Disclaimer: Final Fantasy VII is property of Square-Enix.

Foreword: Yes… it's really me. I'm back after a little layoff of several months, just in time to introduce to you a new, multi-chaptered story. That's correct. This is not a small one-shot or aimless little parody. This is my official attempt at a second large project following the conclusion of you-know-what.

A few things to note about this upcoming story… This piece of writing will be similar in some aspects to M.D.L. but as a whole, it will be quite different. For starters, this work will actually take place in the game world, following the events of all the billions of FFVII spin-offs. Secondly, the genre also varies greatly despite the inclusion of humor. This will be different humor to that seen in M.D.L. at times. Lastly, I feel I should warn you right now that this is a far darker piece of work than anything you've seen by me. This has been your notice and caution.

I always strive to do something original with my stories and I can promise you one thing right now: You've never seen anything done like this before here. Or at least, I hope not. If later on, it's discovered that there has, you can kindly point and laugh. So what's this story about then? Well, I can't give too much away but everyone's favorite red headed Turk Reno takes center stage. Expect the unexpected.


A Beautiful Disaster – Averted or unified by a single point of convergence?

The system.

The system fails.

The system has failed.

The system has failed and broken down.

When the system fails and breaks down, things become unclear as the seeds of construct around you dissolve and fizzle away into the bland architecture of the dull gray sky. Twisted, distorted. This course fragment of reality takes a venture into subliminal nodes of departure.


Let him/me get back to a progressive train of thought. This whole thing reeks of the absence of a calming influence.

The long but thin droplets of rain parade down below in furious masses, spitting upwards a certain distance after initial contact with the pavement.

Ever wonder what the end of a perfectly smooth, electrically charged, silky metal baton does to the head of an individual?

Like the sweet, black kiss of death, it's both so satisfyingly pure and suffocating, the amount of pleasure derived from sending a sheath of cold steel straight into another's flesh without an extra thought of fury or resignation.

The sound of metal on a thin layer of calcium isn't one that he/I am unfamiliar to. It dances so acutely on his/my ears, ringing the hollow, melancholy choruses of another soul stripped bare. So virtuous yet exposed. A palate of colors; namely red, white and for most cases, the many different variations of pink and beige.

Black eyed leaves, they're coming from the rain dance. No reflection, they're coming for the rain man.

And it's right then, after the final chiseling sound of metal scraping against bone, eliciting that ear perking crunch we've all come to so gleefully cherish and expect, that the feces worm their way out from beneath, furthermore exposing the vulnerability and primitiveness of the creature known as man. A composition of nothing more than various complicated organs slap stuck in intricate fashion to design a highly volatile, yet often predictable being usually capable of more harm than good.

Despite the heavy downpour and the rain's best job at diluting the smell, the stink still makes its way to the nose.

Supposedly then, it's here where he/I come in. Laced with narcissism, a certain prestigious clan member dedicated to keeping sanctity, order and balance to the fray. It's all been laid out before but with each passing generation, the next followers of this order seek to improve upon their predecessors in every which way: their guile, tact, finesse, handy work and craftsmanship.



He/I was smiling right now.

"Why don't I hear anymore funny words coming out of that ugly mouth of yours?" He/I brought up a hand to his/my ear. "What's that? I still can't hear you! What're you, dead or something?"

Smiling as he/I continued to mercilessly pound the now undecipherable skull of the slain man before him/me further into the exposed gray matter leaking out everywhere. That same soft exposed matter that perfectly complimented the grainy texture of the asphalt. Only now, the added mixture of the rain produced a strange artistic result.

He/I continued, with the satisfied curvature in his/my lips holding fort. Following every blow, He/I held nothing back, intending to test just how resilient parts of the brain were to jagged bone fragments.

"Reno, he's dead."

He/I stopped. "Glad I have you to tell me since I was obviously having trouble figuring that out for myself."

"Just saying…"

The words embark on a journey of self-loathing, not quite the bell whistle relieving one of duty and stress.

Exasperated yet elated at the same time, he/I stood upright, brushing a hand through his/my hair, catching a few stains of blood that managed to travel the distance from the ground up after the initial force of the blow.

Sending a ripple of pleasure derived from the entire act, his/my lips danced notoriously and in passionate harmony as the sound of belligerent laughter fell on deaf ears down below.

"So much fun! Isn't it? I know I was having a good time there," he/I exclaimed, half proud, half amused by the spectacle at hand. "Rude, you got a handkerchief?"

"Already raining though… that blood will just wash off." This specific case of irony could not have possibly presented itself at a better time seeing as how despite the rough conditions, the stubborn bald bastard insisted on still wearing his shades.

"I'm truly astonished at your ability to actually see anything through those at this time."

The taller man grunted and fished somewhere inside his coat, bringing out a white cloth which immediately filled up with moisture. "What're we up to now?"

He/I snatched it and during the process of making his/my face pristine and whole once more, contemplated.


He/I contemplated and looked straight ahead.

Don't stop to blink. You might skip a second of the most important part of everything you've just read.


Congratulations. You just missed the whole point of this story…

A/N: You haven't seen anything yet. This is only the prologue... if you want to look at it that way that is...