July 25th, 2001

Title: What Would You Do?
Author: Anikka Sedai
Rating: R
Warnings: Language, subject matter
Notes: The first in a series of shorts about the Turks and their pasts. Inspired by What would you do by City High. Rude's POV
Feedback: anikka_sedai@hotmail.com Please write me and let me know if you like it!!! C&C very much welcome
Archive : Sure. Knock yourself out, but let me know okay?
Disclaimers: I don't own squat. One, two, better not sue.



What would you do if your son was at home
Crying all alone on the bedroom floor
Cause he's hungry
And the only way to feed him is to
Sleep with a man for a little bit of money
And his daddy's gone
Somewhere smoking rock now
In and out of lock down
I ain't got a job now
So for you this is just a good time
But for me this is what I call life

It was all too familiar. The smell of chimney smoke and sewage, rank to the point that it burns your nostrils. Squalid stone houses, each identical to its neighbour, lined the unpaved dirt road, a testament to the poor; a reminder of where you were. Wash lines stretched for miles overhead, covered in filthy and torn rags that passed for clothing because it was the best people could do. There was garbage everywhere. It was piled neatly in some places, in out of the way alleys or corners, but some people didn't even bother to try anymore. It was strewn about carelessly, rotting where it lay and buzzing with flies and maggots. And always the sound of children crying. From high up in the windows to down in the streets, it surrounded.

And that was how I knew I was home.

The whole village seemed to hold its breath for a moment when I entered the accursed streets, sizing me up in my new suit and shoes. No one, as I recalled, had ever come here looking so rich, unless it was one of them. I could feel the eyes; the cold, bitter stares that read of various emotions, ranging from contempt to envy. And I remember, only a few months ago, when I used to look at them the same way; wishing that one day I would escape this Hell hole and make a better life for myself, and my family. Everyone had the same delusions, but they seemed to rise and swell whenever they came.

Aspirations ran high when the Shinra came to town, but nobody ever did anything about it. People would talk about leaving, but when they were gone again, reality set in. No one would leave, I used to think, no one could leave.

But that all changed one day. They were only passing through, so they claimed, to get to the underwater Mako Reactor. That's when I saw him, and when I knew that everything would work out. His name was Tseng, and he was one of the Turks. Everyone knew who the Turks were, and every kid old enough to hold a gun wanted to be one. If you could make it there, it was you ticket out; those were too few and far between.

I remember clearly, sitting on the front step with a couple of my friends, when they were coming through. He stopped, and looked directly at me. It was a look so calm, so self assured, that I flinched under it. And Tseng was barely more than a rookie, treading behind the heels of an older man ; Valentine, I thought his name was. Ten times more intimidating, his presence an even stronger force than that cold stare. When he looked at me, I thought my heart had stopped. I was vaguely aware of my friends muttering and slinking away as the lead Turk approached.

There is nothing more terrifying than having Vincent Valentine look you over like he was trying to decide whether he should kill you or not. Tseng stayed back, that look sealed on his face like glue, but the tiniest hint of a smirk pulling at his mouth. Vincent stalked towards me, each step slow and deliberate, until he was only inches away. For a long time he just stood there and said nothing, looking at me.

"What's your name?" he asked suddenly, with a voice like an oiled serpent, slick and deadly.

"Rude," I answered him quickly, trying not to sound like some cowardly kid but failing miserably.

He cocked an eyebrow and his expression shifted slightly. I couldn't really tell if it was amusement or something else. Vincent glanced back at Tseng, then back at me, and without another word he started walking away. Tseng spared a few more seconds, an odd considering look passing that implacable expression, then followed after his leader. It was at that precise moment I knew I had to become a Turk. If I did nothing else in my life, I would wear that blue suit. My friends told me I was an idiot for thinking I would ever make it.

But five months later here I am, back from Midgar, wearing the suit. And in one of the alleys I can see one of the guys who had been sitting on the step with me that day, and he looked every bit as intimidated as I remembered. It felt good to inspire fear within others. It was my privilege to intimidate the masses now. No, it was my right.

At the end of this cesspool of a road, just beside the Shinra elevator, was a wooden shack, not unlike all of the others; small, decrepid, and in sore need of repairs. A rusted screen door nearly fell from its equally rusted hinges onto cracked stone stairs. Thin patches of dull brown and gray weeds - no real grass grew here - pushed vainly through thick mud, greeted by a hazy fog that swept the area in regular patterns. It was filthy and disgusting.

It was my house.

It seemed like forever since I had last been here instead of a couple of months, but I could not wait to see my mother and my brother. They meant the world to me, and I worried about them every day I was away. I never had any way of knowing whether they were safe, especially in this neighbourhood. Like an eager child I hurried home, but as I grew closer I could hear the rising sound of an argument; yelling, swearing, shattering glass.

And when I heard my mother scream I broke into a run.

Ripping the screen door right from its hinges, I froze at the sight before me. Almost in slow motion it happened, as some strange man pulled his hand back and struck my mother across the face while she struggled in his grip. Their was the sound of ripping fabric, coupled with the distinct tone of hand striking flesh. She toppled backwards, nearly knocking a lamp off the table.

"You fucking whore," he spat at her, "Get up and get over here. I don't pay you to fucking talk back."

I lost it.

"GET THE FUCK AWAY FROM HER!!"

A brief look of surprise flashed on his face as I launched myself him, striking out furiously. He fell the the floor with a grunt under my weight, stunned. Without thinking of anything but my mother I started wailing on him with my fists. A smile came to me when I heard the bone in his nose snap as his entire face seemed to explode with blood. He attempted to fight back, of course, but it wasn't getting him anywhere ; I'm a big man, and had him pinned nearly effortlessly. The only thing he managed to do was break my sunglasses, which pissed my off to the point of no return.

"How dare you touch my mother!" I remember yelling, or something to that effect, "I'll kill you for hurting her, I'll kill you!"

And I was prepared to do so, until I felt a hand clamp down on my shoulder and try to pull me off ; it was my mother, and she was yelling and screaming at me to stop it. Brandon, my little brother, chose that moment to wake up, and he cried at the top of his lungs when he saw me fighting with this fucking pervert. A pervert who deserved to die. I hit him in the face repeatedly, until it was a mass of purple and black and red.

Brandon screeched mercilessly while my mother tried to calm him, simultaneously yelling at me to get off of whomever it was I was pummeling. For her sake, and hers alone, I gave him one last shot to the jaw and released him. The man groaned in pain, but managed to get to his feet anyway.

People sometimes tell me I have a rage problem; I never felt more anger when that man grinned at me through a mouthful of bloody teeth. I wanted to rip his head off and shove it into his colon. Instead I settled for a threatening glare, the best scare tactic I'd learned in Turk training. He took in the blue suit, the broken shades, and snorted.

"The high and mighty Shinra," he seemed to spit the company name, "Sending Turks to deal with the whores. That's new."

"Get out," anger seethed in my voice, an almost tangible substance,"Get out now."

"Fine. See you later," he sneered at my mother with a sickly smile, "If you want the money, you know where I'll be. Fucking gutter whore."

I started after him again, but the bastard was too quick for me, and he bolted out the front door. I was tempted to chase him into the street, but one call from my Mom stopped me. I came back inside and stared at her slack jawed, confused as Hell and not knowing what to say. Brandon toddled towards her, red faced from crying.

"What the fuck is going on here? Who the Hell was that?"

My mother yelled at me incoherently while she hushed the baby, trying to get him to sleep and wiping tears from her mascara tracked cheeks. Brandon had stopped crying, and was now settled on the couch clutching a blanket protectively. When she was sure he was all right, she turned a sharp glare in my direction.

"You shouldn't have done that!" she screeched at me heatedly, "I needed that money Rude, Brandon needs new clothes!"

"Fuck mom, is this what you've been doing while I was in Midgar? What happened to all those cheques I sent you? There was more than enough for food and clothes and -"

"There are no cheques," she snapped somberly, rage melting into grief, "He took them. He took every single gil you sent us."

Shock gripped me so tightly I couldn't breathe. None of the money I had sent made it to my mother and younger brother. And in an instant I knew what had happened.

"Dad took the money?" my fists clenched as she nodded in shame, "He didn't give you any of it? Where is he? I'll kill that mother fuc-"

"He's gone Rude," she said calmly, trying to soothe my anger, "He takes off for weeks at a time and comes back when he needs a .... something."

She faltered with her words, perhaps trying to spare herself the shame of admitting something that would only hurt me. I felt like someone had drilled me in the stomach with a two by four. For the first time since arriving I took a minute to really look at my mother. One of the thin straps of her too short, too tight red dress had been ripped in the struggle, but she didn't seem to have the pride left to try and hold it up. Fishnet stockings, also torn, hung like bits of string from overly thin legs; she was so much thinner than when I left five months ago. Her dark brown hair was limp and stringy, a rats nest of tangles and knots. She looked older, wearing a tiredness in her expression that I had never seen before; it scared me.

The next time I see my father, I've decided, I'm going to kill him. My mother had been reduced to whoring herself for food while he probably had enough money to live in one of the fancy hotels in the upper part of Junon.

"Why Mom?" I pleaded for an explanation, sounding like a pathetic little kid, but I didn't care. All I wanted to know was why.

"What else can I do baby?" she said sadly, laying a hand gently on my face, "What would you do, knowing your child was starving and you had no way to support him?"

I struggled to think of something to say to her, so the words tumbled out disjointedly, "I don't know Mom, but this?! There must be something else you can do, anything! Fuck, what would Brandon do if one of these jerks hurt you or gave you some disease or fucking killed you?! What would he do Mom?"

"I do what I have to do," she said firmly, "Brandon is my only priority, and if I have to sacrifice my dignity and self-respect to make sure we'll live another week, then so be it. As long as he's healthy then ... it doesn't matter what happens to me."

"Yes it does," I said with stark disbelief, "How can you say that? I don't want anything to happen to you Mom, you know I love you more than anything."

"I know baby, I know."

I wanted to see her smile, the way she used to when I was a kid and she tried to make me happy. I wanted to reassure her that she would be safe, the way she would when dad came home drunk and angry. A vague memory came to me, of a rainy night and blood and crying, and I felt the rage building inside. She shouldn't have to live this way; no one should.

"It'll be better now mom. I made it into the Turks, and they pay really well. You and me and Brandon, we're all gonna leave this shit hole and move somewhere nice. You won't have to go back to that place anymore, or sell yourself to those men. I'll -"

"No."

The word was spoken so quietly I was scarcely sure she said anything at all. I stopped in the middle of my speech, and stared at her blankly.

"No," she said again, a little bolder than before.

" ... what?"

"I can't leave," she said quietly.

She turned her back to me, refusing to meet my eyes.

"What are you talking about mom, of course you can."

She sighed. I had never seen her look so defeated as she did then, slumped and shaking, struggling to keep back sobs. Without thinking I grabbed my mother by the shoulders and spun her to face me. I had to know why; why she would want to stay here when I know she could be happier. There is too much danger here, and I won't have my mom and my brother living in filth and fear when I have the means to fix it; the bruise around her eye was starting to darken.

"I can't Rude," she said softly, "I have to stay and .."

"And what?" I demanded, raising my voice at her for the first time in a long time, "What fucking reason could you possibly have for wanting to stay?"

I regretted yelling at her so harshly, but I could see understanding flashing in those dull green eyes, the first sign of life in her I'd seen since coming home. Brandon seemed undisturbed by my outburst as he slept peacefully on the couch again. She looked at him, a small smile bringing out the lines around her eyes, and sat next to him; her dress rode uncomfortably high, and I had to repress the urge to break something as she struggled to pull it back down.

"Why?"

"I still love him."

I could only blink at her dumbly as tears began to flow freely from her eyes. She looked so sad, it made me want to destroy him for what he's done to her. I wanted to see him suffer, to see him writhe and scream in agony while I killed him slowly. How could she still love that man, after he beat her and their children. How could she look me in the eyes and tell me that bastard still held a place within her heart.

"No Mom," I shook my head hastily, denying the fact as best I could, "You don't love him. You love the idea of him, of having someone who loves you back. He doesn't care about us Mom, he never has!"

"Don't say that. He is your father, and he loves you -"

"He loves me?? That's bull shit Mom, and you know it. When do you think he loved me more, when he told me I was the milkman's bastard or when he hit me with the belt? Huh, when Mom?"

"STOP IT!" she screamed through her tears, "Just stop it ... please Rude, don't hate him."

"I have to hate him Mom, for what he's done to all of us. If you're to blind to see that, then I have to for your sake, and for Brandon. I don't want him to grow up in the same kind of house that I did. I can have you put into some kind of relocation program if he's threatened you or something. Please Mom, let me help you."

She wiped the tears away with determination, staring me straight in the eye as if she were preparing to defend her argument to the death. She had always been a strong woman, stubborn and willed, and it almost made me happy to see her so passionate about something.

"I can't accept you're help Rude. I'm your mother, and you know I love you, but I still have some pride, so I have to deal with this my way. And if that means selling myself to some stranger for a few gil, then I will. He'll be back one day, I know he will, and he'll have come to his senses. I know he will."

"Do you hear yourself Mom? Please, you're not making any -"

"You don't understand honey, but listen to me, please? I want you to do something for me. I ... I want you to walk out of that door and forget all about us. I want you to live your own life. You're making more money in a day now than anyone in this place has ever seen in a life time. All I can do for you now is to set you free from this world. You don't belong here, and all I've ever wanted is for you to be happy. You ... you're not welcome here anymore."

"What?!"

"You heard me," she said quietly, "I don't want to see you in this house ever again. Forget about us and go. It's the only thing I can do for you now baby, a clean break. Forget me, forget everything. We are not your responsibility anymore. Please, just go ... for me?"

If it were physically possible for her to have reached into my chest and rip my heart out, it would have been less painful than that. My own mother was telling me that she never wanted to see me again. Maybe she was trying to spare me something, like coming back to find her riddled with diseases and dying, but right now I can't see how anything good can possibly come from this. How can she ask me to abandon them?

She grabs me and wraps those thin arms around my neck in a fierce hug. There is a desperate feeling behind it, one that I would rather have never felt in my entire life, but one I could not deny. She said she loved me, no matter what, and I believed her. My mother would never lie to me. When she released me finally, her hands rested on my face for a moment while she studied me like she was trying to memorize what I looked like.

"You really are a handsome boy," she said with a sad smile, "I'll bet all the girls in Midgar love you."

I returned her smile with a shaky one of my own. I didn't want to disappoint her.

"Yeah."

"I thought so. You look just like your father did when I met him."

For an instant I wished that my shades hadn't been broken, else my mother would not have seen the look of pure contempt that flashed in my eyes. I gently took her hands and slid them off of me, and she seemed to understand why. She looked away, holding back whatever tears would fall until after I left.

My eyes drifted to the broken sunglasses on the floor. Something inside of me refused to believe that this would be the last time I would ever stand inside this house ; the last time I would ever see my family. How would I ever be able to forget them? I looked at my mother again, but all that met me was an indifferent glance. She really wanted me to leave. And if it would make her happy to know that I was safe, then I had no other choice.

Slowly, and with all the will I possessed, I started for the door.

"Goodbye baby. I love you."

I paused for a moment, thinking.

"I love you too Mom."

"And Rude?"

"Yes Mom?"

"Don't send any more money."

Leaving the broken sunglasses on the floor, turned my back to them and left. The stench of the streets hit me like an angry torrent of rain, but I hardly noticed it. The wary stares and whispers caught at my senses as I trudged through the mud, but I blocked them from my mind. My fists clenched an unclenched, knuckles aching from force; I willed the lump forming in my throat the disappear, and refused to let myself cry. I would not cry for him, for what he's done to us. I won't ever give him that satisfaction. Ever. But I knew my mother had made her decision, and I wouldn't be able to change her mind. A long time ago, it seemed, she had condemned herself to this Fate, and had accepted it. I wouldn't be there the next time one of those men got violent.

The memory of Tseng's cement expression and Vincent's detachment to human life suddenly came back to me. How can I be like them? How can I learn to become unfeeling, to shut off every outside influence so nothing can hurt me? I have to forget, for her sake. I'll never let anyone hurt me again.

What else can I do?