Final Fantasy VII: Reno's Revengemature

As the sun set over the surrounding mountains, North Corel’s shanty town began to wind down its trade for the evening, its many junk and tool stalls beginning to pack up and close for the night. Rats scurried around the dirt paved streets in unison, some heading straight through the door of the local inn. Its owner, an old survivor of the fire that destroyed the old coal mining town of four years ago, made no attempt to stop them. Not even they deserved the bitter cold that swept the town at night.
    “This place stinks.” Reno paced, hands in pockets, through the dusty, grimy air of the town. He buttoned his suit and pulled his goggles over his eyes just to keep out of the filth. His sun-tinged, red hair flopped up and down madly as his walk turned into a jog, over to the ropeway station nearby.
    Rude, Reno’s partner, broke out into a run to keep up with him, only stopping to check his reflection on the ropeway carriage mirror.
    Reno and Rude were members of the Shinra organisation, the Turks. They dealt with and enforced many things. Assassination, extortion, blackmail, all of which were carried out with breath-taking accuracy and disregard for human life. It wasn’t their fault. It was their job.
    The duo checked their watches in unison, as a herd of children scurried past, chasing each other. Reno sneered at the sound of their laughter.
    “So, Cloud and the others think the ropeway station’s shut down?” asked Reno, who peaked from underneath his goggles while playing with his hair. Rude didn’t answer. A man of very few words, Rude always decided it wasn’t worth breaking his cool exterior by saying things like ‘I have no idea.’
    “That is correct,” said Tseng, the leader of the Turks, who had crept up behind them with the stealthy, silent movements of a black mamba. Reno’s goggles snapped across his face as he let them go in shock. Rude smiled uncharacteristically.
    “We needed to keep them in place. They were told it has broken down and is undergoing maintenance,” added Tseng
    “Won’t it be a bit odd when they see us use it?” said Reno, disguising his embarrassment.
    “No-one will see you arrive. We have made arrangements. Our contact will take the Keystone while Cloud and co. are asleep,” Tseng began pacing. “He will then drop it off to me at the Chocobo Race Track in approximately an hour. I’ll be in the chopper. Be there if you want a lift. Should our contact fail, I want you to intercept Cloud and take the Keystone yourselves. Understood?”
    “Understood,” said Reno, nodding.
    Reno and Rude stepped inside the ropeway carriage, before it occurred to them to ask why they didn’t get a chopper too.
    “I hope we meet Cloud and the others up there. I want some payback for Midgar. No one makes a fool of me like that. No one,” said Reno. Rude grunted in approval.
    The day’s last speck of sunlight caught Reno’s eye as it reflected off of the carriage window, as it moved upwards into the sky. As night descended on North Corel, the starry lights of Gold Saucer’s spectacle became the new source of light.

    The Gold Saucer was one of the Shinra Corporation’s greatest achievements. They were fiercely proud of it. Constructed in the middle of a vile, swamp of a sinking desert, the Gold Saucer was the world’s premier casino and games complex. Tree-like in structure, the central core shot thousands of feet into the air, and branched off into huge, ‘saucer’ like stations. From the Battle Arena to the Wonder Square, each area was designed to excite and amuse their array of rich and eager patrons with bright colours, flashing lights and fabulous prizes.
    The complexes horror-movie influenced hotel facility, the aptly named ‘Ghost Hotel’, was one of the least popular attractions on offer. Not many people relished the idea of having to spend the night there, but many had no choice given the fact the ropeway was closed down. Despite the amount of complaints the Gold Saucer received about the ‘spooky’ sound affects emanating from the walls, the bad attitudes of the employees dressed in shoddy vampire costumes, and the ridiculously over-priced blood-coloured cocktails, the Gold Saucer kept the place open. ‘It’s the best we can afford right now’ they often lied in response.

    “Hey Cid, let’s go back to our rooms.”
    Unfortunately, Cid was in no state to reply. He had fallen asleep on the hotel sofa. His cigar, still alight, began to drop precariously with every snore that emanated from his rounded nose. Vincent sighed, and manoeuvred a glove covered hand, slapping the cigar out from Cid’s mouth. It occurred to Vincent afterwards that it would have provided some excellent target practise had he decided to shoot the cigar from Cid’s mouth, but he decided it was getting late and even his cool eye for a target was getting lazy. Vincent shook Cid into consciousness.
    “Wha...what is it? Is the meeting over?” he said, drowsily, as he spied his cigar half way across the room.
    “The meeting has finished. Cloud and the others have gone to their rooms.”
    “What did I miss?”
    Vincent thought over this for a while. What did Cid miss? Cloud and Tifa’s rant had been so hard to follow he could barely make any sense of it. He decided it wasn’t too important right now and gave Cid as brief a summary as he could muster. Cloud could fill him in on the rest tomorrow.
    “We’re taking the Keystone to the Temple of the Ancients, so we can get hold of the Black Materia before Sephiroth and the Turks do,” said Vincent, and after a little while added, “It’s important, apparently.”
    Cid looked at him as if he had just spoken in an ancient tongue.
    “Well, I’ll be the son of chocobo. No kidding,” said Cid, who giggled as he brushed the ash off of his airman’s uniform, and lit a fresh cigar.
    Vincent turned majestically, giving his red cape a twirl, and began walking towards the stairs leading to their rooms. He waved a hand and said ‘goodnight.’
    “But it’s only early! Well, quarter past eleven. Come on, we may as well enjoy the Gold Saucer while we’re here,” Cid pleaded.
    Vincent stopped and grunted.
    “What are you going to do instead? Sleep?” Cid added.
    “...You know I don’t sleep.”
    “Well come on then!” Cid dragged Vincent away from the stairs, through the creepy arching door, past the ghostly butler, down towards the graveyard, and out of the Ghost Hotel complex.

    “Congratulations sir. You’ve set a new Speed Square record!” said the game announcer, enthusiastically. A crowd of children cheered as Reno jumped from the roller coaster front seat.
    “Naturally,” he said, as he collected his prize gleefully and struck a heroic pose to the swarm around him. As he turned, his fan club of youngsters gazed up at him, their eyes glimmering with anticipation.
    “What did you win? What did you win?” they chorused, excitedly.
    “Ha! Wouldn’t you like to know you little runts,” he said, seething with arrogance. “Come on, don’t crowd me!”
    Reno pushed through the adolescent gathering, and strutted towards Rude, who was still shaking his head in embarrassment.
    “You’ve got to admit that wasn’t bad,” Reno said.
    Rude shrugged sulkily, and straightened his tie. “What did you win?” he said.
    “It’s not important,” Reno replied, waving a hand, tying to sweep the subject aside. Rude raised an eyebrow expectantly during the short silence that followed.
    “It’s not important!” Reno repeated, grumpily.
    Rude shrugged once again, deciding he had neither the time or the energy to argue. “We have to go. Now,” he said, as he checked his watch.
    “Come on, don’t feel so guilty,” responded Reno. “Cloud and everyone will be fast asleep, Tseng said so himself. Besides we still have fifteen minutes until the drop off, we may as well have some fun.”
    Rude stared at him intently for a moment, and then dropped his head in a beaten fashion.
    “I guess. But we had better head there now. We have five minutes,” he said, huskily.
    “For sure man. We’ll go now,” said Reno, patting him on the back.
    As the two of them walked out to the main intersection, which was filled with more pink and yellow fluorescent lights than seemed appropriate, they passed employees dressed as moogles and chocobos, who frolicked well on through the night in case any of the Gold Saucer’s distinguished guests pulled an all-nighter. Reno pushed many of them aside as they walked. Cool people, he decided, do not ‘frolic’ with grown men dressed as cute animals.
    As they were about to enter the walkway to the Battle Arena, they encountered someone they didn’t expect.

    Cid froze, with one hand in his tub of popcorn, recognising the danger. His eyes moved shiftily to Vincent, who, still dazed by the dragon that fell on him in the Battle Arena, wasn’t feeling all that sharp either. The two figures in front of them were dressed in classic black suits combined with a neat, narrow, black tie, the instantly recognisable uniform of the Turks.
    The four of them shared a moment of awkward silence, as they looked from one person to the other. It was unclear to them, or even the few onlookers, whether they were looks of anger, fear, or confusion. One of the more philosophical spectators decided it was all three at alternating intervals, and took a photograph with his telephone to show his friends. The flash from his camera brought him some unwanted attention from the stand-off’s participators, who looked at him intently for a moment, before he began to back out of the theatre of conflict.

    “We meet again,” said Reno, with a flick of hair and the posture of a champion. Reno loved the meetings before battles. He lived for them. He always thought that half a battle was fought through the mind. If you acted like a winner, success was assured. No matter how many times he lost, he kept that up.
    “Are you guys on duty this time?” asked Cid, casually putting his popcorn to one side.
    Reno chuckled, and eased a careful hand around his back, towards his weapon of choice, in anticipation. “Afraid so. No lucky escapes this time,” he said, as Rude cracked his knuckles.
    “If you say so kid,” replied Cid. Vincent cocked his gun, and checked his Materia.
    More silence followed.
    A string of chocobos raced past the window directly next to them, their colourful racecourse beaming with extravagant, expensive looking pyrotechnics, casting shadows on the ground. One chocobo bucked in fright, and catapulted its jockey across to the opposite square. Even this didn’t break the foursome’s concentration.
    The suspense of the moment was dampened further by the Gold Saucer jingle being played throughout the complex. Its happy chorus wasn’t the most fitting undertone for a stand-off. Nor indeed was the crowd of about ten children that had followed Reno from the Speed Square.
    Reno, unhindered by the lack of fitting battle music, drew his weapon, and grinned eagerly.
    “What the hell is that?” asked Cid, pointing a finger in disbelief.
    “Huh?”
    Reno was holding his newly won Shinra Soldier action figure.
    “Wow! That’s the turbo buster version of Commander Sephiroth!” said the fattest of the congregating children. Reno, going redder than the red shades of his hair, looked at Rude in a way that seemed to plead for some help.
    Rude shrugged, unhelpfully.
    Then he laughed, which was infinitely more unhelpful.
    “Erm, err.” Reno managed.
    “Retreat?” asked Rude.
    “Retreat!” he said in a panic, throwing the toy to the ground. “Here kid, take it!”
    The children gasped. They couldn’t believe their luck.
    The Turks fled through the corridor, in total shame and embarrassment.
    “Not again.” Reno mumbled, tripping his way through the corridor exit.

    As the kids began playing with Commander Sephiroth, sending him into an imaginary battlefield in the corridor, Cid and Vincent looked at one another. Their expressions of bewilderment mirrored each other. Vincent’s may have been a little calmer, it was hard to tell.
    “That was the weirdest thing I’ve ever seen,” said Vincent, visibly confused.
    “...And that’s saying something,” replied Cid, who stamped out the cigar that had dropped from his mouth a second earlier, “No offense.”