AN: More fandom-dabbling. Yes, I'm one of those obnoxious AC fangirls - haven't played FFVII yet. Buut, I'm hoping to rectify that directly, as soon as I can get my grubby hands on a copy. In the meantime, let me know if I inadvertently screw something up, okay?
Anyway, this is set right at the end of Advent Children, assuming the survival of Loz and Yazoo.
WARNINGS: for Reno's mouth and Turks...doing what Turks do best.
"Maaan, you guys are just like a coupla cockroaches or something."
A thud of boot against flesh.
"Fuckers. That's twice you've been blown up and you still don't have the common decency to just stay the hell dead.
"Still, I guess it's for the best. If you were dead, I wouldn't be able to deliver Tseng's message. Oh, you'll like it, I'm sure. Heh.
"He says you lot couldn't torture a half-drowned moogle. For Je—aw hell, how the fuck do you mess up a kneecapping? It ain't rocket science.
"What's that?
"Aww, shaddup, you sick shit. As I was sayin', this here—"
A short, staccato crack, a strangled groan of pain.
"…well, that was your femur. Thanks, Rude. In any case, your femur ain't your kneecap. Femur fractures are much more dangerous—you can bleed out before you know it. Kneecaps, on the other hand—"
A gunshot, this time, and a scream.
"—kneecaps just hurt like a bitch. And pro'ly cripple you for life, but that's mostly a side benefit.
"Hurts, yeah?
"Shit, man, breathe. Don't wanna pass out this early on, do ya?
"Attaboy.
"…no, hyperventilation ain't the way to go about things either."
Silken hiss of electricity over skin, a choked howl.
"That's better. What was I saying again? Lost my train of thought. Kneecaps? That sounds right. Anyway, I prefer electroshock, but to each his own, I s'pose."
A tap of metal against leather, EMR against a boot.
"Anyway. That's all Tseng had to say. But we didn't forget you, oh no. Don't worry—Elena remembers you fondly. She's awful sorry she can't deliver this message herself. Think she was lookin' forward to it, know what I mean? Girl's a sadist, even for a Turk.
"Okay, left hand first. Right, hold still or I'll shove this rod up your ass and jack the voltage up to eleven.
"Y'see, when you're breaking fingers, like…this,"—snap-groan-sigh—"it's common knowledge that you do 'em one"—snap—"at"—snap—"a"—snap—"time.
"Fuck, you're noisier than he was. Put a sock in it, I'm not done yet.
"Point is, it hurts a shitload of a lot more like that than if, say, you do 'em"—CRUNCH—"all at once. Like that. Yeah, it—YEAH, IT HURTS, BUT NOWHERE NEAR AS—aww, just shut the hell up.
"Damn. Out of fingers already?"
A phone rings.
"Shit, tell the boss not to get his wheelchair in a twist. Almost done. Efficiency, that's the Turk motto. Do we have a motto?
"What's that?
"…yeah, shove it. Lemme just break a few ribs, drive the lesson home nicely.
"The hell would I know? Maybe there'll be a test later."
Meaty thuds, as of boot meeting ribs, and accompanying screams.
"Right. Well, I'm done. Got anything to add, partner?"
Silence.
"Right."
Two gunshots, simultaneous. Jarringly loud.
"Fuckers. If you're gonna torture a Turk, you'd at least better get it right."
Endnotes: That was disturbingly fun to write. I'm a bit nervous about not knowing the fandom at all - comments and concrit would be greatly appreciated.