Bloodline

        He reached toward the nightstand
for a bottle he knew wasn't there.  All the same, he felt the instant
need for more liquor.  That man.  That man again, in his dreams,
that he had--he shivered.  What the fuck was wrong with him? 
Why couldn't he shake such a sick vision?  He was a fucking lady killing,
sharp shooting, deadly and dangerous bastard, dammit.  He needn't
be dreaming of that... chrome creature.  He didn't really want that. 
He couldn't possibly really want that.

        Aggravated, he cursed himself
for not loading up with free booze from the night before.  The bar
was all his, and he should have taken something with him.  He'd sobered
up way too fucking fast last night.

        He drew his palms up and
down his face several times with a grunt.  What a morning.  He
might have actually felt better with a hangover.  Anything but a dream
like that.  It wasn't even that fucking good, really.  It was
just a dream about what had happened the night before; only in the dream,
he hadn't been alone.  He'd woken up with the image of that man grinning
up at him knowingly, a trickle of his blood falling from the corner of
his cold metal lips...

        He growled, violently throwing
the covers off and getting up.  This was not what he wanted to think
about.  Not after all of that.  He ought to be as embarrassed
as all hell to have been jerking off in a deserted bar after his girlfriend--the
love of his fucking life--dumped him.  To another guy. 
He ought to be more than embarrassed, he ought to be ashamed.

        With that thought taunting
him, he took a quick, cold shower.  He didn't even feel himself shivering,
too busy trying to keep the vision away from his head.  Instead, he
was going over slow and deliberate ways to kill Hojo.  One thought
lead to a worse, and he'd hoped that eventually there would come a point
at which there could be no worse so he would be able to decide upon that. 
Sure Shin-Ra would decide they had no use for him anymore, but they'd have
to fucking
catch him first.  Though he'd likely be kicked out
of the Turks, as well.  They could
handle him as he was.  They
could handle him killing Hojo, and maybe even gutting Lucretia.  But
if he tied them to something like strangling a man with his own intestines,
there may be second thoughts regarding the safety of the rest of their
organization.

        He toweled off, wondering
how in the hell he'd slept through his alarm.  The window in the bathroom
was letting in early afternoon light.  Not that it mattered, really. 
He was probably more or less expected to show up late, if at all.

        Fucking nightmares. 
Granted that this particular one had been more pleasant than most others,
but it was the idea of the thing that so bothered him.

        He realized that he was
still obsessing about that dream--about that impossible man that had caused
all of this.  He suddenly wished the silver bastard were real
so he could beat the shit out of him.
Ah, but that's not what
you would really do to him, is it?  That unwanted, unruly part
of his mind insisted.

        He couldn't take this. 
He got dressed quickly and left, out the door with as much rush as possible. 
If he got to work quickly, he'd be either too distracted or too bored to
care about this shit.  Not wanting at all to deal with cabbies on
that of all mornings, he simply walked, spending an hour and a half navigating
the streets.  Navigating the whores and dealers was made easier by
the fact that not only was he recognized as a Turk, but a very pissed off
Turk.

        It wasn't bad time, frankly. 
He was worn the hell out by the time he walked into the building, getting
a number of curious glances--but their eyes darted away as soon as they
fell.  They knew better.  And no doubt some had heard of Lucretia's
new choice.

        He stormed into the room
that he'd come to know as his "office".  The Turks didn't really keep
offices, they simply inhabited a room they liked until they trashed it,
or simply stopped liking it.  Then they'd move on to another room
with a better view, or maybe closer to the bathroom.  Whatever felt
appropriate at the time.  Truth be told, he didn't have a fucking
thing to do.  No one was being a menace to the President of late,
so he wasn't really
needed.  And it's not like he'd be sneaking
off to see that bitch anymore.  Back to the bar?

        Nah.  it might prove
more fun (and more distracting) to wander around Shin-Ra headquarters. 
He'd heard stories of all sorts of weird shit going on.  It killed
time before lunch.  Oh, what the hell, it was almost lunch already. 
He'd grab something to eat first, then wander.

        On second thought, fuck
food.  Hojo was more than likely around.  Now that would be quality
entertainment.

 

        Stepping in with only the
most absolute silence, each breath carefully measured and perfectly timed,
he found the outer room of the laboratory empty.  Almost a shame,
really.  But then, it did grant him the opportunity to go over some
of the paperwork.

        The corners of his lips
pulled wickedly, changing direction for the triple-enforced steel panels,
behind which held drawers full of information that Hojo didn't even inform
the President about.  And those electronic locks?  Ah, child's
play--from his inside pocket, he pulled a tiny device, pressed it quickly
against the metal an inch from the lock, and pressed a button.  The
familiar buzz and beep of success sounded, and his expression became a
self-assured sneer as he pocketed the device with equal ease.

        Ah, this was so going to
piss Hojo off.  What a glorious thought the look on the man's face
would be... he almost chuckled in spite of himself.  Instead, he checked
his breathing to remain as silent as possible, his fingers sliding cautiously
over the metal to find the pressure point--there it was.  A soft press
was all it took to get the simplistic spring device to release the panel,
letting it fall open like a door.  Behind the panel were six drawers,
none of them labeled.  What fun.

        Picking his first drawer
with a childhood nursery rhyme, he pulled the recessed handle forward. 
Smoothly toward him slid hundreds of classified, categorized documents,
each pristinely kept in plastic coated folders.  It took a great deal
of his will not to let out a laugh of triumph as he pulled one randomly
selected folder... letting the contents of it fall onto the floor. 
Then again.  And another.  And another.

        Simple minds... he
reminded himself, not at all caring.  It was the little things that
etched into the madness of the doctor.  And how he would enjoy making
as big a mess as he possibly cou--

        A name on a piece of paper
caught his attention instantly.  Lucretia Loire.  His
eyes narrowed on the page, then moved to the folder still in his hand with
the label Jenova Project: Initial Research.

        His heart must have skipped
a beat.  Maybe more.  He felt a pain in his chest of which was
some combination of being stabbed and being punched--but it fell away into
dizzying numbness.  Picking up the page that had called his attention,
he read.

        Halfway down the page, his
eyes widened.  "This can't be right..." he didn't even know he was
speaking his ranging thoughts.  If this report in his hands was accurate...
he threw it down, darting off in the direction of the inner lab, where
all of the actual experiments took place.  If that piece of paper
were right...

 

        There he was, that
little rodent.  Leaning over a desk with some sort of tube to his
right and a microscope in front of him.  No doubt he'd just come back
from torturing some innocent creature under the guise of protecting the
President.  Well, this was the last time he'd be silent in the matter. 
"So.  There you are."

        Hojo pretended for a long
moment not to have heard him, rather taking his time with his latest experiment
than answering to a lowly Turk.  Especially that one. 
After finally having accomplished all he could, he only glanced over his
shoulder.  "And what do you want?  Can't you see I'm busy?"

        "Yeah, I see that." 
The taller man actually let himself drawl confidently.  Hell, there
was even a bit of a swagger in his walk, his hands comfortably in his pockets
as he approached closer.  "I have an issue with you."

        The doctor huffed quietly,
looking back into the microscope.  "So we have something in common
after all."

        With a mild growl, the Turk
shot forward and grasped the scientist's hair, pressing his head down until
the tension was obvious; just a little bit further, and that eye would
never look through a lens again.  "I want to know what you're doing
with Lucretia."

        Pissing the other man off
even more with his seeming indifference to the possibility of losing an
eye, he made a snickering attempt at laughter.  "Please, Mr. Valentine." 
His voice was edged with false concern.  "I have no idea what you're
talking about."

        Enraged, the Turk yanked
the man's head back, away from the microscope, nearly pulling him out of
the chair.  "That is my unborn child you're experimentwithwith!"
he accused, dropping his hand from the doctor's hair in favor of being
ready to grasp his pistol...

        Hojo cackled heartily. 
"You are too blind to be a part of your precious organization of miscreants." 
He verbally struck, looking terribly cocky even with a watering eye. 
"You think it is your child she carries?"

        His whole body seemed to
lose feeling.  For one moment in time, sound did not seem to exist. 
He felt like he might vomit, or worse...  Had she been with Hojo long
enough to have--

        His thoughts were crashed
to the ground by sudden glint of a pistol... that was not his.  He
looked uncertainly at the barrel, thinking that there was no way the little
weasel would actually shoot... but the look in the other man's eyes said
different.&nbss bls blatantly stupid as he thought the scientist was...
he was holding the gun, with purpose.

        Before there was any chance
to voice the multitude of questions and curses, the room echoed with the
roar of the pistol.  "Fuck!" he cried, the pain of getting
shot tearing through every nerve.  "Hojo, you--you fucking..." 
Blood gushing, shock setting in, consciousness slipping...  The last
image before black was that goddamn smirk on that bastard's lips...

 

        Swirling, jittery, all encompassing
darkness.  It was so... fuzzy.  Dreary, but warm.  Almost
like a good sleep you had no desire to get out of... but something in the
back of his mind urged him forward, like some nightmare beast was waiting
behind him to strike unless he sat up--

        Searing pain sparked throughout
his body.  Oh yes, he felt his flesh again in a sudden burst of agony
and adrenaline.  Why was it so cold in here?  Come to think of
it... where was "here"?

        The pain slowly gave way
to pins and needles, all of his body tingling as though it had lost circulation
for several minutes.  He tried to sit up in the midst of it, finding
his muscles not quite ready to support him as he thudded back down.

        Wait--what had that been? 
He remembered lying on a floor... for what reason, he wasn't able to remember. 
But now it seemed he were laying on something metal.  At least, it
rang when he'd hit his head on it.  Come to think of it, it felt like
metal, too--

        What was that awful noise? 
It had sounded like fingernails across a chalkboard, when--

        There it was again. 
But only when he moved the fingers on his left hand.  How very odd. 
He swallowed, realizing only then that his eyes had been closed all that
time... how strange.  That wasn't natural, not for him.  Upon
opening them, he gazed upon... a dimly lit ceiling.  Well.  Nothing
to write home about.  Regarding that noise, however... he tested his
left hand one more time, getting that same squealing from it as he pulled
his fingers across the metal underneath him.  It felt like lifting
a whole human, trying to get his arm above him to see--

        "My arm..." he whispered
in horror.  There wasn't any flesh there anymore.  It was metal--gold
colored metal with claws at the end of it.  But... but he could
feel
it there.  It wasn't at all like a prosthetic, it was...  Fighting
against the effects of seemingly far too much gravity, he ran his flesh
hand up the artificial one from wrist to elbow and felt the touch
through it.

        In that instant, everything
came flooding back to him.  From his own name to the very second that
all had gone black, it hit him like a physical force.  Only one thing
could have happened... only one man could have turned him into this. 
The simple knowledge seemed to shatter the excess weight of his limbs,
waking him up completely.

        "What did you do to me,
you bastard?" he asked breathlessly, unable to scream it.  Both hands
were shaking now, his entire body tense with the fear of not knowing. 
He put his flesh hand to the side of his face, an unconscious motion that
only served to discover how long his hair had grown.  Almost calmly,
he inspected a length of it, taking note that it didn't exactly grow quickly
even when he'd taken to eating healthy.  And here he saw it was clearly
shoulder length... how long had he been here?

        "Mr. Valentine."  He
heard, somewhere behind him.

        That fucking Hojo. 
He'd meant to demand what the living fuck had happened to him, but
a sudden and all-encompassing anger got there first.  He bolted upright
and flung himself from the table in one motion, then thrust the scientist
into the nearest wall, not giving a damn what happened to him at that point. 
An overwhelming survival instinct even stronger than the one he remembered
like an old flame kicked in, and he ran for it.  If all of
this had already happened to him, there was no telling what else Hojo had
planned.

        He ran through the outer
lab and toward the nearest exit on wobbly legs, not bothering to slow down. 
Weak or not, at least his legs worked.  As he passed chamber
after chamber full of what were undoubtedly the scientist's own creations
of odd blue mists and disturbing sounds of gurgling--choking--he had a
chance to recall Hojo's appearance.  Had that been a touch of gray
in his black hair?  Dear gods, if it had been...

        No time to think of that
now.  He saw the end of the science sector just up ahead and immediately
knew where he was.  It would be a trick to get out without getting
spotted, but he hadn't lost any of his instinct.  If anything, a general
paranoia made it all the easier to stay out of sight.

        Back against the wall, he
slid easily and quietly into a corridor (in part thanks to the cheap and
unnatural fabric of whatever military grade crap he was wearing). 
Picking up his pace, his mind stopped racing only to reflect on what to
do should anyone see him.  He had no weapons, and certainly he must
look like an awful freak... though perhaps now was not the time to care. 
Regardless of how long it may have been, his senses all felt as though
he'd only slept a few hours, if that.  He remembered how to slither
through the more abandoned places, trying to find the best way out. 
Once he was safely outside the compound, away from the past, then he could
figure out what to do next.

        Coming around another corner,
carefully sliding once more against the wall, some feeling gripped
him.  He tried to pull back, unfamiliar with that particular instinct,
but his body would not obey.  Perhaps that was because of what his
eyes had unwittingly focused upon.

        No... it couldn't... 
Oh dear gods, it was him.  It was that chrome creature of his
dreams... his very nightmares.  He could not control himself, he could
not hold onto this; when he realized the gleaming metal man was real, and
walking in his field of vision--like a fucking kid.  Like a
fucking horny fifteen-year-old, right there in his fucking one-size-too-big
pants.  That, somehow, was much more embarrassing than having found
the man of cold silver so gorgeously attractive that there was no denying
his obsession anymore.

        He had to leave.  He
had to remove himself  now.  Shin-Ra be damned, Hojo be
damned; he had to clean up and get a hold of himself as far away as he
could possibly go.  Dashing the other direction and down a different
hallway, he hardly cared if someone were to see him.  There were worse
things than that.

 

        It hadn't taken long... but
he'd made certain it took long enough.  There was no way he'd have
been able to sneak out of Shin-Ra headquarters without his mind fully there. 
It had taken a lot of nasty thoughts and a complete miracle of will, but
he'd done it.  Having left all of what had just occurred behind, he
was able to take off through a back door that some clumsy employee hadn't
sealed tightly enough for the alarm to sound.  What luck--and he would
not deny that he needed as much of that as he could get.

        The sky was dark with the
middle of the night when he'd finally emerged.  For that, he was unendingly
grateful.  It made it all the easier to step into the shadows and
pretty much disappear.  Pulling his unnatural arm out of its shirt
sleeve, he tucked it tightly against his abdomen.  Easier to be seen
with what appeared to be no arm than whatever the hell this thing was.

        Relatively comfortable weaving
through the corporate wasteland (Glad to see that hasn't changed,
he smirked), he allowed himself thought over the last several minutes. 
Or several years, for all he knew.  Regardless of being perfectly
aware that he ought to be planning the slow and painful death of a certain
scientist, his mind kept going back to that man of chrome...

        A thought.  The cold
metal man had worn the SOLDIER insignia, hadn't he?  Granted, things
being as they were, that he wasn't completely able to tell considering
the moment... but he was pretty sure.  His photographic memory couldn't
have depleted much if his instincts were still sharp.

        What a horrific, disgusting,
wicked idea.  But it's not like he had anything else to do now, was
it?  This was definitely one step better than going back to terrorize
a bartender for a drink.  Maybe even one step better than shooting
Hojo's genitals off, little by little.  With barely a change in direction,
he had a purpose--to find the SOLDIER living area.

 

        All he really knew was the
general location of the SOLDIER buildings--finding a castle-like tower
in the midst of one of the outer ones was quite the shock.  Not to
mention how close the compound had come to the rest of the city. 
Hell, they were right next to each other now; the only way to tell what
was inside the "top secret" camp and the rest of the buildings in the corporate
sector was a razor wire fence and a slight change in which tone of gray
was used.

        That tower, however... something
twitched hard, deep in his gut.  He had the immediate, persistent
urge to climb up and peer in that lit window, three stories up.

        He gave that idea pause
for thought.  Not because it was utterly fucking ridiculous, but because
he just wasn't sure how to...  Aha!  Of course--only a few yards
away from the window was the balcony of some long-dead company building. 
Perfect.  And simply very easy to wander into a building with no working
security system.

        Three flights of rickety
stairs felt like hardly a leap.  He was simply too wound, too ready,
needing to reach that balcony, needing to see what was thatthat lit window as if all of the universe could depend upon that one moment
in time, bursting through the third story balcony doors, letting the already
cracked glass fall over him with no feeling, no concern for the shards--

        Yes.  Ah, yes. 
Through the window... it was a SOLDIER's quarters.  And the man inside... 
That was him alright.  No mistaking the chrome creature, sitting at
the end of the cot to pull his boots off.  He certainly must
have been important to have had a living space looking like that, all to
himself.  Top ranking, to say the least.

        At that moment, the size-too-big
pants felt a hell of a lot more restrictive.  Part of him, a small
voice in the back of his head, screamed at him.  It told him what
he was thinking of doing was sick.  Disturbed.  Fucking disgusting. 
But that little part of his mind was pinched out of existence like a gnat.

        Watching... so intently...
he sat at the edge of the balcony, right between the fallen portions of
guard rail for a better look.  Moving as slowly a cou could force
himself, in measured motions, he released himself from the pants just enough
for an easy reach.  This... this was a moment of... of so much...

        It hurt so much but felt
so good that there were tears in his eyes.  Fucking tears in
his eyes that he had to wipe away so he could see that silver creature
through the window--slowly undressing.

        The Turk's jaw went slack. 
The gorgeous man was actually beginning to take off his clothes, completely
unaware of what was going on just outside.  Oh fuck, oh gods, oh sweet
surrender--this creature, this man was removing his jacket in unconscious
motions of elegance...

        All the times Lucretia had
taken off her lingerie, smooth and sweet like some clean and beautiful
personal slave girl, he'd never been this utterly driven.  He'd never
been that turned on before--by any act, any thought, any sight or any description--by
anything.  It was scary.  It was nightmare scary.

        But he was too far gone
to care.  His eyes were tracing the creature's defined chest, wondering
what it would be like to draw his s dos down them with a light touch. 
The flesh was moon pale but so completely beautiful, occasionally draped
with silky locks of silver.  How he desired to stroke that silver
hair before grasping a handful and yanking his head back...

        He closed his eyes and slowed
down, not wanting anything close to a repeat of hardly mere hours ago,
seeming further away in time than it really was.  He wanted to build
until there was nowhere left to climb, until he couldn't possibly go on. 
And imp importantly, he wanted to be able to enjoy
all of this
for as long as his will could hold out.

        Next in the window came
the left glove.  Slowly, almost lazily, it was peeled off the skin. 
That same milky whflesflesh gazed back at him, the fingertips somehow so
masculine and strong but so feminine and delicate at once.  It was
overthrowing all of his senses, making him imagine what running a hand
up those arms might feel like.  The glove was tossed to a chair and
the other one was pulled off like a lady might do after a long day, fingers
first.

        The voyeur bit his lip and
tried to slow his breathing and strokes once n, fn, feeling far too close
to the highly desired edge.  He'd seek it soon enough.  He had
to know, just had to--his breath hitched instantly as one of those delicate,
pale thumbs edged its way just under the waistband of the chrome man's
leather pants.  It seemed like an eternity passed in the seconds it
took for that button to release; a million years before the zipper was
pulled down, tooth by tooth.

        A desperate cry escaped
the Turk, but he stifled it with a bleeding bite to the lip.  He didn't
think he'd be able to take the anticipation, that moment so sweet and beautiful
that he had to force his eyes closed to blink the tears away.  It
was most certainly obsession, and that was alright with him.  As long
as he got to see, as long as he got to view--

        Fuck!  Fuck, no! 
But it was something that could not be helped.  He cried out
despite the bleeding lip, despite every ounce of his well trained and heavily
disciplined being trying to keep him quiet and in the shadows. 
It was too good, too much, and he'd fallen over the edge of that delicious
precipice with the sheer
anticipation of what was to come. 
He gave in eagerly, though a little disappointed.  He was certain
that particular orgasm, which had officially beaten out the one (of what,
years? decades?) before of the best he had ever had in his
life, took so long that he wouldn't be able to catch a glimpse of
anything once he finally came to.

        When his eyes at long last
opened, his whole body still sng fng from the experience, that awful thing
called the rational mind suddenly clicked into play.  Shit. 
The elegant creature was no longer in the room.  The leather pants
were nowhere to be found laying about, either.  He hadn't spotted
him on the balcony, had he?  No, not possible.  He was facing
the other direction, going off into the other room.  There was no
way.

        Regardless of his fears
being put to rest, he knew he had to get the hell out of there, fast. 
Someone else could spot him and have him reported.  Maybe jerking
off in a bar wouldn't have raised any eyebrows back then, but doing so
as a transformed monster on the ledge across from Shin-Ra's pride and joy
SOLDIER was a different matter entirely.

 

 

        Well... was it worth the
wait?  Will it be worth the wait for the third and final installment?
*grin*