Chiaroscuro

by

Seiya Kou

(K_Seiya@hotmail.com)

He sighed to himself as he dropped the soft towel on the floor before opening his closet. Removing several dark pieces of leather, the tall, pale, raven-haired man proceeded to dress himself. The fishnet triangle slid over his middle finger, then rolled up his forearms as if it were chicken wire; the short-sleeved shirt hugged his chest and defined his slender musculature. Vincent Valentine always saved the pants for last; the slick material felt like a second skin that bunched pleasantly about his crotch, leaving much for the imagination. A slight blush invaded his otherwise normal pallour, for his leggings always made him want to delay his assignments in favour of allowing his slender hand to slide beneath the waistband and encircle about his sex, pleasuring himself for hours on end. Blinking, he shook his head and pulled on his knee-high combat boots. Two metal cups fashioned like the round end of a paper clip encircled his kneecaps; those devices often came in handy. Vincent griped to himself about the time it took to dress himself for such occasions, even when he was attaching the throwing spikes to his belt, the Spetzner knife to his left thigh, and powerful, though strange-looking handgun to the right.

"Always a bother," he muttered. His voice was deep and calm; he knew it could instantly hypnotize anyone listening to him if he were to reduce the pitch to a husky, seductive, mantra-like resonance. For Vincent Valentine was a resourceful man who always got what he wanted....one way or another. His crimson irises wandered to the three folders, which contained his three assignments for that night; he studied their faces intently, their data scrupulously as he tied back his tresses with multiple bands. "Sector seven...the deep slums. He'd better have the money this time."

Hours later, four of AVALANCHE's members emerged from a theatre, laughing their heads off as their popcorn flew from their containers. Jesse and Biggs were trying to harmonize "Sweet Adeline" while Wedge and Barret took turns sipping from a large bottle whose contents were concealed by a paper bag. All of their ranks were ruddy-cheeked, but still far from smashed. After all, they were celebrating the destruction of ShinRa's Mako reactor, number 01, and how their terrorist group would easily dismantle the remaining eight.

"See Barret....it goes like this...somethin' called a 'Barbershop quartet'...and when I sing 'Adeline', you go 'myyyy aaadelinneee!' in a lower octave, got it?" Asked Jessie, untying the bandana around her short locks to wipe the sweat from her face. The night air was dense; thick with pollution, but somehow refreshing. The powerful, mocha-skinned man nodded and fired off a few rounds from the machine gun mounted on his left arm.

"Let's do it, Jess!"

"Sweet Adeline......," she looked at him imploringly, waiting for her friend and fellow terrorist to belt out his verse. Grinning to himself, Barret Wallace opened his mouth and let out an earthshaking belch, which echoed throughout the alleyways. Somewhere, a cat screeched in agony. Somewhere, a car alarm went off.

"Myyyy Adelineeee!" The sheer force of the expulsion was so powerful that Jessie could actually see the sound waves emanating from Barret's huge, trash-talking mouth. She clapped her hands in approval at her friend's rendition, then matched it with a similar, albeit more ladylike burp. She didn't care for the looks of the passing inhabitants of Midgar; for if she could blow whole power plants up, then slam a few cold tall ones home, she was just one of the guys.

"Hey Midgar.....FUCK YOU!!!" She screamed happily as the inebriated quartet reached the halfway mark of a bridge over a river of sewage water. A rusted drainpipe embedded into the steel continuously vomited remains of experiments, drugs, bicycles....what it purged was of no matter; for like Barret's belching power, its flow couldn't possibly be backed up.

~*~

To a pair of green lenses, the quartet was as bottle green as the contents of their liquors. Vincent's body was elegantly poised on a flagpole jutting out from the wall of a nearby motel; his night-vision goggles closely followed the movements of his prey, an indicator flashing his range before locking in a target symbol and beeping quietly. "Hmm...according to this device, I'm well within my optimal range," he thought, rising to his feet on the thin pole. His hand reached behind his back and sandwiched the blunt portion of a throwing spike, withdrawing it carefully. The thin needle was made of a lightweight, poisonous alloy that killed the moment it was introduced to the victim's bloodstream. Balancing the projectile in his palm, Vincent looked at the quartet, who was mesmerized by the financial opulence of the ShinRa Conglomerate headquarters, and he had to admit, the grandeur of that building always captivated him as well.....even if such a distraction only lasted a few seconds.

Vincent's ruby eyes blinked once as the sleek, metallic needle slid through the polluted oxygen towards his first victim's cerebellum. He knew it would go in...and the fat one, whatever his name was, would die quickly.

~*~

Suddenly, Wedge's entire body stiffened, a distressed yelp slipping from his mouth as he fell to the ground, bluish ooze drooling from his lips. His rotund frame jerked once, twice, then remained eerily quiet; the eyeballs rolling up in the skull to expose their white corneas. At first, Biggs laughed heartily and playfully kicked his friend in the shoulder with his steel-toed boot, expecting his friend to rise up and join in his merriment after a shriek of pain. Wedge's head merely tilted, falling on the left cheek, the eyes staring blankly at his living comrade.

"Uh....Wedge....you can get up now, you know? Hey, I was only kidding, tough guy," he said nervously as he defensively held out his hands. In total, shocked disbelief, Biggs' feet shuffled backwards on the uneven pavement before stumbling loudly over a raised cobblestone. "Barret.....I think........urk......" The sentence ended in a dead faint."

"Shit, man. Aaaright, I'll carry ya home...but if ya puke on me....what the fuck?! Jessie, get your narrow ass over here! Something's fucked up with Wedge."

"Now Barret, juuust because he's one-hundred and fifty pounds overweight doesn't mean....Jeezus!! Now that's new," she crouched by AVALANCHE'S weapons designer and ran her index finger across his lips, coating it thickly in the goo. Sniffing her digit, Jessie made a face and wiped it off on her jeans before standing up to face her confused leader. "I have no idea what that stuff is....but you can bet it wasn't anything Wedge would eat. I don't think it was food, Barret; it didn't even have an organic scent to it."

"So then what do you think it is, Jess?" The heavyset man peered at his fallen teammate; his thick eyebrows and determined lips set in a deep scowl. He knew he could trust the keen olfactory senses of his explosives expert; only she could sniff out a bomb buried five metres under the sand, and still be able to tell if the dynamite was active or not. Barret closed his eyes and rubbed his temples slowly; remembering the day he took her to sector three in order to have her diffuse the landmines the ShinRa HQ had placed around its building. She was finished in a matter of seconds; seventy-two saucerlike objects unearthed and quickly disarmed. To lose Jessie's talents was to lose the edge over Rufus Shinra's Mako-siphoning reactors.

"If I was a betting girl, Barret Wallace...." Her strong arms instantly had Wedge's lifeless body on its stomach; precise fingers sliding a long, slender object out of the base of the pudgy man's skull before holding it up to glint in the light of a streetlamp. "I'd say this killed our man."

"That don't matter now, girl." His back was turned to her as he looked out over the river. "You know what we gotta do." Barret strode over to Wedge's corpse and grabbed the limp arms, dragging the bulk towards the railings. "Gimme a hand....he weighs a ton." He already had his former weapons expert's chest over the railing."

Sighing to herself, she wiped her tears with a slightly greasy hand before grasping one of her teammate's legs and easing it over the barrier; his sizeable mass would take care of the rest. That way, she wouldn't feel totally responsible if Wedge's ghost didn't rest in peace. Jessie pressed her hand against the cadaver's buttocks, pushing with all her might.

"That's it, Jess....we almost got it...."

"Yeah......argghhh!!!" A "chucking" sound pierced the night seconds before the jet stream of her blood spattered over Wedge's back. Her own frame fell atop her comrade's a peculiar cylindrical object rammed deep into her back, right through where the heart was once beating. One last heave of ragged breath, and her pupils dilated like small inky suns, staring mindlessly into the night.

"Jessie!! Noo!!" Barret's distraught voice resonated throughout the darkness, causing several ravens to flee their nests in stark terror. Their caws just barely sounded out over the rapid fire of the Gatling gun attached to his left arm; the metal of the firearm smoking in fiery protest. His lips were drawn in a near-psychotic grimace, brown eyes piercing the night, seeking the blood of the predator.

Suddenly, the branches of a nearby artificial tree shook, their plastic leaves falling to the ground just seconds before a tall, thin, leather-clad man dropped from his perch. He approached slowly, garnet irises searching, ignoring the great bull of a man ready to tear him apart.

"I dunno who you think you are....," shouted Barret, his whole musculature shaking with anger. "But you iced my team! And for that, sucka, you gonna pay!!!" He charged the frail-looking assailant; all three hundred and ten pounds of solid muscle soaring over the pavement aiming to kill on impact.

To Vincent, the man was approaching him far too slowly to effect such an assault. Barret moved with the speed of a donkey; his gait was lopsided, his big chin would be the perfect target. Seconds before impact, the assassin’s feline body arched backwards gracefully, the firm heel of his combat boot sailing upwards to smash into something solid, cracking it loudly and painfully. The leader of AVALANCHE staggered backwards from the stunning blow, wobbling precariously before falling on his back. The white enamel of Barret's shattered molars littered the pavement, glinting like pearls as Vincent continued his search for the third target.

Brushing a few wayward strands of hair from his eyes, the elegant man found him curled up in the foetal position, shaking ferociously at the slow, taunting approach of his executioner. Biggs' eyes clamped themselves shut, and a low, terrified whimper passed through his lips and into Vincent's ears. Vincent's hand reached towards his thigh and unfastened his gun; effortlessly aligning its barrel with a point between his prey's pleading eyes.

For a brief moment, the vampiric-looking man wavered, recalling a time long ago when might've been merciful. Might've. His slender finger pulled back on the trigger, sending a bullet into Biggs' skull. The trembling stopped. And he could go home. Securing his firearm, he walked off deep into the city streets of sector seven, leaving in his wake, three dead and one unconscious.

~*~

The next morning.....in a certain money-power corporation....

"Professor Hojo, his intelligence levels are well into code black!! If we don't take immediate action, your....your......love puppet...will bring down ShinRa. AVALANCHE is peanuts compared to what this man's abilities can do! I order you to have The Turks eliminate him now!" Screamed Rufus Shinra, the young, overly ambitious president of the mega-conglomerate. The blood rushed to his face, turning it a beet red that made a striking contrast to his immaculately clean, white suit.

"How amusing. The young heir believes in the abilities of incompetent boobs who had failed not only to capture the members of AVALANCHE, but also failed to prevent them from blowing up three of Midgar's nine Mako reactors," sighed Hojo, his liquid green eyes staring right through his immature employer. "My operative was able to successfully assassinate the three specialists within AVALANCHE's solitary faction, effectively neutering what little desire they have to insurrect.”

"Don't give me that dreck! I pay you for your research, nothing more!"

"You render me payment for my results, Rufus. Unlike most of your employees, my work actually gets them. Such a shame to lose my services, especially when your company's life is on the line. Dismissed." With that, he swiveled his chair around and waited for the younger man's wing tips to click out of the room, the pneumatic door shutting behind him with a faint "swoosh!" Rocking in his chair, he grinned happily. "Now that I have the little brat feeding out of my hand, the next logical move would be to secure a healthy raise for myself...."

Hojo's delusion was quickly terminated by a pair of pale hands clamping onto the headrest, then spinning him around to face the door, and a pair of blood-red eyes that bored right into his own. The man was on his knees, straddling the desk, wearing a pair of loose-fitting leather shorts and a ShinRa issue "sweater tank top", worn by all the elite in SOLDIER. A set of garter clips splayed across the creamy, flawless marble-white thighs. The man's hair ran down his shoulders like the tendrils of a jellyfish, blowing to and fro in the breeze generated by a nearby fan.

"Boo," he growled deeply, his fingernails digging onto the facial skin of his employer, gouging it painfully. "How will you be paying, Hojo? Paper or plastic?" Vincent snarled in contempt, then raked a nail alongside the tender flesh underneath the scientist's chin, drawing a thin line of blood, which dripped steadily onto the sanitary white of the lab coat. A big droplet spattered Hojo's small photo on the identification badge clipped onto his breast pocked; obscuring the image underneath a veil of red.

"Release me, Vincent, and I will be happy to reimburse you for services rendered," he said behind a thin smile. The assassin’s hands went loose, then mockingly caressed the professor's face as they slid off the emaciated visage. Hojo stood, and walked to one of the wall tiles in his office before sliding his identification through it, causing the tile to swing open. Reaching into the niche, he removed several billfolds each with Rufus Shinra's face imprinted on them and handed the thick wads to his agent. "There you go: five hundred thousand Midgar credits, good at any of our fine retailers. May I suggest that you spend it at...."

"You may not," the killer said plainly, slipping the cash into his vest's many pockets. Vincent's long, raven hair blew across the pallour of his face as he made his way to the window and opened it. Hojo's office looked out over one of the more "scenic" sectors of Midgar, sector five, where, oddly enough, flowers and other plants were able to grow. In particular, the balcony faced an old church, whose cinder-blocked sides were covered with a natural latticework of English ivy; small violet wisteria growing in its soft, waxy tentacles.

"I have another job for you if you're interested."

"Hardly."

"It's an easier one, for twice the cash."

"I looked in your vault when you paid me today, Hojo," Vincent brushed back his hair and glared at his employer. "You're out of cash....and my price range."

"But not gold bullion," he snickered evilly, approaching the young man. "Of course, if you'd like, I could always...." Hojo leaned forward, sliding one arm around the slender waist and entangling his free hand in Vincent's soft mane. "Pay the Turks to do it instead." His salty lips pressed firmly against his employee's, the tongue sliding deeply into his impromptu lover's mouth.

~*~

Meanwhile, in a different part of Midgar, Tifa Lockheart finished applying a small icepack on Barret's bruised and swollen face; it was only two nights ago that the huge, loudmouthed man had staggered into "Tifa's Seventh Heaven", thick blood oozing from his nose and mouth. "Good thing Marlene was asleep," she thought as she pulled a linen blanket over her battered comrade's waist and gave him a quick kiss on the forehead. "She'd never seen her father this hurt before, and she was growing quite close to Jessie, too." Tifa's thoughts momentarily wandered back to the site of the massacre she and Zax cleaned up after they had taken care of AVALANCHE's leader: a spetzner knife's blade deeply embedded into Jessie's back, a small, precise hole right through the centre of Bigg's forehead.....blood spattered everywhere. There were no words between she and the former SOLDIER as they hoisted the bodies into the river.

She couldn't help the tears now, though, which sprinted down her cheeks, leaving angry trail marks of mascara. Chewing on her index finger's knuckle was the only means by which she could muffle her sobbing, her other arm wrapped firmly around her stomach was all too well aware of the wrenching spasms in her diaphragm. Nor could she even dare to look at Barret with the same confidence that she once had; he had been her mentor, trainer, leader, and most of all, her closest friend. Tifa averted her eyes; to see the proud, strong leader of their small resistance group unconscious for two days running broke her heart into little bits.

Suddenly, a slender hand clamped onto her shoulder and squeezed reassuringly. Tifa turned around and looked up into Zax's calm, patiently dark cerulean irises. The Mako energy infused in his system made his eyes glow a brilliant sapphire; his slender features and long, spiky black hair accentuated his natural beauty, making him seem all the more gentle. Zax's eyes flashed with concern as they looked into the tear-filled haze that covered Tifa's eyelids.

"Don't worry, Tifa. Barret's a pretty tough guy, and when he wakes up, he'll be tougher than before," he said, managing a smile for her.

"No he won't, Zax. Just look at him......I've never seen him this bad....and Marlene," she sniffled quietly. "If she sees her father like this....she'll begin to lose faith in his ability to protect her. Barret is all she has left, and to see him fail her....would break her spirits.....she's only seven..."

"The resistance must still go on." Zax's voice was very stern and pointed, a departure from since his voice was usually very deep and very soft. "If we give up now, even though half our team is gone, we've accomplished nothing, Tifa. I called Cloud, and he said he'd come as soon as he can to help us out."

"Don't you get it?! Jessie, Biggs, and Wedge have all been murdered! Without their talents, there is no resistance! There is no AVALANCHE, and there is no fucking hope!!" Tifa screamed, her grief suddenly mingling with her rage towards whatever had knocked her leader out of commission, causing her to strike her teammate's muscular chest futily. "What the hell good is that going to do?!?! You and he may have been ex-SOLDIER, but neither of you is strong enough to take on Shin-Ra, you'd both get slaughtered like....like..." Catching her wrists, he waited patiently for her struggles to subside.

"Damn....she's right....but I'm not going to let her give up so easily....not after all AVALANCHE has done," Zax thought miserably, his body absorbing the shocks of being pummeled by the Banshee of Nibelheim, then catching the chesty young woman as she fell into his arms, sobbing.

"I'm....I'm so sorry, Zax....." Her hands clung tightly to the tank top of his uniform, holding her body close to his, seeking more of his confident embrace. "Once Cloud comes....we'll get those bastard Shin-Ras back for doing this to Barret..."

~*~

Vincent Valentine emerged from Hojo's office five minutes later, a manila folder tucked under his arm as he slid his keycard through the scanner and stepped into his apartment. Living in sector nine had its benefits; since most of the Shin-Ra high-level executives lived there, that entire part of the plate was a corporate protectorate. And where there was Shin-Ra, there was money; for those who could afford to exorbitant cost of the living conditions were privy to luxurious accommodations that were mere fantasies to their fellow Midgarians in the slums.

Placing the folder on his desk, he sighed to himself before sitting down to remove his leather boots. His pale hands tugged firmly on the boots, pulling with all his strength just so his foot could slide more than an inch inside the stubborn article. "Easy on, easy off, for just six-hundred credits, too," Vincent muttered sarcastically. "I should’ve told Hojo to fix these things before I accepted his damn assignment. 'Gold bullion', yeah, right, like he'd pay me with ingots for an operation like this. Still.....," He paused, the implications of his last statement racing through his head just as the last boot slid off. Reaching back, he opened the folder and scanned its contents slowly with a pair of narrowed, crimson eyes.

OBJECTIVES: Recover a set of four security microchips from the wall safe in Rufus ShinRa's office. Be sure to disarm all the security devices (lasers, cameras, and alarms before entering the room and opening the vault).

Paper clipped to the instructions was a large, colour photograph of one of the most obscene portraits Vincent had ever seen. Scarlet was posed nude, save for a pair of red fishnets and stilettos; her ample breasts quite visible as her hand reared back, a cherry-hued lion-tamer whip preparing to strike the celluloid arse of the former Shin-Ra President. An X-ray of the portrait was also attached, through which Vincent's trained eyes could make out the square outline of the safe box. "I'll have to charge him more for wasting my time," he mused as he stood and stripped off his clothing before stepping into the shower, turning the dial to a warm temperature. "And perhaps more after that....to cover for the psych damages from that hideous portrait. Some people just don't know right from wrong."

The hot spray was welcome on his pale, perspiring back as he slid in to the glass enclosure, bowing his head under the water. His raven hair quickly soaked up the liquid, and spilled down his neck and shoulders like black ink on fine writing paper. Sighing pleasurably to himself, Vincent bent down and retrieved a bottle of shampoo, emptying the remnants atop his hair before massaging it into his scalp. He moved to bend back under the spray, when suddenly, he heard a dull thump, like the closing of a door, come from the entrance proper of his apartment. A steady, fearless hand of slender fingers quickly wiped the foam from his hair, then reached for a towel as he stepped out of the shower. Winding the soft terrycloth about his waist, he brushed his dripping hair back over his shoulders and grasped his gun, clicking off the safety mechanism with a flick of his fingertip.

Vincent's feline body slipped from the bathroom and into the dim lights of the bedroom, eyes scanning the immediate area through the night vision-enhanced, laser-guided scope. His chemically augmented ruby irises slid from left to right before catching onto the shadow of a figure standing at the side of his bed. Without a second thought, he dashed up to the figure and jumped, his knees opening wide to take a neck between them, pinning whoever it was to the bed. Vincent pressed the barrel of his gun against a forehead drenched in cold sweat, his gun holding steady as he reached over and clicked on the switch of the bedside lamp to illuminate the nervous visage of Rufus Shinra.

"I've heard of sting operations before, but this is ridiculous. Aren't you a bit young for this line of work, President Shinra?" He taunted, his lips pulling a thin, yet voluptuous smile. "Cutting curfew can't possibly be good for your corporate profile."

"Get your crotch off my face, Vincent. I’m here on business, not pleasure,” he replied, his eyes narrowing in frustration.

“Had I not caught you when I did, you would’ve made off with my unmentionables, like any member of my adoring public” A steady, pale finger pointed to the skimpy briefs, tightly clutched in Rufus’ right hand. “Are you sure this visit is only for business purposes?”

“Erm….I….” He blushed and handed the undergarment to the assassin’s expectant hand. “I…..”

“You’re telling me nothing, Rufus. Here, let me slacken your tongue.” Leaning down, Vincent pressed his palm to the young president’s chest while the other tucked the scanty garment into his pants, his hand lingering between his legs. The vampire looked up, his blood-red irises focusing intently on the aroused expression on the white-suited man’s face; the tip of his tongue flicked out and slid over the edge of his lips, moistening them for a forceful, passionate kiss. The startled response from the feeling of his lips pressing suddenly against Rufus’ liquefied the young president’s lust, made it swim madly within him like a boiling primordial soup.

His young lust caused his manhood to quiver beneath the predatorial touch, erecting itself to a youthful length and girth. Vincent’s fingers slid easily into the boxers, clasping the president’s cock in a silky smooth grip before he began to stroke. Slowly his fingers caressed the manhood, his thumb sliding over the engorged head, then easing back down to tease the shaft. “Do you want this as badly as I do, Mr. President?”

“Yeah……I wanna come so badly…..,” he moaned in response, his hips undulating of their own volition, grinding his impatient sex against Vincent’s patient hand. “Please, Vince…..just lemme come…..”

The raven-haired assassin quickly bent down and took the engorged head into his mouth, swirling his tongue about it, memorising its shape and size. His hand continued to stroke, gripping the burning manhood tighter as it began to tense. A thin, slick line of white soon passed out of Vincent’s lips and trickled down to Rufus’ quivering sac. The young, brash president panted heavily as his hips took complete control of his release. An expert tongue pressed against the tiny slit, opening it wider as more come inundate the hot, insatiable mouth.

A mop of red hair was brushed back, a veil of sweat was wiped off, and a thin, viscous line of pearly liquid was wiped from the corner of a grinning pair of lips. The grin was always shocking to see coming from Vincent’s lips; it spiked upwards at the corners, and if he had bared his fangs, he would look the Chesire Cat. Rufus gave a small, alarmed squeak, and shifted backwards on the bed, tossing a large roll of cash that was caught by a hand with lightning-quick reflexes. A sharp fingernail impatiently slit the band open and filed through the large stack of tan-coloured bills with the Shin-Ra logo emblazoned upon them; one second after he caught the roll, he had counted them all.

“There’s only half here, Shin-Ra. Where’s the rest?” His eyes furrowed, the irises darkening to a malevolent hue.

“We agreed on it, Vincent. Half now, half for later, for when you’ve finished the job.” Scarce was the sentence completed before the president of Shin-Ra companies found his head sandwiched between a pair of strong knees.

“I’m changing the agreement…unless you have a problem with that, Rufus?” Vincent asked in a mocking tone.

“All right….here.” Another roll of bills, thinner than its predecessor, was tossed and caught. “Seventy-five percent now, twenty-five when you’re done and I see results.”

“I’ll leave his head in your briefcase. Just picture it: you, Scarlet, and Heidegger discussing Mako plans and all of a sudden, when you reach into your attaché to produce the pie chart, out comes his noggin! How delightful!”

“Uh-uh.” Rufus zipped his pants and brushed back his hair with a white leather glove as he made his way to the door. “That’s genuine leather; nothing so messy this time, okay Vincent?” With that, the door was shut, leaving a naked Vincent to walk to the open window and lean his elbows to stare at the Midgar plate. Many people called it the steel pizza. The vampire smiled to himself and let the sizeable billfold flap silently in the wind before placing it in a nearby wall safe.

“All right, Rufus,” he whispered, tucking himself into bed and switching off the light. “I won’t be ‘messy’ this time.”

END OF CHAPTER 1