A/N: Short, quick, Reno fiction. Beware, Strong Language.

Disclaimer: I do not own Final Fantasy VII.


What?

What?

You got something to say?

Cause you keep staring

at my face.

What?

You think I'm a disgrace?

Someone who is a waste of space?

You don't have a

fucking clue do you?

A pansy-assed bastard like you.

You don't know what

I have to go through.

What was that?

Did I ask for your sympathy,

your pity, your empathy?

No?

Then shut the hell up.

God, I am so sick of you.

Actually, there is something

I wanna say to you.

Get.

The.

Hell.

Out.

Of.

My.

Friggin.

Face.

I never asked for your opinion.

Never wanted to be looked down on by you...

I'm a Turk.

It's my job.

If you can't get that through

your thick head,

then good night to you.

Cause the next time

I'm gonna probably see you,

you'll get a close up view of the light.

You'll be so filled with fright.

You're gonna beg for your life.

Why?

Cause you're about to die.

How do I know?

I am a Turk.

That's my job.

That's my crappy excuse.

What's your excuse

for your fucked up life?