Author's note: I'm back! A belated Happy New Year to everyone! (hangs head) I know, to those of you who reviewed, I promised a speedy update. I did actually get most of this chapter written quickly, but then I got Kingdom Hearts II for Christmas and it ate my spare time. But somehow I managed to put down the controller and finish this off. And it's a long 'un.

Yeah, I tried to upload this last night, but my computer decided to play up and then I ended up trying to edit its screw-ups and instead deleting the entire chapter. (headdesk) Being the patient and persistent person I am, I said, "Sod this, I'm going to bed." So... second time lucky.

There is one last thing I should mention: the character Elizabeth in this chapter is based on the character "Gun (female)", one of the Before Crisis Turks. A couple of BC Turks will turn up in this fic, and I'm doing my best to capture their personalities based on the impressions I get from various character profiles and from Last Order. Apologies in advance for any inconsistencies; it's the best I can do at the moment.

Right, now that you're thoroughly sick of me going on, let's put that cliffhanger of doom out of its misery.

-

Chapter 4

"Reno!"

They were close now, so close he could see the whites of the female Turk's eyes, count the number of piercings in the bald Turk's left ear.

And his body still refused to move.

"Reno!" Suddenly, he felt a hand seize a fistful of his jacket and pull him back. He hit the ground hard, grazing his palms.

He looked up, through the empty windows of the car. They must have seen the movement; they were now coming straight towards him. If they had been unsure of his location, they definitely weren't now.

"Reno, c'mon!" Jonsey's voice was now a snarl. "Move it! Your Turk fetish ain't worth my life."

The female Turk pulled a handgun from its holster. A green materia orb glowed warningly in its slot.

The trance finally broke. Reality hit him hard, urgency hot on its heels. He had to get the hell out of here. But how? How, when he was surrounded on three sides by a maze of twisted metal, and faced with two Turks on the other?

A head-on charge through them was a no-no. Even he wasn't stupid enough to try that.

Shades Turk grasped the handle of the car door at his side. It must have been crusted shut with months of rust, but it flew open effortlessly. Reno's mouth fell open, stunned at the Turk's sheer strength.

Forcing his brain back into gear, he grabbed the nearest thing he could put between himself and Shades - the battered remains of something, he didn't have time to look and see what - and shoved it against the doorless space on his side - just as Shades leaned into the car. He heard a grunt of surprise from the other side, and threw his weight against the barricade as the Turk attempted to move it, holding it there, back pressed up against it, heels digging into the ground, teeth gritted.

C'mon... don't you dare move. Don't you dare.

Trying to ignore the pounding of Shades' much heavier body against the barricade, Reno scanned the debris in front of him for some sort of escape route. A flicker of movement somewhere ahead told him that Jonsey was already making his own bid for freedom. He grimaced after the retreating form.

Thanks for the help, asshole.

Pound. The barricade shifted. Reno bit down on his bottom lip, pressing back harder. Another one of those would send him flying. Only question was: would he have enough time to dart for the tighter areas of the scrap when Shades finally broke through?

"Come out!" A female voice, lower-pitched than most, with a tone that brooked no nonsense. "You'll only make it worse for yourself if you resist. Surrender and we'll be lenient."

Yeah, and while I'm at it, why don't I walk into a den of Cuahls with a sign saying "All you can eat!" round my neck?

As soon as the sarcastic quip was out of his head, he forced himself to focus. He had to time this perfectly.

Two. One -

Shades threw his weight against the barricade. It was flung wide. In the same instant, Reno sprang towards a gap, one he'd be able to fit through, but one which couldn't accommodate Shades' bulk. Flattening himself on his belly, he scrambled into the narrow space.

A fist closed round his ankle and pulled.

No way. No fucking way.

He jerked his leg and kicked. Behind him, he heard a grunt of pain and the sound of breaking glass. The hold on his ankle gave way.

Not wasting a second, he started crawling through the scrap heap, belly to the ground, head down, dragging himself along on his elbows. Sharp edges snagged at his jacket, clutching at his sleeves as if trying to pull him back. Frustrated, he wrenched his clothes off the barbed edges and tried to go faster. He had no idea where the scrap heap opened up, but decided not to worry about it, concentrating on putting as much distance between him and the Turks as fast as possible. If they were coming after him, he couldn't hear it. Though maybe that was because of the blood pounding in his ears.

An opening appeared in front of him. Wriggling free of the barbed wire clawing at his jeans, he shot towards it. He emerged onto a tiny patch of bare concrete, concealed by the sheer size of the scrap pile. A brick wall rose up in front of him.

"Hey, up here!"

He looked up. Jonsey was on the roof, leaning over the edge to wave. He started climbing, scaling the wall as fast as he could, though adrenaline and urgency were making him careless. His feet slipped, his hands scrabbled and once, he thought he was going to fall, but somehow he managed to haul himself onto the roof, where Jonsey was waiting for him.

"Whew!" he breathed. "That was close. Thought you were never gonna move."

Reno glared at him. "Thanks for waiting, yo."

Jonsey only shrugged. "Every man for himself."

"Yeah, yeah, whatever." He got to his feet, testing his weight gingerly on the corrugated iron roof. Still breathing hard, he asked, "Think we shook 'em off?"

Jonsey nodded over his shoulder. He turned. The warped, jagged mess of the scrap pile stretched out beneath him. Beyond that, not far enough away, he could see the Honeybee. And in front of the Honeybee he could make out the Turks. Shades and the blonde woman. And they were looking up at him and Jonsey.

He swallowed. He could barely make out their faces, but he could feel their hostility, even from this distance.

For a few seconds, they made no move, only watched him, while he made no move, watching them back. Then they started running. He followed them with his eyes, confused. Where were they going? They were heading in the opposite direction, along the path that took them to the main streets of Wall Market.

His insides clenched. Oh, fuck.

A quick look told him that the building he and Jonsey were standing on was on one of those main streets. Stalls were pressed up against the walls mere feet beneath him. The scrap heap made it impossible to reach from the Honeybee - but from the streets they were sitting ducks.

The Turks appeared on the street. Heading in their direction. Heading very fast in their direction.

He took a step back.

"We're fucked," Jonsey groaned.

Reno didn't dare breathe. "Move," he said. "Now."

-

Rude backed out of the wreck of the car. Pain throbbed in one temple, and one of the lenses in his glasses was shattered, courtesy of the sole of a boot. His mind raged, racing through every curse word he knew and every torture device he could think up.

"Did you get him, Rude?" Elizabeth asked behind him.

He straightened up, pulling a spare pair of glasses from his breast pocket and replacing the broken ones, letting his silence speak for itself.

"What happened?" asked Tseng.

"There was someone watching us, sir," Elizabeth replied at once. "Rude tried to apprehend them, but they got away."

Rude looked towards the scrap pile, vexed. The kid had managed to slip through that junk like an adder through grass. But the leg he had latched onto had been almost unbelievably thin, and he doubted his own, larger build would be able to make its way between the metal with the same ease.

His fists clenched very slightly. It was a blow to his pride, but he had to admit it: the kid had gotten clean away.

He saw red. Literally. A thin, red-haired figure was scaling the wall just beyond the scrap pile, with all the speed and agility of a spider.

His mind leapt to the photograph in his pocket.

"There's another one," Elizabeth said suddenly. Rude followed her gaze to the roof of the building, where another figure waited.

"What do you want us to do, sir?" Elizabeth asked Tseng.

Rude watched the red-haired figure as he pulled himself onto the roof and stood. There was an exchange with his companion, then he turned back - looking towards them. The figure was too far away for him to see his face, but Rude imagined - no, he knew - that the redhead was watching him intently.

"The building looks like it is accessible from the main street," he heard Tseng say. "It would be easier to catch them that way than even trying to navigate the scrap heap."

Elizabeth cocked her gun grimly. "Understood, sir."

"Good. Move out, Turks."

Rude spared the figure on the roof only one more glance before leading the way towards Wall Market. With Elizabeth following, he raced round the corner and out onto the shop-lined, bustling street.

There. A high brick wall concealed the scrap pile, but just beyond that, he saw the building. And on the roof...

"There they are."

Then, suddenly, the two figures starting running, the red-haired one in front.

All right, if that's how you want to play it.

"We should take one each," he said.

"I'll cover the dark-haired one," Elizabeth replied.

Good. That left the redhead to him. And he had the feeling he'd be apprehending him for more than loitering. It was his target. He knew it.

They raced alongside the wall, just below their quarries, just far enough away from the wall to keep them in sight. People threw themselves out the way, diving in all directions. Shouts and curses followed them, but Rude barely noticed. He kept his attention trained on his target.

God, he's fast.

Out the corner of his eye, he saw the end of the building come into sight. He felt a brief flash of triumph.

Nowhere for you to run now.

The kid had obviously realised the same thing. Without even a moment's hesitation, he jumped. Despite the height of the building, he hit the ground running and tore off down a side street. His companion jumped after him. Unlike the redhead, he took a second to recover, but even he was taking off before Rude and Elizabeth could get close.

Willing himself to go faster, Rude turned the corner and gave chase up the narrow street. Well in front, he saw the redhead and his crony dive into the crowd, trying to disappear into the crush of bodies.

No, he thought, as the scarlet head disappeared from sight. No, you're not getting away as easily as that.

He pushed through the crowd, trying to catch sight of the kid again, but he could barely move. The street was too narrow and the crowd was packed in too tightly. Even the warning shot from Elizabeth couldn't help them.

And then, suddenly, the street was wider, the crowd less crushed. The redhead and his crony were now barely a hundred yards in front of him, and the gap was closing.

It was then he realised where they were. A vast, bustling sprawl of tents and wooden lean-tos, neon lights and brightly-daubed signs. They were near the exit to Wall Market.

He gritted his teeth behind tightly-clamped lips. No! He couldn't let them escape from Sector Six. If they did, they would be home-free. Trying to pursue them through the slums was unthinkable.

But at the speed those two were going at, it was unlikely he and Elizabeth would be able to catch up before they reached the gates. There was a chance the neglected highway and its many pitfalls would hinder their targets long enough for them to catch up - but it was a very scant chance. No, they'd have to catch them before they could get out of Wall Market.

He glanced around, looking for an idea - and found one. This part of Wall Market was like a maze, with countless streets weaving between the buildings. All of which eventually joined with the main road out of Wall Market.

He gestured to Elizabeth, and they ducked down another side path, weaving their way between the tents, practically tripping over the people who were using the shadows as cover for their own nefarious purposes. Through gaps between the buildings, Rude occasionally caught sight of a bright flash of red whipping past. He quickened his pace, cutting swiftly between the buildings with Elizabeth just behind him. Within a matter of minutes, the gates came into view.

He stopped, concealed in the shadows between two huts. Elizabeth tried to slip past, but he put a restraining hand in front of her and shook his head. They couldn't risk their targets seeing them before they'd reached the gates themselves, then deciding to run off in another direction. Elizabeth nodded in understanding before turning her eyes towards the gate, alert, gun at the ready.

Rude scanned the shifting crowds, searching for the denotive glimpse of red. If he'd timed this right, the kids would be running into view very soon.

There.

He sighted the red hair first, then the kid pushed through the crowd and made straight for the gate, his taller, darker-haired friend just behind him. Rude and Elizabeth exchanged an affirmative look, then burst from the shadows.

They'd been seen. The two kids' heads jerked in their direction, and they plunged towards the gate. But they had no chance, Rude thought; they'd reach them at the same time as he and Elizabeth.

Then, the dark-haired kid attacked. Materia glowed green at his wrist and a ball of flame burst from his palm, straight towards the two of them. It was a Fire spell powered by adrenaline and blind instinct, and instead of aiming for one of them as it should have done, it careened wildly in their direction, not caring what it hit. There was no room in the narrow close to leap out of the way; instead, the two Turks were forced to throw themselves to the ground. Rude felt the burning air, the rush of heat on the back of his neck as the spell flew over him. As soon as it had passed, he hauled himself to his feet - just in time to see the two kids disappear through the gates.

Elizabeth was on her feet beside him in an instant, brushing dust primly from her suit jacket.

"Let's go."

And the chase began again. Rude felt his urgency skyrocket. They were out of Wall Market now, and their quarry now had a new head start on them. Only the playground and the ruined highway lay between them and escape. His determination steeled. They had to catch them now, before they reached the exit to Sector Six.

They reached the playground as the redhead cleared the swings and the dark-haired one reached them. He cast a glance over his shoulder and upon seeing them, peeled away to join the redhead. The muscles in Rude's legs burned in protest, but he forced himself to tear after them.

They were out of the playground now, out onto the highway. He barely had time to register the maze of old roadworks and concrete, the pits and gullies and sudden ledges and sheer walls, before he saw that the two kids had split up: the dark-haired one was just in front, trying to keep his balance on a rusting beam that stretched from one ledge to another, while his red-haired accomplice had jumped from the higher level in favour of the lower path.

Rude waited till Elizabeth had caught up with him long enough to say, "One each," before leaping into the pit. He landed hard, but on his feet, just as the telltale blaze of scarlet ducked out of sight. This part of the road had collapsed, boxed in by the crumbling sides of the roadway above it, and the only way out was through the short tunnel that had been hollowed through one of the raised sections. He gave chase through it, head ducked to avoid the low ceiling, emerged, caught sight of the youth disappearing round a corner and raced after him.

The pit twisted, swinging back in a ragged arc, birthing numerous, smaller crevices, all false starts and dead ends. But Rude knew the way. He was no stranger to the Sector Six highway, having pursued targets through it more times than he cared to count. This one had obviously chosen this route in an effort to confuse him, throw him off, but if he thought he could outfox a Turk, well, he was in for a shock. Rude could hear him just ahead: the rapid tattoo of running feet just round the next corner.

Always round the next corner.

He was reaching the point where he could barely hear the other's footsteps over the noise of his own heart pounding. His muscles were aching, his feet stinging, his lungs burning. A stitch ripped into his side with every breath, but he forced himself to be steel. No yielding. No failure.

He turned the next corner.

There. The kid was streaking across the cracked tarmac like a bolt of lightning, making straight for the makeshift ramp of metal and wood that led up to an old crane, and then to the last raised length of the highway - the last obstacle between him and the gateway to the Sector Five slums.

Rude pressed his lips together, as if to keep the impressive string of curses in his head in his head. It was now or never. In one last-ditch effort, he mustered up a final burst of strength and speed from his fatigued muscles. His target was suddenly much closer.

Above him, somewhere, he heard the roar of another Fire spell. Two gunshots riposted. Elizabeth was evidently still in hot pursuit of her target. His own target's head jerked up in the direction of the noises, then he chanced a glance over his shoulder. Rude still couldn't make out his face properly, but he didn't need to. He could almost sense the panic.

Oh, yes. Close now. And the kid knew it, too. Even as every breath slashed at his lungs and his legs began to feel like lead, Rude couldn't help but feel a measure of grim satisfaction. Just another second - just one more second - then he'd have him. His target. His objective. Mission accomplished.

But if he could feel his target's panic, his target seemed to have picked up on his triumph.

It seemed to happen in one movement. Almost in mid-step, the kid jumped. A hand shot out, seized a ledge and, with astounding agility, he swung his whole body up, and over.

Disbelief numbed Rude's mind - but he only allowed it an instant. Even as his target collected himself and got to his feet, Rude was racing up the ramp, ignoring it as it groaned beneath his feet. He slid through the crane and emerged on the high ground. The redhead saw him, and then they were off again, like a wolf after a stubborn hare.

Except the kid couldn't run forever. He was tiring - Rude could see it clearly, in his slumping shoulders and in the way he ran. It was an energy-conserving run, not a sprint. Still quick, still agile, but less so than before. That huge leap had taken something out of him. He wasn't going to last much longer.

Then the entrance to Sector Five came into sight. Upon seeing freedom, the kid pushed himself forwards with new-found strength. But then, his running feet caught one of the many cracks in the tarmac. He tripped and, even as Rude closed in on him, fell forwards, landing face-down on the ground.

-

Ohshitfuck - NO!

His chin hit the ground, hard, even as he threw out his hands to break his fall. Colours exploded behind his eyelids. Dazed, he blinked stupidly, still sprawled out on the broken ground.

Then he remembered where he was, what was happening. He heard Shades coming up behind him.

Fuck! You just don't give up, do ya?

And then: Get up, Reno. Get the hell up.

Head still spinning from the fall, he staggered to his feet. He could hear the Turk behind him - too goddamn close behind him. Time to go. He started running.

And stumbled.

His leg crumpled beneath him; a bolt of pain shot up from his ankle. He went sprawling forwards, down the last slope, landing in a pile.

Oh, God, no. No!

Running footsteps just behind him. A sudden stab of dismay. Adrenaline. Desperation. He hauled himself to his knees, felt the shadow fall over him. Instinct kicked in; his mind raced to the Lightning materia at his wrist. He twisted, firing one Bolt spell in Shades' direction. Not stopping to see whether it hit home or not, he jumped to his feet and sort of fell towards the Sector Five barrier.

He was through. He didn't have a goddamn clue where Jonsey was, but at that moment, he couldn't care less. He still had a Turk on his trail. Shades would be running through that barrier any second now. He had to find a hiding place, quick.

Cursing under his breath, Reno summoned up what strength there was left in his injured leg and lurched up the dim street at the edge of the first shanty town. He could feel his ankle protesting with every step, and realised he was clenching his teeth with pain.

C'mon. Move, damn you. MOVE.

It was twisted. Badly twisted. In fact, he realised as another stab of pain had him hissing, it was just short of sprained. Anger rose like bile. He'd never, never been injured on that highway before. He was fucking proud of that fact, too. He'd thought he'd learned how to navigate it years ago, but that Turk - that fucking Turk - the bastard had thrown him off.

He glanced over his shoulder - and instantly wished he hadn't. Shades was at the barrier, looking in his direction. And now he was running. Reno cursed again, steeled himself and dragged himself forwards.

There was no chance he'd get to HQ without being caught. Even the tenement where he stayed was too far away. He needed somewhere to take cover now.

Then he saw it - a narrow alleyway, a dark little crevice between two buildings - and threw himself down it, trying like all fuck to ignore his ankle. If he could throw off Shades just long enough to take a Potion, then that'd be good enough, and he could be on his way again. Just long enough. He just needed to outrun him long enough...

Old dustbins and black bin bags piled around him. A broken pipe leaked oily water. The smell would've made him sick if he hadn't slept in worse. That wasn't what bothered him. What bothered him was the gate at the end of the alley. The one that was padlocked shut.

Fuck, no. No no no no no!

He hurled himself at it, pulling desperately at the metal bars, at the padlock, at the chain, until his hands burned. Nothing. And it was too high: there was no chance he could climb over it, not with his leg the way it was.

He'd run straight into a fucking dead end.

Who puts a fucking gate at the end of a back alley? He gave the bars another futile tug, then kicked at them in rage. But he kicked with his injured leg and collapsed, clutching it and groaning to himself as pain seared through his muscle. His eyes stung; a cry of pain rose in his throat and he bit down on his hand to keep it in.

A dead end. A dead fucking end.

There was no way in hell Shades couldn't have seen him duck down this alley, this stupid fucking dead-end alley. For the first time, he felt the real, terrible choke of defeat. In just a matter of minutes, the Turk'd turn down this alley and see him, injured and trapped, and that'd be it. He could barely stand, he didn't have the strength to use either his rod or materia, and - stupid, stupid! - he'd not brought his gun with him. He had no fucking chance now.

But I don't fucking want to die.

The survival instinct was still there, then, flailing weakly like a dying thing. It was that, more than anything else, that had him crawling behind a clutter of bins, hunching up into a ball and clutching his injured leg. Through a crack between two bins he could see the place where the Turk would come through. He had no doubt he'd be found. Behind a bin was the most obvious fucking place to hide, and here it was the only place to hide.

Dead end. The phrase had never sounded so goddamn true before.

With his free hand, he reached down to his belt and found his rod. Pulling it out, he sprung the catch and it extended another foot. If he was going down, he was going down with a weapon in his hand, even if he couldn't swing it.

Crouching in one place, still biting back that cry of pain, he peered through the space between the bins. Watching, even though his vision was beginning to blur. Waiting, even though he was struggling to stay conscious.

A shadow fell across the opposite wall. Footsteps echoed in the narrow close. Slow. Deliberate. Final. Reno's heart suddenly sounded disastrously loud as it tried to thud its way out his ribcage. He sucked in a breath. Tensed.

The Turk stepped into sight. His heart now seemed to be beating in his throat. His lungs were suddenly tight, but he didn't dare exhale. Instead he made himself, forced himself, to concentrate on watching the Turk as he stopped, just in the right place to prevent a mad bid for freedom back up in the alley from any direction, looking about, taking in the locked gate, the bins and bags. Reno continued to watch through the gap, wishing he could read the Turk's expression, wishing the guy wasn't wearing those damn glasses.

Shades raised one hand. Tightened his gloves. Reno's mind groaned. This ain't good.

He realised the Turk was looking in his direction. He fought back a gulp and tried to slide back into the shadows. His hand tightened on the rod. This was it.

Then he saw it. Shades was standing in the puddle from the leaking pipe. The water stretched across the width of the alley, from the pipe to just a foot away from his own feet. In the state he was in, he wouldn't have the strength to cast a direct Bolt spell.

So he decided to take the indirect option.

The Turk took a step towards his hiding place. Focusing through his haze of pain and semi-consciousness, he threw out his hand. A bolt of lightning hit the water. All he saw was the flash of electric blue, then there was a bang - and the Turk was lying on the ground. Reno waited, heart pounding, disbelieving... but minutes seemed to pass and the Turk didn't move.

Tentatively, Reno stood, adjusting his weight on his good leg. Stepping from his hiding place, he kept his distance, reached out with the rod and prodded the prone form in the kidneys, jerking back instantly in case the Turk stirred. But he didn't. He was still breathing - Reno could see his broad chest rising and falling - but he was out for the count. Reno shook his head, surprised with himself. He'd known he hadn't had the strength left to cast anything life-threatening, but this was better than he'd intended. He'd wanted to cast something that could stun the Turk for a couple of minutes while he made his getaway; instead, he'd cast something that would probably keep the guy out of the game for at least an hour.

Relieved, he made for the way back out of the alley. But something made him turn back, and he realised he was almost... sorry that the chase had come to an end. Dire circumstances and Shinra suit aside, he'd almost begun to like the Turk. His strength, his silent lethality, his goddamn persistence... they just had to be admired. And he'd be a liar if he said he hadn't been impressed when he first saw the guy at the Honeybee.

"Sorry, man," he murmured to the unconscious form. "But - y'know - like they say: all good things must come to an end, yo." He grinned, guiltily, made a vague gesture, somewhere between a salute and a wave goodbye. "Well... see ya 'round, I guess."

With one last, lingering glance at the Turk, he turned and lurched out of the alleyway.

-

The first thing Rude was aware of when he came to was a splitting headache. Something like the square root of a hangover multiplied by having his skull smashed into a brick wall. He groaned, passed a hand over his eyes and waited for the world to stop swimming in and out of sight. He felt a clammy dampness against his back and wondered where he was.

Then he remembered. Standing in the alleyway, becoming aware of the other presence, readying himself for the inevitable struggle... then, a flash of white, a crash of thunder - and then feeling as if his nerves were being barbed by a thousand white-hot needles, before falling into blackness.

Standard Bolt spell. He stood, with difficulty, brushing himself off and checking himself for injury. He found nothing physically, but his pride had taken a severe beating today. He cursed himself silently, knowing he should have been more alert, should have expected his cornered target to lash out with a spell.

Target. This time, he groaned aloud, pinching the bridge of his nose. He'd had his target - the Mako thief, one of Shinra's most wanted - right where he'd wanted him and in one second, one foolish second of inattentiveness, he'd let him slip straight through his fingers.

He considered Tseng's what reaction would be when he returned with the bad news. The field leader would not be pleased - but what would happen to him? Would Veld deem him incapable of the mission and send someone else to take care of it? It wasn't something he particularly wanted to think about. Being entrusted with such an important assignment had been an honour, considering he'd barely been in the Turks for a year. It had been a real chance for him to prove his worth and, stupidly, he'd all but thrown it away.

And yet there was nothing he could do but return to Tseng, take full responsibility for his failure, and face the consequences.

He made a quick recce of the alleyway, wondering whether the thief had left behind anything of any significance, but he was still too groggy and too disheartened to make a decent assessment, and so turned to leave. He'd return tomorrow - or, if it came to it, he'd mention the place to whoever was assigned the mission in his place.

Heavy-hearted, he made his way back to Wall Market, choosing the easiest route across the highway. There was no sign of Elizabeth or her target, and he hoped she'd had more success that he had. His whole body was aching, from the exertion of the chase and then from the Bolt. He was ashamed, not just for letting a target get away so easily, but for being knocked unconscious by such a standard spell. He was a Turk; he was supposed to be able to shake minor things like that off.

After an age, he finally reached the Honeybee Inn. The car was still there, and Tseng was speaking to Elizabeth on the front step. As he drew nearer, Rude saw Elizabeth shaking her head, her mouth tight and her back straight, and Tseng's answering frown. He also noticed that Elizabeth's target, the youth with dark hair, was nowhere to be seen.

Wonderful. If Tseng wasn't already furious, he would be soon enough.

Tseng caught sight of him, and his frown deepened. "Don't tell me you lost the other one," was all he said.

Rude nodded stiffly. "My apologies, sir. I let my guard down."

"You've been gone almost two hours," Elizabeth said. It was her turn to frown, though more in concern than anger. "Were you attacked?"

"Yes," he said reluctantly. "I had him trapped and he lashed out unexpectedly with a Bolt spell."

"You were foolish," Tseng said at once, his voice clipped. "Cornered prey is the most dangerous kind. It's the first thing any hunter, any Turk, learns."

"Yes, sir," he replied quietly, trying to keep his expression neutral despite the shame threatening to flood into his face, the bristling feeling in his spine. To have to face Tseng empty-handed like this was bad enough, but to be lectured as if he were a rookie who had screwed up his first patrol...

"You do understand the severity of this, don't you?" Tseng continued, it seemed, to both he and Elizabeth. Looking at his superior, Rude could see that Tseng's jaw was tight, and his eyes were hard. "How am I supposed to tell Veld that two of my best Turks were unable to apprehend a couple of street urchins?"

"What happens now, sir?" Elizabeth's voice was flat.

Tseng stared back at her, his whole face hard as he considered her question. Eventually, he replied, "It's not for me to decide." He drew himself to his full height. "We've finished here, so we shall return to Headquarters. Rude, if you are in need of medical attention, we shall attend to that first."

"I'm not."

"Then I will report to Veld, as will both of you. He will decide what happens to you."

"Sir." Elizabeth nodded curtly, her mouth still set in a tight line, and made her way to the car, her back rigid. As Rude followed her, it struck him that she must be feeling as ashamed and humiliated as he was.

He looked past the tinted windows of the car, not really seeing anything but his own black mood. If, somehow, he earned Veld's pardon and was permitted to carry on with his mission, his determination to catch that red-haired menace had increased, not just for Shinra's sake, but his own, to repay his humiliation.

It was personal now.

-

It was growing dark when Reno finally reached Hark's place, way up the back of Sector Five, almost right beneath the main pillar. He'd been almost literally sneaking from shadow to shadow, casting glances behind him with every other step. It didn't matter that he'd be long gone before Shades even started to wake up; he hadn't survived this long by taking chances. But the Turk hadn't come after him, and he'd managed to reach PHANTOM's HQ unscathed.

But Jesus, he thought as he made his way up the stairs, what a day. He and the guys had only wanted to go out to Wall Market, stop off at the Honeybee and have a few drinks - but instead, they'd ended up in a fight with VENDETTA, lost Shun and Marty, and he and Jonsey had been chased halfway across the slums by two of Shinra's elite hitmen.

Yeah, he thought sourly. A fuckin' brilliant day.

Didn't help that his leg was still sore. As soon as he was a safe enough distance from the alley where he'd left the Turk, he'd cracked open a Potion. It had reduced the swelling, taken away most of the pain and restored him to full consciousness, but there was still a dull twinge every time he put his right foot down. Thank fuck it wasn't serious, though.

He'd just reached the first-floor landing when he almost bumped into Gregor.

"Watch where you're goin'!"

"Right back at ya, yo!"

"Reno?" Gregor had only just realised it was him. When he did, he laughed and shook him roughly by the shoulder. "Well, look, if it ain't the man of the hour!"

Shaking himself free of Gregor's grasp, he demanded, "The hell's that s'posed to mean?"

"You don't know?" Gregor frowned. "I thought you were goin' up to see Hark now."

"Nope." Reno shook his head, bewildered. "I was lookin' for Jonsey. You ain't seem him around, have ya?"

"Yeah, I seen him talkin' to Hark 'bout half an hour ago. Dunno where he went after that, though. But Hark's lookin' all over the place for ya, told everyone he saw to send you up if we saw ya."

Reno felt his heart sink. After the day he'd had, Hark was the last fucking person on the Planet he wanted to talk to.

"It's about VENDETTA, right?"

"What the hell else would it be about?" Gregor chuckled. He seemed weirdly cheerful for someone who'd almost died just a couple of hours ago. "Face it, kid, you're the hero of the day. They're all talkin' 'bout how you offed Flint like that. Fuck, Samson's still pissed." Gregor leaned in, his voice lowered to a tone that was more complicit than cautious. "You know he's always boasted he'd be the one to take down Flint."

So that's why he was mad at me, Reno thought. It made sense now. Samson was considered to be PHANTOM's answer to Flint Malone; no doubt he'd want to be the one to take down his "rival". It must've been humiliating to lose out to a skinny little punk like himself.

He made a mental note to rub it in Samson's face next time he saw him.

"Right. Thanks, Gregor. See ya 'round."

"Back at ya, kid."

He watched Gregor make his way down the stairs, then headed along the landing, taking another flight of stairs all the way up to the third floor, where Hark's rooms were. He had no idea what the building had been before PHANTOM had taken it over, but it was all wide corridors and large rooms, all of them properly furnished. It wasn't exactly Don Corneo's mansion, but it was probably the next best thing. Hark had entire floor to himself, God-only-knew how many rooms for his own personal use, while most families in the slums were lucky if they had a whole flat to themselves. Hell, the bedsit Reno lived in was two tiny rooms between eight - Seven, he amended reluctantly - of them. He'd thought it good going the day he'd moved his pocketful of worldly possessions into it, but really, next to it, the headquarters was a goddamn palace.

He found the door to Hark's office and knocked sharply.

"Who is it?" Hark's voice barked from the other side.

"Reno."

"Come in."

Pushing the door open, he entered the office. It was an ostentatious, over-furnished room, what with its oak panelling, expensive glass light decorations and top-of-the-range furnishings. Hark was never a guy to let ill-gotten gil lie in his pocket for very long. The man himself was sitting behind the squat oak desk, kitted out in a designer, charcoal-grey suit that would have been expensive even above the plate, thinning hair rigidly combed as usual, his bony hand clasping a glass of something amber-coloured which was definitely not your average slum-brewed moonshine. Standing next to him was Samson. As soon as Reno entered the room, Hark's long, severely-featured face lit up expectantly and his eyes immediately found his own.

"Reno. At last. I was about to send out a search party for ya."

Get to the point, fucker.

"I met Gregor on the first floor. Said you wanted to see me, yo."

Hark nodded. Setting down his glass, he leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk and touching his fingertips together. "I've been hearing all about your adventures today, son."

Uh-oh. This wasn't good. Hark only called him "son" or something equally amiable when he was trying to win him over. Usually to do dirty work for him. Well, he could go fuck himself. After their spat yesterday morning, and after today, Reno had decided he was doing no one's donkey work and that he was going straight back to the flat and getting blitzed out his skull, since he hadn't had the chance earlier.

"Uh-huh..."

Hark stared at him, shocked. "What d'you mean 'uh-huh'? Fuck me, Reno, but you only eliminated one of my prime targets."

Score! Reno thought as, out the corner of his eye, he saw Samson stiffen uncomfortably.

"Yeah, I did, didn't I?" Despite himself, he let his gaze flicker to Samson's, and grinned when he saw the guy's already dark scowl grow even darker.

"Yeah." Hark gave a low chuckle. "God, I was beginnin' to have my doubts 'bout you, but you come through, kid, you always come through. Even outdoing Samson here -" Reno heard Samson make a sort of growling noise in his throat, which Hark either didn't hear or ignored - "just after that incident the other day with the Shinra."

Reno frowned, shoving his hands into his pockets. "Yeah, well, I think I've made up for it, yo."

"You haven't half, Reno. You haven't half." Hark took a swig from his glass and grinned crookedly at him. "And I've even got a reward for ya. I think you'll like it."

He raised an eyebrow. "I'm listenin'..."

"Well, I was talkin' to Jonsey earlier -"

"Yeah, I know, Gregor told me."

"- and he said you'd been chased outta Wall Market by a couple of Turks. Said they were investigatin' the fight at the Honeybee."

"Yeah..." He had to wonder just where the hell Hark was going with this.

"He also said you'd heard that one of them seems to be snoopin' round Wall Market, askin' about Mako." Hark's face was suddenly grim, all traces of a grin gone. "I can't have that, Reno. Those suits are like fucking bloodhounds. If they get any leads, any at all, they won't stop till they've ripped us open." He fixed Reno with his most intent look and repeated, "I can't have that."

"And whaddya want me to do about it?" Reno demanded, folding his arms.

"Well, Reno, let's think about the bigger picture. VENDETTA have just lost one of their leading members. They'll be after our blood, too, you mark my words."

"Right..."

"I have a plan," Hark said, with a strange kind of gravity. "A plan to get both VENDETTA and the Shinra suits off our backs at the same time. And what I want is for you to move all the pieces into place for me, Reno. I want you to be the... the puppeteer."

This time, Samson let loose an outraged cry. "But, Hark... I thought I was s'posed to be takin' care of this mission! Not..." he gestured towards Reno, who feigned shock, and his face twisted with rage, "not him."

Hark gave a short, caustic laugh. "You? You couldn't take down Malone after ten years. What makes you think you can handle a Turk? Maybe, if you'd managed to get rid of him today, I would've said yes, but you didn't, and so Reno's doing it."

"But he's..." Samson was almost incoherent with rage. He glanced from Hark to Reno and back again, mouth working. "He's got no chance, Hark! Look at what happened today. Yeah, sure, we got rid of Malone, but we also lost a good number of our own men, just 'cause that little fucker couldn't keep his goddamn mouth shut."

Reno rolled his eyes. "Hey, Samson, this little fucker's still in the room, yo."

Samson ignored him and continued protesting to Hark. "What the hell makes you think he'll be able to do something this... this big?"

Hark's only reply was, "'Cause he got rid of Flint Malone for me; not you."

Samson's mouth snapped shut. His face was dark, his eyes burning with anger and shame. He nodded stiffly to Hark, turned, gave Reno a look of pure venom, then strode out of the office, slamming the door behind him so hard the glass in the windows rattled.

Hark only chuckled, then looked up again. "Well, Reno, you in?"

This time, Reno grinned for real. "Oh, yeah. I'm in."

-

Author's note: Well, wasn't that anticlimactic? The next chapter probably won't be up for a while, but I'll leave you with the promise that it will contain interaction - of the Reno and Rude variety. At long bloody last. I've been dying to write it for ages, so I can only imagine how you all feel.

Sorry if Tseng came off as a bit OOC in this chapter. His BC character description states that he's not quite as collected then as he is in the game, and that he has problems controlling his temper, so I'm trying to portray him as someone younger, less experienced, less tempered, I suppose.

As it is, the score stands at Reno: 1; Rude: 0. Just don't get too used to that, though. ;)

Till next time, then!