Max Velocity

Chapter 2

A/n: Sorry about the lag, had some writer's block and got a cold. I'm back, still sick, but back for all it's worth. And here's chapter two, a flash chapter but it's something.


There was a subtle strength in waiting. Refinement could lace the stationary, certainly it suffused those "quiet" moment that the Continental so despised. Hardly Continental he swept from his of office polished shoes clopping across carpet. One turn of the knob, a push later and he exchanged the opulence of his division's floor for the squalor of another. The sound of grit and filth under his feet was ineffably; the sensation though a sole divided it between his flesh was enough to cause his jaw to clench. Thus, teeth bared in what was not a smile, he took the stairway that bound Shinra to earth and earth to Shinra.

A few turns, a cursory glance about, confirmed what he'd expected. No white clad VP lounged indulgently, days "crossed" in some pre-adolescent surge of laziness. Accelerating his pace form a professional walk to a clipped run, he took a few more turns, ascended some more. The VP was not about. Only with hellish effort of will did he refrain from calling out. Forged the dubious pleasure of indulging in the cliché, he refrained from cupping his hands about his mouth and hollering after someone who wasn't there.

So, thus forgoing he turned on his heel, retraced his steps at a dead run. Pulling open the door he stared blankly at the hall he didn't expect, cursing himself for a fool he slammed that door, and with the echoes of closing pounding about him he looked up a flight than down a flight. Unthinking, he'd pounded up more turns than a few, his building panic had blurred the details. Leviathan only knew where he was now.

Seventy stories, plus a grandiose basement level that scythed from first plate all the way to the earth to sink miles below the very crust of Gaia. There he stood, in the unadorned throat that bound Shinra Tower to earth, and dove through the earth itself.

The words he uttered could have pealed paint from the walls. Certainly any who heard them did not need to know his mother tongue to understand the fury they conveyed. Luckily for the walls about him they were concrete, unpainted, unmarked. There was no paint to peel, thus he was spared some expense.

Not all, but some.

Whirling on some trash bin, a plastic atrocity overflowing with paper and filth the Turk snarled. One kick, two, under the third strike the receptacle shuddered, its rounded edge shattered under the force of his steel sheathed boot. That didn't stop him; he upped the assault, calling himself a fool and things a thousand times worse. With a sick sounding thunk his last strike wrenched a sizable hole. What followed was standard. With a wet thud the bag within the canister slithered out, subtly ripping as it caught the jags. Helpless and torn, the canister was bent nearly double under the force of its beating, it's innards a filthy mess. The smell was… indescribable.

That brought him back, the filth, the similarities. Connection made a click, and that soft sound was enough to jar him back to a facsimile of sanity. With one parting glare he turned on his heel. He'd go down since he'd gone up, check every door if need be until he got to where he needed to be.

As to where, the Turk floor of course. The only place in Shinra proper where the signal in his phone would be its strongest and he could make a call. One call, one breech of his own punishment detail, then everything would return to normal. So, with the echoes of his own lapse sounding around him he descended, taking it one floor at a time.