Shattered Dreams & Sleeping Pills Chapter 10

I'm Not Your Boss

By WindWolf

Rude slumped down on his bed, the thin pillows that propped him up slipping down. He cast a sideways glance at the telephone that sat on the table beside his bed. I should call, he thought, but how can I tell them I failed?

Pushing himself up to a sitting position again, Rude played with his sunglasses as he continued to debate whether or not he should call. Fed up, Rude tossed the black shades onto the bed beside him. I need a drink, he thought, standing up.

Leaving the dark bedroom, Rude walked with heavy steps over to the kitchen. Turning the light on, he walked over to the beer-filled fridge. Opening the door, he took out a drink then walked back into the bedroom, turning the kitchen light out as he left.

Rude had lived in the slums his whole life; his mother was a whore who spent all her money on drugs. A pimp had killed her after she had gotten pregnant and tried to dump the baby on him. Rude's father, a Shinra employee, had brought him up to survive in the slums, but rebels shot him just last week when he was riding the train home from work. Rude had never cared much for his father, he was an arrogant asshole who always managed to put the blame elsewhere, but for some reason, his death had sparked something in Rude.

Three days after his death, Rude had called up Shinra Headquarters. He had gone in for an interview two days ago, and was given an initiation mission. The orders Heidigger had given him were simple and to the point. Kill the survivor and we'll make you a Turk. They had given him all the necessary information, he just had to go there and kill the damn person.

But he'd botched it. He'd missed his shot because of that stupid little brat who had turned around to watch the TV. If it weren't for her, he'd probably be a Turk by now. Maybe he'd kill her too.

The phone rang, causing Rude to jump. He propped himself back up and answered it.

"Did you do it?"

Though he didn't recognize the voice, he knew exactly what they were talking about.

"No, I missed."

"It doesn't look very good if an aspiring Turk misses his shot. "

"I know, but I wasn't expecting there to be a man with a gunarm there."


"He had a gun grafted onto his right arm in place of a hand. When I missed he got up and began shooting. I had to run out and didn't get to fire anymore shots."

"The man's name is Barret Wallace, Scarlet ran into him when she was destroying Corel. He's since moved to Midgar and there are rumors that he might be starting a rebel group. Keep your eye out for him."

"Yes sir."

"Don't call me sir, I'm not your boss yet. Kill that bitch and I might be," he hung up.

Rude put the phone back down and took another drink of his beer . Guess I didn't have to call after all, he thought. He reached into his coat to retrieve his gun, and found it not there. Frantically, he searched both his coat and his pants and found only an old gum wrapper. He opened the drawer to the bedside table, but it wasn't there either. He searched the entire apartment, but the gun was nowhere to be found.

Rude tried to think back to what had happened at the bar. He had fired the gun, and now he didn't have it. When had he lost the damn thing? He had kept it in his coat pocket specifically so that it wouldn't fall out. He must have dropped it, and the last time he had held it in his hand was when he was firing. Come to think of it, he couldn't remember putting it back inside his jacket. The gun must be somewhere in the bar still. Rude knew he couldn't go back after what had happened that night. He decided to lay low and go back to the bar in a couple days, retrieve his gun, and shoot the girl sometime later.

Fuck. This is the last thing I need, he thought, as he trudged back into his bedroom. He sat back down on the bed, and picked his beer up again. Oh well, nothing good is ever easy, right?


Double digits! Go me! Yeah well, nine and ten took me awhile, just cuz summer vacation started, (and a whole bunch of other reasons, but summer always seems to be my cue for laziness.) Eleven would be on the way, but I'm not sure how to start it. Once I get my ideas sorted out, I'll start typing. Hopefully I won't take as long with that one as I did with these. God I love this laptop!


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