Desha's Reno of the Turks Fan Fiction

Author’s Note: I found several bits and pieces of various stream of conscious stories that I started and never finished.  This one was the closest to being done, and the only one that didn’t completely suck (because I’m usually terrible at this sort of thing… and writing them aggravates me to the point that they usually never get finished anyway).

This is my take on what Reno would be like if the Turks had to undergo regular psych evaluations.  He’s always struck me as the type that has a lot on his mind but doesn’t like to share.  And I figure the evaluation itself wouldn’t matter, since, after all, they’re the Turks.  Who’s gonna fire them for being a little unbalanced?

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“Tell me about yourself.”

Ugh… Every damn year. Who the hell’s this guy think he is? Goddammit, read the file… That’s why you have it in the first place. And I hate it when they try to get all buddy-buddy with me. At least the one last year was a chick. That almost made it fun. Almost. This guy’s just some geezer tryin’ to sound all interested so he can write up some psycho-babble bullshit about yours truely. Jackass.

“I’m a Turk.”

“Perhaps a little more in-depth, hmm?”

Read my file, asshat. Why the hell do we have to go through these stupid evaluations… Every. Damn. Year? Everyone knows a Turk is fucked up… we only differ in our varying levels of fucked-upness. Do we really need some shithead with a PhD to tell us that? No. No we do not.

New one every fucking year, too. I like to think I’m a major contributor to scaring them off.

“What, ya can’t read?”

There’s a nice thick folder right there on the corner of your desk. My name is neatly printed on the tab, along with my position and title, and a string of numbers that are probably code for ‘Check this guy for weapons before pissing him off.’ Did ya even crack it open before I got here?

“I prefer to hear it first-hand, if you don’t mind. Why don’t you start with your childhood?”

Oh, now there’s a happy memory or three. Great choice, Doc. Let’s start with my life in the hellhole that was, and still is, the Sector 2 slums. That ought to give you some choice nightmares…

“What do you want to hear about? My whore of a mother? Or my asshole father? ‘Course, he was only around for the five minute or so it took to conceive me, so that’s kind of a short story. In fact, that’s pretty much it, right there.”

Ah, and there he goes, writing it all down. Oh, Doc… The stories I could tell you. You say you want to get to know me? Trust me… you really don’t.

“Tell me about your mother?”

Typical. They always want to know about her. Might as well just get this over with. Tseng wised up a few years ago… after HIS boss got on his back about me skippin’ out on this crap. He’s got me locked in here with the shrink for the next two hours. Can’t just storm out like I used to… unless I wanna get tasered by the guards. I wonder if it’s the same ones as last time? Bet they remember me… ‘specially the one I dropped before I went down myself. Heh.

“Well, let’s see. She fucked anything that’d give her a few gil… Then she cut her wrists when she decided she’d had enough.”

Sorry, Mom… ya know I don’t really mean that. I know ya tried. I don’t really blame you for leavin’ me down there. I figure, no matter how bad it was, you just couldn’t bring yourself to take me, too. You put up with a lot of shit so I’d have it better than most of the other slum brats in Sector 2, and I owe ya for that. Kinda wish you’d stuck around, though. Least ’til I got older. I would’ve got you out of there, one way or another. I swear I would’ve. I just needed more time.

“And what happened to you after that?”

“I survived.”

End of story. That’s all you’re gettin’ on that subject. Surviving as a 5 year old kid in the worst of the slums was exactly that. Surviving. I wouldn’t even venture to call it living. You just take things one day at a time, and pray that tomorrow isn’t any worse than today was. Some of the shit I did to get by back then I’d much rather forget. Screw bearing my soul to some know-it-all in a cheap suit with an expensive piece of paper on the wall. I haven’t even had the nerve to tell Rude some of it… and I tell him damn near everything.

Sometimes I think he’s guessed at least a few things I’ve never directly brought up. Sometimes I’m not so sure. The guy’s hard to read. Scratch that… the guy’s next to impossible to read, if you haven’t known him for a good long time.

“Survived?”

“Yeah. Survived.”

Seriously… that’s all you’re gettin’, Doc. Deal with it. Fuck, could the clock possibly be movin’ any slower? I swear the damn thing starts running backwards when I’m not looking.

“What about when you were older?”

Ha… there’s a good one. Hell, Tseng recruited me when I was all of sixteen years old. I didn’t even care what he wanted me for. Someone gives you a one-way ticket outta the slums and onto the Plate, you fucking take it and you don’t look back.

“What about it?”

“How did you come to join the Turks?”

Aw yeah… time to have some fun.

“Killed a guy.”

Ok… fine, so that’s not entirely true. Tseng was the one who actually killed him. In my defense, though, I *thought* he was dead. I sure as hell wasn’t pullin’ any punches, and seriously… who gets up after takin’ a knife to the lung? Joke was on me, though. Not only did he get back up while my back was turned, he damn near got me with my own blade. Tseng put a bullet right between his eyes… dead fucking center… all while the guy was holding it to my throat. Bastard even grazed me with the shot just to prove a point.

“And why did you kill him?”

“Felt like it.”

Oh, god… that expression! That’s priceless. Man, I gotta admit… I do love freakin’ out the psych staff. The one upside of this annual bullshit. Wonder if he’s got a panic button? The one the year before last did. That was fuckin’ awesome. Called in twelve security guards who all thought the doc was nuts ’cause I wasn’t doin’ a damn thing… by then.

“I… see. Er… Let’s move on to your, um… colleagues, shall we?”

“Sure… what do ya wanna know about ’em?”

Sure, Doc… Sure. I’ll tell ya all about my “colleagues”. Ya wanna know how many ways Tseng can kill a man with a fountain pen? Don’t laugh… I’ve fucking seen him do it. How about Rude’s facination with explosives? Or maybe Elena’s fascination with Tseng?

“Do you get along with them?”

“‘Course. Couldn’t work with ’em otherwise.”

Get along with them? Oh, Doc… you gotta be shittin’ me. How could I not “get along” with them? We’re our own fucked up little family. I’d be lost without ’em.

Yes… even Elena. Newbie’s got promise. And a wicked right hook… Found that out the hard way. Needs to shut up once in awhile, though.

But anyone even thinks about hurtin’ her, they’re gonna have to go through me first. And, if they’re still alive, they’ll have to go through Rude. And then Tseng… though if by some freak miracle they get as far as Tseng, they definitely won’t be breathin’ when he gets through with ’em. Might end up in more than one piece, for that matter. You don’t fuck with the people Tseng cares about. Not if you want to see tomorrow, anyway.

It’s reassuring – in a demented sort of way – knowin’ somebody would do that for you.

“No… inter-personnel issues or concerns?”

“Nah.”

Hell, we fit together like a fucking puzzle. Only thing I ever worry about is coming up short a piece one day. That’d suck. That’d more than suck. But then, not a lot of Turks make it to retirement, so… ya know. Could happen. Don’t really like to think about that, to be honest. Fuck you for makin’ me.

“And how do you feel about the work you do?”

“Like it just fine. Suits me, ya know?”

I wish Tseng would let me come to these little interviews armed. Doc probably woulda pissed himself if I’d been checking the magazine on my sidearm when I said that. Better yet, maybe run through a test of my mag-rod’s electronics. Nothin’ like a few sparks to liven things up.

But yeah… suits me just fine. I’ve been at this shit so long, I couldn’t do something else even if I wanted to. Too tainted. And I’m good with that. Besides… I’m very good at what I do. Hell, you don’t even know about half the “work I do”. Oh, I bet you’ve hear the rumors, but that’s just the shit ShinRa *wants* people to know about to keep ’em in line. Now I wouldn’t go as far as to say that I *enjoy* tearin’ off a guy’s fingernails to get some info out of him. I don’t think any of us are quite that far gone. But I don’t lose sleep over it, either. And even I have a line or two that I won’t cross…

“Do you drink?”

“On occasion.”

Couldn’t keep a straight face on that one. Damn… ‘Do you drink?’ Hell, yes, I drink. I could drink you under the table and then take on the next challenger.

“Why?”

“… Seriously?”

Come on, man. You’re askin’ the guy who does ShinRa’s dirty work why he drinks? Please. Oh, believe me, I know what answer you’re lookin’ for here. You want me to say that I drink to forget, or that I drink to feel numb, or that I drink to drown out the screams, or some over-dramatic bullshit like that. ‘Cept that’s not true. It’s really not. You wanna know why I drink? Cuz it’s fucking normal. Normal people go out for a few beers with friends after work. Not a whole hell of a lot about my life that’s normal. I like havin’ at least one thing.

Do I sometimes take it to excess? Sure I do. So do a lot of other perfectly normal people. Excuse my normality. Not like it’s a big deal, anyway… if it affected my job performance, Tseng’d be all over my ass about it. He puts up with a lot from us, but the one thing he doesn’t tolerate is slacking on the job. ‘Sides… Rude’s always got my back when I get a little overzealous after work.

“I get the feeling that you don’t consider this a good use of your time…”

“Yeah? What ever gave ya that idea?”

Well, now… there’s the understatement of the millenium. I could think of about a dozen things I could be doing that’d be a better use of my time than this shit. Heh… Heidegger’s new secretary comes to mind, for instance. The hell was her name? Elsa? Asha? Aisha? Somethin’ like that…

“It’s for your benefit as much as the company’s, you know. I’m here to help you in any way I can.”

Spare me.

“Annnnd we’re done here. I don’t need or want your help, Doc, so let’s just stop dickin’ each other around and cut to the chase. Just tell me what I need to say to get the hell out of here, and I’ll say it.”

“That’s not how this works…”

“Well, ya can’t say I didn’t at least try and give ya an out, here, Doc. But I’ve had all the psychoanalysis I’m willing to tolerate for one evaluation period… so I’m walking out that door, and you’re either gonna tell the guards to let me, or you’re takin’ the first taser hit for me. Your choice.”

I’d rather avoid the tasers all together. Damn things hurt like a bitch. ‘Course, it’d almost be worth risking a few thousand volts just to make good on that threat. Hell, if I time it right, I might even be able to take out the guards while they’re trying’ to figure out what the hell’s going on. Wish I’d thought of that last year.

Ah, who am I kidding… last year’s doc was a pretty nice lady, all things considered. Ya know… for a shrink. I wouldn’t’ve done that. It’s sometimes unavoidable when you’re on assignment, but I’ve never been a fan of hurtin’ women. Or watchin’ other people hurt ’em, for that matter. Reminds me a little too much of coming home and finding mom all beat to hell after one of her ‘dates’. Makes my skin crawl.

Only thing worse is hurtin’ a kid. Yeah. That’s one of those lines… I won’t do that shit. Kidnap a kid? Sure. Threaten a kid? Bring it on. Scare ’em shitless? No problem. Actually hurt ’em? No way. Fuck that.

Ha! You’re lookin’ a little pale there, Doc. Did I scare ya? Uh… Oh, crap. He does have a panic button. I really hope it’s not…

“Problem?”

“No problem at all, boss!”

Yep… the ‘Summon Tseng’ button. Damn. Just when things were starting to get entertaining.

“He threatened me with electric shock!”

“Technically, I only threatened to use him as a human shield…”

“I see. If you’re finished with him, I’ll take him off your hands, then. He has reports to file.”

Ugh… paperwork? You bastard.

Wait a second… was that a smirk? Did you just fucking smirk at me, Tseng? Oh… you suck.

-fin-