First Impressions

The ringing in his ears resounded in a thunderous roar. The fact that he was even still hearing the reverberations was proof that he was alive, but that fact was barely noticed. He laid on the ground, his body propped up on one elbow, his eyes blinking rapidly to clear his vision.

He didn't yet feel the pain in his own body from numerous flesh wounds and chaffing from the heat. Flash burn clouding one eye, he looked around at the changed surroundings.

There was no trace of the suicide bomber, though ground zero of the explosion was very noticeable. The other two Turks that had been with him were lying closer to the blast, unmoving.

Tseng got to his feet, only to have the world spin around him, forcing him back down to one knee. He crawled to the nearest Turk, a young fellow named Cein. The young Turk was lying face down on the broken concrete floor, and Tseng knew better than to look at the face, as there wasn't much left to see. He pulled the tattered remains of the man's jacket over the burned head.

A look to his left, and he knew there'd be no hope for the other Turk, who was even closer to the suicide blast. There wasn't even enough clothing left to properly cover the corpse.

Tseng leaned on one elbow and retrieved his phone from his inner pocket, only to find it had been damaged as his body had obviously hit the ground on top of it. That also explained the pain in his ribs directly under where the phone had been.

The slums were no place to be without a phone, especially if you were a wounded Turk. Tseng fought the dizzying whirlwind in his head and stood up, running to the nearest cover to reassess the scene. He bumped roughly into a wall, holding onto it for support while his equilibrium fought to give him back his balance.

The vision in his right eye was slow to clear from the flash of the explosion, but he did his best scanning the area for suspicious activity. The suicide bomber was only one of a group of former Shinra soldiers who were rebelling against their former cause.

"They would've made great Turks…" he said to himself.

His hiding place was shadowy, but he looked down at himself for the first time. His clothes were mostly intact, except for the knees of his trousers and his left jacket cuff. His black leather gloves were scuffed, but the flesh underneath was saved.

He had to finish his mission alone, or at least keep things at bay until he could get to a phone capable of calling the Shinra tower. Most those in the slums either didn't have phones, or just ones for the most local of areas.

One final check of his weapons on hand, and he was off again.

= = = = =

Reno stared down at the golden liquid at the bottom of his mug. Despite swirling it, the ring of white foam stubbornly stuck to the edges. He just didn't have the interest in anything else for the moment. A cold beer and the cold slums didn't go too good together, but it was more a habit of his than anything. Pure will power alone was the only thing that kept him from falling into the pits of slum life and despair like all the other junkies around him.

It was hardly surprising when a filthy man in tattered clothes stumbled into the pub. Reno would've paid just brief, casual mind to it, had the man's tattered clothes been something that fit into the slums. The navy blue suit, however, was extremely out of place.

And the face…was that of liveliness and intelligence, not just wasted slum folk. Brown eyes glistened in the dim light, and Reno's emerald eyes glistened back.

A safe haven over there, Tseng's mind steered him towards Reno. He sat down next to the crimson haired man and ordered a drink, but he was very impatient.

Reno turned his head at his company and wouldn't stop looking until the man looked back. Tseng's eyes narrowed as they moved to look at Reno.

"Is that all you slum folk ever do?" Tseng asked disgustedly.

Reno tilted his head back and swallowed the last of his beer. "Bar keep! Fetch me another beer, and put it on his bill…" He'd nudged his head just slightly in Tseng's direction.

Tseng looked down at the nicked up wooden bar and into his filthy hands. A beer was placed in front of him, and one in front of the man to his left.

"So?" asked Reno. "What's a guy like you doing here? Rough day at the office."

Tseng eyed him, contemplating knocking the guy's teeth out and serving them in a martini. "Two of my best men were killed by a suicide bomber. That rough enough for you?"

Reno nodded and sucked the head off his beer. "Shit, man…"

"Yeah." Tseng swallowed a quenching amount of beer at once. "I know you. What a lucky break that I'm not after you today."

"That right?"

Tseng paused, amazed that after all this, he was still trying to catch his breath. "Petty felon. Not enough to send the Turks after."

"I thought that uniform looked familiar. But sorry if I'm that unimportant to you."

"Yeah, well, if you knew what I was in the middle of right now…" Tseng put down his mug noisily. "Bar keep! You have a phone?"

"Local calls only. No long distance. Who you wanna call?"

Tseng waved his hands. "Never mind."

"Alone in the slums, and apparently your mission is not accomplished, or you'd have hopped the first train top side."

"What business of it is yours?" Tseng asked the feisty red head.

Reno just grinned. "I've learned a lot, dodging enforcers, both human and mechanical. Don't know much about the Turks, other than that everyone's scared of 'em. Heh… And here I got one sitting next to me, buying me a drink."

Tseng held back speaking his mind. "It's dangerous around here. They could be following me."

"Oh, yes. These big, bad terrorists that are trying to get the better of the Turks, eh?"

Tseng gripped him by the shirt collar. "I can waste you so fast, but I don't have the time to spare right now. Be warned, though, Nevada…I know you more than you think."

He let Reno go and placed enough gil on the bar counter to pay for his own drink. He left the pub in search of either action or a way to contact headquarters without having to resort to catching a train and returning empty handed with two less Turks.

And action he found.

They were waiting for him outside the bar. Four of them, down one from the suicide bomber, which to them was a worth while sacrifice in order to eliminate two Turks. And at that, the last Turk was already wounded and spent from the first fight.

The first kick hit him in the already sore ribs. The beer hadn't re-energized him, but he swore it helped a little. Tseng jumped clear of the attackers and drew his pistol. Shots rang out back at him, and he dove for cover.

They laughed. Having been Shinra soldiers, they knew the pride behind the Turks. To see one fleeing was the ultimate triumph.

Tseng counted his remaining shots, three bullets spent from the first round, and another just recently. He had three extra clips on him, plus a short sword and his own fists and feet.

A bullet was fired over his head, followed by more laughter. Tseng tried to remain calm despite the increasing anger towards his attackers, and especially toward himself as it was all his fault. The suicide bombing should have never happened. They should've seen it coming, but didn't. Two paid for their mistakes with their lives, and Tseng wasn't about to cash his in as well.

The laughter was broken up by grunts and the sound of punches. Tseng braved a look around the side of his cover, and saw the skinny red head fighting four against one. He leapt to his feet, gun in hand, and shot the one most immediately on top of the young man.

Reno shoved the body aside once it had gone limp, the bullet fatally piercing the ex-soldier. He looked up at the Turk for just a moment. Two men clobbered Reno as the third turned a gun on Tseng.

Tseng fired his pistol with no mind for the fact that Reno was directly behind the target. The shot grazed clothing, and the opponent fired back, but not before Tseng had leapt at him with a sweeping kick.

The gun went off at the sky and dropped from the hand. Tseng went to work with his fist and the blunt end of his gun, attacking back.

It didn't take two men to fight Reno. One pop of a fist into his face, and the young man fell. Warm blood flowed out of one nostril and dripped onto his sleeve. Looking up, Reno could see that all attention had been drawn from him and to the most amazing fighter he'd ever seen.

Down three against one, Tseng held his own amazingly. Gun now out of his hand and across the street somewhere, it was all fists, kicks, and head-butts. Martial arts to the extreme.

Reno couldn't just watch, tempting as it was especially knowing he probably had a broken nose. He stood up cautiously, checking his own balance before plunging once again into the heat of battle. He wondered just how he'd get in there without being nailed by the near non-stop barrage of Tseng's feet and fists.

The strong Turk kicked one man back, and Reno saw his chance. He sprung to his feet and jumped at the man, tackling him around the neck with his arms. They both fell to the ground, and Reno jerked his arms upward, taking the man's neck with them until there was a very audible snap. He stood up from underneath the now limp body.

Tseng spared a half a second to take notice. In that short time, he received a kick in the gut. He forced the air out of his lungs in order to avoid harsh consequences. Reno jumped onto the man's back. Tseng moved his attention to the other guy.

It took every ounce of strength to keep up the fight, but then again, the attackers were getting spent as well. Tseng whipped out his sword, an 18-inch single-edged steel blade. It became an arc of light even in the dimness of the slums. It made little sound as it sliced through flesh, but it made quick work of its prey.

Reno and his opponent were a bit transfixed at the lightning-fast swordsmanship from the Turk. The ex-soldier knife-handed Reno's collarbone before running off.

Reno didn't let the pain from the sensitive nerves hinder him. His long legs carried him swiftly, and Tseng chased after them. He didn't need to be there, as Reno tackled the man, elbowing the base of the man's neck, eliciting another chilling snap.

Tseng's shoulders slouched. He panted heavily, the supply of adrenaline cutting off. Reno turned to him and wiped another trickle of blood from his nose.

"You…you didn't need to do that…" Tseng grumbled.

Reno flicked his ponytail aside, turned his back, and walked away.

Tseng turned back to the fallen men, making sure that they weren't going to pose another threat. By the time he looked up again, Reno was gone.

= = = = =

The man who answered the door seemed not to care that the only stitch of clothing he was wearing was a tight-fitting thong.

Tseng's usually professional eyes diverted briefly, his hormones raging instantly with burning desire to get into the skimpy undergarment. The diversion was only for a split second, and soon his eyes rose up to meet Reno's.

The bridge of the young man's nose was purple, and puffy dark semi-circles were under his eyes. The hand the held the door propped open was crudely wrapped in a cloth bandage, blood from the knuckles seeping through the white material. A quick peripheral scan of the remainder of his body revealed bruised patches and several other bandaged cuts and wounds.

"May I come in?" Tseng asked flatly, in a way that his question subtly became more of a command.

Reno looked behind him at the horrible mess his apartment was in, but he knew it was already too late to prevent Tseng from seeing inside. He stepped back, allowing the Turk to enter.

Tseng tried not to make a show of visually scanning the living room. The coffee table was littered with empty beer bottles and first aid supplies, making it apparent that Reno had decided to tend to his own injuries rather than seek professional treatment. Other clutter filled sofa cushions, floor space, and then some, leaving just one place to sit down.

"Have a seat," Reno dryly offered the space on the sofa. He hastily fetched his discarded blue jeans from the pile of clutter behind the sofa and stepped into them.

Tseng shook his head. "I'd rather stand."

Reno leaned against the arm of the sofa, one foot crossed in front of the other, and his arms folded across his chest. Tseng stood rigidly as always, his face unexpressive.

"I am here on my own time," he said, not looking Reno in the eye just yet. "However, I have already suggested to my superiors that you would make an excellent candidate for Soldier."

Reno shook his head, looking down at his bare feet which still ached from the day before. "I don't want to join a military faction…elite or otherwise. To be a nameless, faceless soldier is not my style. I don't conform. I rebel."

"Yes…" Tseng nodded. "Apparently you do. For that, I had also recommended you for an open position among the Turks. We're a much smaller, more specialized sect. And we welcome dynamic personalities and free styles. All you need to do is accept."

Reno turned aside, kicking an empty beer can across the floor. "I couldn't."

Tseng nodded. "It's your choice." He walked towards Reno, his feet dodging litter. "Take this." He handed Reno 200 gil. "It's from the company for your efforts. Go see a doctor."

Reno pushed Tseng's hand aside. "I don't want your money, or the company's money."

Tseng deposited the money on the arm of the sofa. "I'd still like you to consider our offer. To join the Turks."

"Look," he snarled. "I just beat the crap out of those thugs because otherwise they'd beat on you. Perhaps I have too much of a heart to be a Turk. Either that or I'm just an asshole who can't mind his own business. Take the hint, mister, and mind your own. I'm fine where I am."

"If you really think so…" Tseng looked back one more time, wishing Reno hadn't gotten into his jeans just yet. As the red head still looked away, Tseng took in all the sights as if trying to permanently brand the image of the lean, toned body into his head for ever.

He left the apartment with not another word, hoping the cold air would do a little something to cool the fires that were stirring within his body.

"Impressive…" he whispered as he walked away, the awareness of the pain in his own abused body coming back. "I'll make him mine… First, I'll make him a Turk…then I'll make him mine……"

THE END

The main characters and places used in this story are the copyrighted creations belonging to Squaresoft, Ltd. This story was written by Zeng Li, © 2000, and it is not being used for monetary gain in any way. Intended for Mature audiences over the age of 17 only.