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20 March 2005 @ 05:13 pm
oh, tell me, can you heal what father's done?  

It wasn't normal for him to ever get injured on duty, but, then again, he wasn't perfect. Then again, he didn't expect his target to have a hoard of bodyguards swarming the complex. All in all, the mission was a success, but, then, why the reason for this impromptu meeting with the man that, "ruled the world?"

It must be to discuss the little injury he encountered on the job. Or was it a conversation of how obselete he was becoming? No doubt, the latter would be the topic of conversation during this little trip to Jack Shinra's office. Tseng could feel the sting in his right shoulder from the exit wound as he padded, softly, up the stairs. His heels reverberated in the narrow hallway; his destination was in plain view, and soon his pace settled to a quiet stride.

The office was all but silent, the hard leather soles sounding from outside his door. Jack had been waiting a while now. Quite a while. He stood at the window, looking over his domain, a careless glass of red wine in his hand. The city was his, whether it wanted to be or not and everyone knew that. Anyone who rebelled would soon enough been remedied. That was the real problem at hand. Yes, it was. He could hear the heels slow and stop just outside the door, probably speaking to the secretary about the nature of his visit. Come in, said the spider to the fly. Come into my web.

Tseng entered without a word. The door closed, almost silently, behind him before he folded his arms behind his back. He bit his lip from making any sort of noise concerning the wound in his shoulder; it would just create a bigger problem than he currently needed. Instead, he just bowed his head, allowing small strands of ebony to cascade into his face.

It wasn't as if he didn't have all the time in the world. Quite the contrary, he had as much time as he wanted or needed, and as such, he ignored Tseng, allowing him to stand there bowing until noticed. He knew about the injury already. Evidence, blood evidence, had been found at the scene that didn't match any of the victims. It was a dead giveaway that Tseng had recieved some sort of blow, be it a bloody nose or spilled entrails. He was sure whatever it was hurt the Turk to move, and at current, he was smug and satisfied to let it scream in pain at the silent man.

After a miniature eternity, Jack turned, once more approaching his desk, walking to it casually and sitting down as if nothing was amiss. He swirled his wine with the same amount of nonchalance, then sipped it, ice-chip eyes turning up toward Tseng. The leader of the Turks was his prize, his weapon. His. It was such a delicious, if normal, feeling. He did own everything, after all. If there was any exception, it was Wutai. But this man was no longer in Wutai. He owned him, then, as well.

The wound was beginning to grasp his attention. It was a cycle alternating between burning ache and stinging pain; yet, he still held that emotionless countenace of his in front of his superior. He could not give the man in front of him any sign of agony. He was a Turk afterall, and Turks weren't allowed to feel pain. So, in silence he stood, head bowed a bit lower than before. Tseng could feel those cold orbs upon his form, causing him to mentally shiver.

The satisfaction had peaked. Jack set down his glass, pulling his plush chair to the desk. "Tseng of the Turks..." he rumbled, amusment at the title a little obvious, curling the last word derogitorily. He hardened instantly, brows dipping, furrowing slightly. "Leader of the Turks, yes? The best assassin I own? That is you if I'm not mistaken, isn't it?"

"Yes." Brief answers were always better in this type of situation. Tseng straightened his back and bowed, slightly, to the other man. Tseng lifted himself back up, making sure not to make visual contact with the President. His teeth dug into his lip as the wound yelped at him.

"You are well known in this company for being efficient above all others in matters that you are assigned, correct? There is none better than you? The A-Class missions are assigned to you and no other? Am I correct in my assumptions?" He was getting accusatory in his tone, now. It should be becoming clear his problem with the Turk. Painfully clear.

"All you say is perfectly accurate Sir." Tseng lifted his head to lock eyes with Jack Shinra. He showed no defiance in those cold eyes of his, only complete understanding of the situation at hand. He could feel his own eyes twitching from the crying wound. It was a sensation he had gotten used to over the years of being Turk.

"Then why did I have to bribe the press silent? Why was it that someone suggested that this wasn't a random act of violence but instead my own doing? Why was your blood found on a bullet at the scene of the crime?" Jack had stood, slamming a meaty fist onto the desk, his other raising a sausage-like finger to point accusingly at the Turk. "If you are my assassin taking care of my opponents and defiants, why are you the one suffering?!" It was almost a roar. He wasn't above threatening the Turk. He wanted him to know that, and well. He would leap the desk and bury him in the carpet if he so chose. It wasn't the time for diplomacy.

"I was misinformed; the document said that the individual would be-"

"You should have been prepared for anything!" he spat, growl coming to his voice. Jack Shinra was a brute of a man, all in the perfect guise. "You should have been ready for anything, regardless of the documents provided on the target! With this, you might as well have dropped your useless carcass at the scene to point more toward me than you already have!"

"My apologies." Tseng, with thought and care to his shoulder, knelt upon the floor. His head was lowered, even more than before. He made a mistake and he knew punishment was coming his way.

"Are you a DOG? Are you snuffling on the floor for a REASON?" His face was becoming red with anger, worn and roughened skin ruddying with every curse within him. He knew the customs. This was Midgar. This was not Wutai. This was not where Tseng could be forgiven. This was Jack's territory.

Tseng placed a hand on his knee and pushed himself from the floor. Again, his arms were behind his back, but his head had been lifted. His eyes held the same professionalism they always held, even when facing such shame as he was now. "I am just showing respect-"

"And do you think that will stop anything I have to say about you, anything I want to do with you, whatever it is that I do with failures?"

Tseng said nothing; he couldn't say anything. He was a failure, nothing more and nothing less. He, like before, was a pitiful defect to this society. All he could do was close those eyes of his and wait.

"There is a unique balance we have here at Shinra Incorporated..." The brute began walking, his own arms folding behind his back. He took a few steps, face cooling. "...it happens to be between fear and desperation. The people hate me, they would do anything for their previous lives without monopoly. That is where the fear arrives. You need to silently kill, be a myth, a legend, a shadow in the night. You Turks are supposed to be a flawless unit. You viciously rend whosoever rises against me." He stopped, eyes slanting dangerously at Tseng. He had closed the distance between them as he spoke, attention now focused completely.

With startling speed, the Turk was caught, chin crushed in thick fingers. He was pulled forward, off balance, into Jack's sneering face. "And yet the very epitomy of the Turks, what they are supposed to be, their idol, leader, example should be better off as ROADKILL!" With just as swift a motion, the red-clad man threw Tseng away, to the ground, expressionless eyes following him to impact.

He could feel his teeth drag against each other once he hit the floor. The wound, now plenty open, gushed across his suit. He could feel the warm liquid spread across his back and chest like extended fingers against his skin. Tseng placed his left hand against the floor to try to push himself back onto his feet. Instantly, he knew he had made another mistake. The wound oozed through taut skin, causing a soft grunt to escape his nostrils.

There was a feral hunger in his eyes, a predatory gaze down on his subordinate. Such a wound was unacceptable. He wouldn't be able to use a gun with that arm for quite some time and hand-to-hand combat was ridiculously out of the question. He swooped on him, twisting a hand into his raven-coloured locks. His neck craned back at an odd angle, Jack noted smugly, his face once more within inches of the blonde's.

"What good are you with a wound like that anyway. You haven't turned out any worthy Turks, have you? You are the only one worth anything to this company, and this is the work you do. You'd better find a replacement soon, because while you may have to wait to do the missions, my missions will not wait for you. You will not get near a gun or blade until you are completely healed and reevaluated for accuracy and ability..." He paused, the exotic smokey smell about Tseng's hair catching in his nose. "...is that perfectly clear?"

"Yes sir.." His voice cracked against the strain from his hair. Tseng gently swallowed back the glob of saliva that had been stuck in the back of his throat. Taking in a deep, ragged breath, he opened his eyes to stare at the man he called his "superior."

Jack held him only a moment more before casting him aside and back onto the floor. As easily as before, he turned and went back to his desk, sitting down just like he had, taking up his wine. He swirled it, smiffed it, sipping the edge of the glass.

"Dismissed."
 
 
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