I hate interviews.

It doesn't matter what side of the desk I'm on-interview-er or interview-ee-I find them pointless and an inaccurate reflection of a person's abilities. As an interview-er, I am expected to thoroughly evaluate the perfect candidate in thirty minutes or less by asking pointless questions like, "Where do you see yourself in five years?" A question that is entirely irrelevant in my field.

There are other questions that are too ridiculous to ask. Things like, "Describe a challenging situation and how you dealt with it," or "How do you handle difficult people?"

There is only one anwer: "Empty the clip."

Then there are clichés I am expected to ask. Like, "What are your strengths?", "What are your weaknesses?" If I don't already know that about you by the time you're sitting across from me, you wouldn't be here. But, I have to know what you think. So I ask anyway. Usually.

This wasn't usual. This was, quite possibly, the most un-usual interview, ever. Mostly because I hadn't told the "applicant" this was an interview yet.

He'd shot my Senior Officer in the head earlier this week. A rather awkward first impression. But I was impressed which is the only reason he was still alive and sitting across from me now. A punk kid, but a skilled and clever one...provided he could learn to keep his mouth shut, which could potentially be a severe liability for my employer if I allowed him to walk out of here.

So, there were two options for my candidate: either walk out of here as the newest member of the Turks, or don't walk out at all. It was just a matter of making him an offer he couldn't refuse.

"So, Mister…?"

"Reno."

"Mister Reno—"

"Just Reno."

I paused a moment to scrutinize the "applicant." Without breaking eye contact, I dropped the stack of papers in front of me that I'd been silently shuffling through for the last minute, making him wait through the uncomfortable silence. The report was nothing more than a prop; I had already memorized his record before he walked in.

He stared back at me calmly through bright, aqua eyes that tracked me carefully. He cocked his head thoughfully to the side, a gesture he had just mirrored from me. He was mimicking me. He had been mimicking me since he sat down—crossing his legs when I crossed mine, leaning forward or back when I did—and it was only now that I noticed.

Career guidance professionals will tell you there's a certain reverse-psychology to interviewing and usually recommend "adopting a similar posture to the person who is interviewing you." This plants a subliminal message in the interviewer's mind that you are comfortably familiar and "in tune" with their ideas and thoughts. It provides a little subconscious ego boost to anyone you want to impress.

He was not boosting my ego, and he was not "in tune" with me. He was mocking me.

But he was doing it in a very clever way.

"I'm sorry, I didn't catch your name?" he said, leaning forward.

"So, Mister Reno," I said, deliberately ignoring his question, "do you know why you are here?"

A small and condescending smirk curled at the corner of his mouth. "Nah. I couldn't even begin to guess."

"Well, perhaps I can refresh your memory," I said. "Your recent actions have left me at a slight disadvantage."

His eyes flickered briefly to the side when my associate, Rude, snorted. Rude is tall, dark, and deadly. He stepped forward and towered menacingly behind the candidate. Rude is ambiance.

The candidate exhalded irritably. "Look, I told you it was an accident."

"An accident?" I said. "You shot him in the face."

"My gun went off," he grinned.

"At point-blank range," I added. "Nine times. You reloaded your weapon and shot him again. Were you just making sure?"

The cocky grin vanished. "It wasn't personal. He got in the way. Like I said, it was an accident."

At least he was being honest. His enthusiasiastic approach to inhuming my ex-associate had not been personal. He had done a sloppy job, but effective; it's difficult to identify a body when there isn't a face left to identify. Had I not been shadowing my associate myself, it may have taken me weeks to locate the body.

"Mister Reno—"

"Wouldja just drop the fucking 'mister—'"

"I don't particularly care what your reasons were, Mister Reno," I said. "That is not my concern. I wanted to discuss your employment."

He frowned. "My employment? You wanna grill me about the Don?"

"No. We know exactly where Don Corneo is and what he's up to."

"Well. Total shocker that Shin-Ra is on top of every-goddamn-thing. So what the hell d'ya need me for, yo?"

"I'm understaffed," I said simply.

"Whaddya want me to do about it? Apologize?" He folded his arms petulantly. "I am very, very, very fuckin' sorry for your loss. Happy? Can I go now?"

I sighed. "My ex-associate was under investigation for treason. We had been monitoring him for some time. He was selling insider information, something I believe you're already aware of. If you had not taken action upon him when you did, I would have had to do so myself." I folded my hands calmly and placed them on my desk. "In fact, I should be thanking you."

He looked at me cautiously. "You're...welcome. I'll send you my bill."

I continued to stare at him and said nothing, allowing another uncomfortable pause to settle between us. A few moments passed and he shifted in his chair. "Where are you going with this?"

I glanced down at my prop, the report in front of me. "You have an impressive record, Mister Reno." I started to recite the list of his indictments: "Larceny, grand larceny, assault, assault with a deadly weapon, assault and battery, destruction of property, identity theft, racketeering, extortion, postal fraud…" I looked up. "Postal fraud?"

His eyes darkened, his face nearly the shade of his shock-red hair. "I was experimenting," he snarled. "What are you, my fuckin' parole officer?"

I continued to flip through the stack. "You currently live at 1100 South Capra Drive, Apartment number three?"

"I don't know. You tell me." His tone was clipped and irratable. He was getting defensive. It was almost time to attack. Just a little more.

"Do you like working for Mister Corneo?" I said.

"Puts a roof over my head."

I flipped to another page of the report. "Doesn't sound like for long. You're twenty-eight days late on your rent."

"You wanna tell me how many times a day I take a piss, too? If you're trying to scare me, fine. I'm scared shitless. Is that what you want? I get it. Big Brother is watching. Duck and cover. Now get to the fucking point."

"What if I told you I could erase all these charges?"

His face lit up. "Ahhh, so you're blackmailing me. Fan-fuckin'-tastic."

I shrugged. "I prefer to look at is as a protection of my assets. Insurance."

"Insurance?" he said. "Fuck you. Just shoot me and get it the hell over with."

"You haven't heard my offer," I said.

"I don't have to. I know what you dragged me here for. I know too fuckin' much. You Shin-Ra fucks are no smarter than a small-time crook like me. You're covering your tracks. It's what I did when I shot your partner. I'm not stupid."

"I'm well aware of that," I said. "That's why I'd like to give you a choice instead."

"Oh yeah? And what could that possibly be? Choice of finish for my coffin?"

I took a slow breath before speaking. "If you choose to die, then it shouldn't surprise you that there won't be a body left for a burial. Fortunately for us, according to our data here, you have no living relatives, no close relationships, and you live alone. Don Corneo won't miss you. And neither will anyone else," I hissed.

My words were cruel. But I was not looking to boost his ego. I wanted to buy his soul. I wanted to make him realize he had nothing left to lose. Only when you've lost everything are you free to do anything.

"Thanks for reminding me," he sneered.

I stood up and leaned over my desk, piercing him with my gaze. "I know the slum you live in, Mister Reno, I know the cesspits you hang out in, and I don't give a shit about your pathetic lifestyle. I also know that Don Corneo treats you like a dog and that you've been evicted three times in the last eighteen months because he pays you dirt. I know you steal from his clients to earn supplemental income. Is that any way to make a living?"

"Maybe I like the challenge," he growled. "What difference is it to you?"

I punctuated my words carefully. "I want you. To come work. For us."

There was the offer, the shiny red apple ready to bite. His mouth twitched ever so slightly; I could see my words sinking into his brain. "So that's my choice?" he shot back. "Die or work for you?" He snorted and shook his head. "What makes you think I'm any better off with you corporate bastards than with Corneo? At least with him I make my own hours, I don't gotta wear a suit and tie, and I don't gotta answer to nobody. Corneo doesn't ask me to fill out forms in triplicate to request a day off. He doesn't ask me about shit, he just gives me the job and leaves it to me. Between death or being a suit-wearing monkey, I say just shoot me."

Calmly, I tilted my head back and said, "I can offer you forty thousand gil a year." It's the third lowest pay scale in the company just above the front desk secretary. Not that he needs to know that. For him, it's more money that he's ever seen in his life...and more money than he would ever make working for Corneo.

"Yeah, right," he snorted and looked at the floor.

"Tax free. Paid in cash. This keeps you off the books and under the radar."

"Uh-huh. Do I get a bonus?"

"Possibly," I said. "Depends on your perfromance. Minimum ten percent if we keep you."

"And I get a pension and health insurance, I suppose." he drawled.

I reached inside my blazer, pulled my nine millimeter handgun from my holster and laid it on the desk in front of me. Safety off, barrel pointed toward him. "This is your health insurance. Any questions?"

He stared at my gun then down at nothing in particular, deep in thought. He clenched his jaw and swallowed. Not a sign of nervousness as much as self-consciousness. He suddenly looked very young—not even legal drinking age, in fact, though I'm certain that's never stopped him. If he dropped the punk-rocker act, he might actually be attractive. He was not good at concealing any of his emotions, though. They were as plain on his face as the two twin scars on his cheeks. Looks like he's already had some hard lessons in his young life. A common trait among us Turks.

He blinked and looked back up at me. "Can I think about it?"

"Sure," I answered with a cavalier shrug. I perched myself on the edge of my desk and glanced at my watch. "You have sixty seconds."

He scoffed. "You're joking, right?"

"I work for Shin-ra. I don't know how to joke." I allow a few seconds to tick by. "Forty seconds. FYI."

"And if I say no, the Incredible Sulk back here will shoot me."

Rude grunted and cracked his knuckles. "Actually, he'll break your neck," I answered for him. "It's less mess."

The candidate dropped his head back and stared up at Rude. "And what's your story? You don't talk much, do ya?"

Rude looked back down at him. "You don't shut up much, do ya?" The redhead grinned widely.

"Twenty seconds," I reminded.

"What about Corneo?" he said, looking back at me. "He will come looking for me, even if it's just to kill me himself."

"Corneo won't even have to know," I said. "We'll relocate you to new living arrangements. We'll wipe your records clean. We'll give you new identification documents. You can even pick a new name, if you want."

He smirked. "Isn't that illegal? I wouldn't wanna get caught for identity theft again."

"Mister Reno," I said, "In this town, Shin-Ra is the law. As will you be."

He said nothing, he didn't move. But his intense eyes never left mine.

"Eight seconds," I said. Come on, kid. I really don't want to have to kill you.

A devious and knowing smirk slowly crept over his mouth, like he'd just heard my last thought. I looked away and nodded to Rude. Rude put his hands on the young man's shoulders, waiting for my final order. The applicant didn't even flinch.

"Three...two..." I nodded to Rude.

Just as Rude moved, the kid spoke up. "All right, all right. I'll do it," he said. Rude looked at me, I nodded, and he stepped back again.

"Was that supposed to impress me?" I said.

Reno shrugged. "I just wanted to be sure," he smirked, echoing the beginning of our conversation. "So, where do I sign... Boss?"

I allowed myself a small, if not condescending, smile. "You have more important things to do than fill out forms." I picked up the receiver on my desk telephone as I punched in an extension.

"Security Desk," said a female voice on the other end of the line.

"Yes, could you send two security escorts up to my office?"

"Right away, Mister Tseng," she said, and I hung up again.

Reno suddenly frowned. "Security?"

I nodded. "Yes. They'll be taking you to your new station at the SOLDIER base in Junon."

"Junon? Now? You're freakin' kidding me."

"All new Turks are required to go through SOLDIER's basic training program," I explained. He fidgeted in his chair. "Relax," I told him. "It's not a permanent station. It's only for three weeks. SOLDIER is a privately funded military and training is just a fraction of the time it would take for a government funded military. They'll bring you right back here to Midgar when you're finished."

Reno's eyebrows jumped into his bangs. "Basic training?"

"It goes by fast. After two weeks of basic training, you will be given one week of Special Forces training."

"One week," he said. "For Special Forces? You must have a lotta faith, man."

"You'll continue your training with us when you return. This is simply an introduction."

"I'm not really the military type."

My grin widended into something a little more feral. "We're SOLDIER. We'll take anyone."

Reno rolled his eyes and his looked over at Rude, my extremely bald associate. "I, uh, don't have to shave my head do I?"

It was tempting to let him think that for a moment, but I shook my head. If only he could see some of the ridiculous hairstyles our SOLDIERS have...

"Do I get to stop by my apartment for anything?" he asked.

"SOLDIER will provide you with everything you need for the next three weeks."

"Yeah, but...I think I left my iron on."

I gave him a reproachful look. "We'll send someone over to check it out," I remarked. "You'll be in a new apartment when you get back anyway."

"You're picking out where I'm gonna live? And moving my stuff?"

"Consider it your moving expense. Everything will be taken care of and you won't even have to lift a finger."

"Right. And I'm sure you'll leave nothing unturned."

He was right, of course-it's a perfect opportunity to search his entire apartment and find anything we can about his former employer and our young Turk's business. I raised my eyebrows. "Is there something we should know about first?"

He chuckled. "Knock yourself out. Just keep pet ogre's hands off my porn collection," he said nodding to Rude.

"His name is Rude. He's our munitions expert." I said.

"Might wanna watch your step for a few weeks, jackass," Rude added. The grin on Reno's face said Rude had won him over immediately.

There was a knock on my door, and I nodded to Rude to answer it. Rude opened the door and two burly security guards stood in the entrance waiting to whisk Reno away. I gestured to Reno to stand and lightly motioned toward the door. He stood up and offered his hand to me. I shook it, noting the firm grip and cool, dry palms. Perhaps he'd been more composed than I'd initially thought. It's not often I am easily bluffed. I'd definitely made the right choice.

"Say goodbye to the rats in my old apartment," he said. "I'll miss 'em."

"You'll meet all knew rats now," I said.

Reno broke the handshake with an ironic snort. "See ya in three weeks, Boss." I gave him a slight bow as he was ushered out.

"Hey Boss," he said, pausing at the door one last time, "I never got your name."

I felt my smile curl slowly around the corner of my mouth, snake-like, extending that apple just a little farther. "You will," I said.

Rude sat down in front of me in the chair Reno had just left. "Annoying little punk," he said, conversationally.

I shrugged. "He has potential."

"You never made me go through basic training."

I turned and lifted the receiver on the phone again, hovering my finger over the keypad. "Oh, I'm sorry, did you want to?"

Rude gave me a dry look. "Just wondered why."

I set the phone down on its cradle again. "I thought he could use the discipline." I gathered the papers on my desk and stacked them together, Shin-ra's annual report that I had been using as Reno's "offcial record." I felt a little smug that it had worked so well.

"He's gotta mouth on him."

"He'll make up for your lack of one, I'm sure. You'll make a good team. And now that you're Senior Officer, you'll be finishing his training. Try not to kill him the first week, would you?" Rude grunted and then fell silent for a moment as I finished cleaning up my desk. "Who knows?" I remarked. "You might even end up being pals."

"Don't hold your breath," Rude grumbled. "I don't do sidekicks."

"Maybe you'll be the sidekick," I smirked. I rarely banter with Rude, but once in a while it's entertaining. He's much smarter and wittier than he looks.

Rude shot me a warning look. "Let's just see if he works out first." He fell silent once more. Another reason I don't mind Rude's company.

I sat back in my chair and crossed my legs, thinking about the young red-headed kid that walked in and left a Turk no more than ten minutes ago. I thought about those brilliant eyes, that arrogance, and that quick witted wicked sense of humor. Reno was someone I could grow to like or loathe. Probably both, depending on the day. "I have a good feeling," I said out loud.

I checked my watch. Twelve noon exactly. Lunch time. And good thing too...

I had craving for apples.