save the speech, pops,” Reno threatened, cracking his knuckles absentmindedly. “What, you trying to make me trust you or something? It ain’t gonna work. I know all the tricks.”

Lee shook his head, in defeat or disappointment, Reno couldn’t tell. “I may not be from the slums,” the man admitted, much to the redhead’s surprise, “but I’ve made so many mistakes in my life that I don’t know how to be good no more.”
The teen gazed blatantly at the scar slashed across the man’s left eye, and then puffed out his cheeks, rolling his eyes like a petulant child.

Lee dropped from the top bunk, rolling his old ankles after he landed, before offering his palm out to Reno. “Give it to me.”

The tendons in Reno’s neck visibly strained. “Why are you doing this, man?” he questioned, voice soft despite the rage threatening to spill over. “You - you don’t know me.”

“I know you deserve better than the life that man gave you. Now, give it here.”

Gulping, the teenager fished the baggy from his pocket. His stiff fingers reluctantly released it into the man’s waiting fist. He tore his gaze away.

I can’t watch.

He winced as the baggy splashed against the toilet water before the powerful suction of the flush carried it away.

“What am I ‘sposed to do now?” His voice sounded small and lost, even to his own ears.

His cellmate climbed to his bunk, lying on his side and facing away from the other.

“We’ll figure something out.”

With oddly concise timing, the lights shut off, leaving Reno in the middle of the tiny cell, alone and in the dark. Exhaling through his nostrils, he crawled under his covers, hiding his head beneath the thin blanket.

Why the hell does he care?

What if it’s… a trap?

He reached into the waistband of his pants to fiddle with the edge of the makeshift shank, sucking in a harsh breath through his teeth as the sharp end pricked his finger, prying open his pale skin, smooth like butter. Pulling the toothbrush from his pants entirely, he fisted the weapon beneath his pillow, wiping the bead of blood off of his finger on the sheets.

Fuck. What do I do?