Shattered Dreams & Sleeping Pills Chapter 8

Kill the Survivor

By WindWolf

Rude looked up at the large sign hanging over the bar. The Black Hole. He had heard of it before, but had never gone to it because of its distance from his apartment. The bar was one of the more popular ones in Sector Seven, though Rude could not see why.

It stood on a large wooden deck with three steps leading up to it. From where he was standing, Rude could see that part of the deck had been removed in order to try and fix the building. This resulted in holes in the deck from where the boards had been taken. Though the building had at one point been painted a mustard yellow, the pollution under the plate had stained it brown.

Rudes’ eyes traveled up the rotting steps, and landed on the western-style doors. Through them, he could see into the bar. There were a couple tables scattered about the room, though for the most part they didn’t have proper chairs. Customers had to sit on wooden boxes that may have at one point held food. The only chairs with backs were already taken.

Most of the customers sat on stools at the bar. A TV showing sports highlights seemed to hold their attention. One man forced his gaze away from the screen as he realized that he was out of booze. Pounding on the bar, he quickly caught the attention of the waitress. She poured him another drink, then went back to re-arranging the many bottles of liquor which sat behind the bar.

Rude reached into his pocket and pulled out his favorite pair of sunglasses. It was dark outside, and though the lights inside were not as bright as they could be, he thought it best to put them on anyway. Besides, he liked the professional feeling they gave him.

This is it Rude, he thought to himself. It’s all come down to this one test. You mess this up an’ you’ll never get outta this joint. His orders had been simple enough; If you want to be a Turk, kill the survivor. That was all there was to it. He didn’t have to know why Shinra wanted this person dead, he just had to kill them. Ask no questions, just do as you’re told. His hand moved to the gun they had given him, checking to make sure it was there for about the tenth time that night.

"Dead men don’t talk," he muttered under his breath. Running his hand once over his shaved head, he climbed the rotting steps and entered the bar.

Tifa stood watching them from behind the bar. She had tried to make herself look busy, first by arranging all the bottles of liquor in alphabetical order, then by trying to make conversation with her new customer. But she had nothing to do now, and as much as she hated to admit it, she was curios as to what they were talking about. They had been at the bar for about half an hour, and though Tifa had told them she wanted nothing to do with whatever they were planning, she was beginning to have second thoughts.

Shinra had destroyed her hometown, killed her father and her friends, had taken everything away from her. But their cruelty didn’t stop there. Trying to find more ways to torture her, they had somehow tricked Zangan into bringing her to Midgar, where she would be forever stuck in a stinky, poorly lit prison.

Of course, thinking about one’s problems never made them go away, or even get better. Considering all Shinra had done to her, didn’t she have more than enough reasons to fight them?

Tifa bit the inside of her lip. No, she decided. I won’t settle for just committing random acts of violence. I’m going to do something, and the only way to accomplish anything is to work with others. Coming out from behind the bar, Tifa walked over to the table where the five of them sat.

Rude took a sip of his beer. Somewhere in this bar, was his prey. Rude felt like slapping himself. He was beginning to sound like a detective on one of those bad cop shows.

--"He’s out there somewhere."

"Who is detective?"

"The one cursed to be followed by creepy music, just like I’m cursed to say these corny lines."--

Rude chuckled to himself, Gotta love those parodies.

Turning around on his stool, he looked at the customers not seated at the bar. There were five of them sitting at the larger of the three tables. They seemed to have something spread out on it, and were leaning over to look at it.

The waitress had joined them, and was leaning over the big man’s shoulder. She stood in between him and the little girl. Upon noticing that the large man seemed to have replaced his hand with a gun, Rude studied him more carefully, then smirked.

He drew his gun and carefully adjusted his aim. With all of them looking down at the table, Rude figured nobody would notice him. Without warning, the little girl turned around and looked up at the TV, her eyes passing the would-be Turk. It was too late for him to hide his gun, the brat had already noticed him.

"Daddy look out!" she screamed, and ran around the waitress to the big man.

Rude swore and quickly pulled the trigger, but he missed his target because everybody had reacted quickly and ducked down under the table.

The large man got up and began firing his own gun like a maniac. The other people were all hiding under the table, the little brat having been pulled under last.

Throwing his arms over his head, Rude ran out of the bar and down the street. Needless to say, it was not the way he had hoped the night would go.


Alright! Four more chapters done! I haven't had time to work on Chapter 9 yet, but I'll get around to it eventually. Please let me know what you think of the story so far! ^_^


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