Shinra Vignettes


By Pip Malloy






Souless creep.

Abusive asshole.



Money hungry druggy.


They call me these all these names. Worse if they know them. They say I’m a drunk. They say I’m a druggie. They say I abuse people, I murder people, I womanize and use people. They say I don’t care about anything but my own skin, they say I’m a bastard. They say I’m a sell out. They say I gave my soul to the highest bidder and it just turned out he was a devil.

They’re right.

I’m a Turk. That’s all I hear now. You’re Reno the Turk. You work for Shinra. You are a Turk.

People are idiots.

Yeah, I am a Turk. But that’s not it. There’s a name to go with the damn title, and everyone seems to forget it.

They call me a drunk and a druggy. But no one has ever asked me why I drink, why I do the drugs. Everyone learns in school that drugs and alcohol are bad, that they’ll kill your brain and take away your problems without solving them, then return them to you with more.

What the hell do a bunch of health teachers and scientists know?

Drugs and alcohol don’t let me escape. They highten the pain, make it unbearable. They don’t dull the razor, they cover it in poison. They say you never have a real reason to turn to drugs and alcohol. No?

I beg to differ.

Everyone’s got a sob story now. Oh, I lost my mom in a fire and had to raise my sisters and brothers. Oh, we’re so poor I had to give up my baby. Poor me, I don’t get to eat everyday. Woe is me, No one cares about me.


Those are the whimps. They were dead as soon as they were born. There are others, like myself, who know the ropes. We know what life’s about, and we know how to play the game. We don’t walk a razor’s edge. We fucking dance on it.

You had to raise your sisters and brothers? Big deal. You knew who your parents were. You got family, friends, a roof over your pampered head and food in your stomach. You had to give your baby up? It’s called survival, sister. It hurts, yeah, big deal. Live is pain, if you stop feeling it, you’re dead. You don’t eat every day? I don’t eat every week. No one cares about you?


They call me a bastard. I can’t say if that’s true or not. I don’t know who the hell my parents are, and frankly, I don’t give a shit. They say I’m a womanizer. Heh. Sorry, shweetheart, but the women aren’t complaining, so why should I stop?

A murderer. It’s a job. I kill people for a living. I get paid for it. If I called myself an assassin, people would admire me, because the title is so damn romantic. Yeah? In truth, killing people is the nicest thing I do on my job.

Money-hungry? Hell yeah! C’mon people. Whoever said money is the root of all evil never went hungry. Money is a way to survive. And I haven’t met anyone yet who really wanted to die.

People lie to theirselves all the time. Oh, yeah, I want to die, kill me. No? I’ll kill myself.

You don’t want to kill yourself. You people haven’t been dead, you don’t know what it’s like. I haven’t been dead either, but then again, I don’t want to die. I’ve yet to meet a person who would look at me dead in the eye, down the barrel of my EMR, and tell me, yeah, kill me you fucker. When I do, I’ll oblige.

I don’t bluff. Ever.

Why bother? You don’t make good on one threat and nobody knows if you’re going to follow through on the next. I don’t care who you are or what you do, or whether you’re an angel or a devil, I’ll send you all to the afterlife, if there is one. They called me a devil in the slums. But hey, the Devil was an angel who fell, right?

What’s that say about heaven?

They say I’m souless. Yeah, maybe I am. Maybe I sold my soul to the highest bidder. And maybe I was never born with one. Or maybe, just maybe, I’m just another guy who had the innocence torn from their soul, the happiness ripped from their mind, and the love stolen from their heart. Heh. Or maybe I really wasn’t born with a soul.

What good are they anyway?

They call me a bastard, a jerk, a womanizer, a souless druggie.

They can call me whatever the hell they want.

I call me Reno, and in the end, that’s all that matters.

‘Cause I’m the one who’s breathing.

Piece written February 15, 2000. All characters copyright Squaresoft Inc. Do not reproduce without permission.

Final Fantasy 7 Fanfic