By Kristen Gupton-Williams

Author’s note:

Well, damn it, my two-week vacation from work is over. Some of you may have noticed the occasionally large number of chapters I was throwing up daily there for a while, that was a result of not having to go to my REAL job everyday for nine hours. Now the flow of writing will probably be knocked down to one chapter a day. This is not a sign that I am losing interest in the story, it’s just a sign that I have to raise a child, work, feed Porter (the dog), and then sleep sometime…

So, without further delay, I give you chapter fifty-four.

Porter had managed to sneak out of the Shin Ra building for lunch without Hojo grabbing him at the last moment. He had wanted to bring Rayna with him, but it was getting close to payroll and she was bogged down in paperwork.

Despite this, he didn’t want to eat alone so he made his way down the block to the local "Greasy Spoon" where he knew Rude and some of his other friends would be. The weather had turned sour and he walked to the restaurant with a long black over coat on. D trotted along at his side, apparently unfazed by the pelting rain.

Upon entering the diner he spotted his comrades huddled in a booth toward the back. Porter started toward them as a waitress in an ill fitting teal uniform grabbed his arm.

She pointed at the dog standing next to him. "Mister, this is an eating establishment, and there are rules against people bringing in their dogs."

Porter narrowed his eyes at her in annoyance. He shrugged off his overcoat and draped it over his arm. "I’m afraid you don’t understand."

Her eyes went wide as she realized that he was a Turk. The silver gun that hung in the holster beneath his suit coat caught her attention. "Oh, I… I’m terribly sorry. I didn’t recognize you…"

Porter felt bad internally for having to frighten her with his status, but he had to admit that there just were some benefits to being a Turk, and taking your dog where ever you damned well pleased was just added to that list. "No harm done. I will be over there with my associates. Would you be so good as to bring me some coffee?"

She began to back up before his sentence was even complete. "Yes, Sir, right away!"

Rude made room for Porter to slip into the booth beside him. On the other side of the table sat two of the President’s other personal Turks. The one closest to the wall was a thin and attractive black man named Rasta. His hair was woven tightly against his head in narrow cornrows, which trailed off into waist length braids. Rasta always paid close attention to his appearance and despite the fact that he had already been at work for twelve hours today his suit and shirt still looked clean and freshly pressed.

The other was a clean shaven blond topped by a military style haircut. Just on the slight side of overweight, he was not exactly the best physical specimen in the Turks but despite his size he had the reflexes of a cat and uncanny skills with his firearm. No one that Kimo had ever aimed his gun at in combat had lived to tell about it. Although he was the Turk with the most kills to his name, the friendly smile he bore gave away the fact that he was still someone that enjoyed life and the company of his comrades.

Rude elbowed Porter in the side. "Are you feeling so damned stifled in your assignment that you have to intimidate waitresses to get your fix?"

"Well," Porter sighed. "If they would let me take out a certain scientist and ventilate his head I would be a lot more social."

A snicker went through the group. Rasta, usually a man of few words smiled. "Man, I would not be joking about that guy if I were you. That is one messed up mother fucker."

Kimo nodded in agreement. "I think you should get the employee of the year award for your gig."

The waitress interrupted to set Porter’s coffee on the table. "Are you ready to order?"

Porter inspected the tabletop to see what his friends had already gotten. Rude’s burger looked at least edible. "Yeah, burger, rare, no onions."

She scribbled down his demand with careful attention paid to the ‘no onions’ part. The last thing she wanted was to be shot because the illiterate fry cook put the objectionable vegetable on his order. "Yes Sir. It will be just a moment."

Rude caught notice that Porter did not pay any attention to the waitress as she walked away despite her shapely figure. "You feeling okay?"

Porter looked up from his coffee cup. "What’s that?"

"You’re not up to your usual ‘waitress in a mini skirt walking away’ staring game." Rude picked up a burnt fry from his plate and pointed it at him accusingly. "You’re still seeing that accountant aren’t you?"

"What of it?" Porter tried to muster his stoic Turk façade, but it failed him.

Kimo leaned forward. "Damn, you been with her for how long?"

"A few weeks." Porter replied, pretending not to care.

"And?" Kimo pried, his grin growing.

"What?" Porter looked back down at his coffee, swirling it slightly.

"You done her yet or what?" Kimo kicked him lightly under the table.

Porter grew annoyed with this line of questioning. "What business is it of yours?"

"Just wondering." Kimo leaned back. "Either you haven’t gotten her in bed yet, or you have and you’ve decided to still keep seeing her. I just want to know if our little Porter is in love?"

Porter rolled his eyes. Kimo was irritating him, and making it worse by his mocking tone. "Again, it is none of your business."

Kimo laughed. "You do love her! Hot shit, who would have guessed?"

"No one ever told you that Turks are supposed to be cold loners?" Rude interjected with sarcasm.

Porter’s retort to their shots at his love life were cut short when the pager in his pocket went off. Only one person ever rang him, and he didn’t need to pull the device out to know who wanted him. He rose from his seat and made his way to the pay phone next to the kitchen.

Porter dialed the phone and let it ring.

"Yes?" Hojo’s irritated voice answered.

"It’s me, Sir." He said, cringing despite the fact Hojo was no where near him.

"Where are you?" Hojo hissed.

"At lunch, Sir."

Hojo sighed with annoyance. "Well, do you think you might like to actually work at some point today?"

Porter did not reply, just shrinking from Hojo’s anger.

"When you’re done, I want you to do me a favor." Hojo’s voice lost its vicious edge.

"What’s that, Sir?" Porter asked.

"Quigley has been acting a little reserved today. I think he may have shared our little secret with his ASRIO friends. I want you to stake out his apartment for the rest of the afternoon. I have a feeling that something is up and I’m curious to see if he has any visitors." Hojo was quiet for a moment. "Stop by your office before heading out. I have some pictures I want you to take with you, so you might identify anyone of interest."

"Yes Sir." Porter hung up and walked back to the table. He no longer felt like eating although his lunch had been left at his seat. Porter picked up the plate and set it on the floor, smiling to himself as his dog engulfed the burger.

"What was that? Frankenstein calling?" Rude asked.

"Gee, how did you guess?" Porter said sinking into the booth.

"He must miss his whipping boy." Rasta smiled from the corner.

"Screw you guys." Porter got up and tossed a few gil onto the table to cover the cost of his dog’s lunch. He threw his coat back around his shoulders and strolled out of the diner. D followed him loyally back to the Shin Ra building and up to his office.

As Hojo had said there was a file of security photos on his desk. Each picture was labeled with the subject’s name in Hojo’s own jagged handwriting.

Porter laid all of the pictures out before him and inspected them. He recognized Tseng and Reno, as he had seen them on security tapes plenty of times, as well as Morris and Ericson, two of Tseng’s favorite agents. The last picture in the pile caught his attention and he picked it up. It was a still from the video taken of the last ASRIO raid. Porter recognized this man from Hojo’s viewing of the tape. The bottom of this picture had Vincent Valentine written across it.

So you’re my predecessor, he thought as he remembered what Rude had said about the former Turk turned scientific specimen. I wonder if he will ever do something to me. I’ve heard the stories about you, Mr. Valentine, and although you’re playing for the other team, I can’t help but feel sorry for you. Hojo is a sick bastard, but I guess I don’t have to tell you that, do I? We might have more than our occupations in common, I think. You’d probably like to kill that mad scientist just as much, oh Hell, probably more than I do. But I can’t let you do that. Not because it’s my job to protect him, but because I want him to be the first person I kill. I’m sure that sooner or later he is bound to piss off the wrong person in this company, and when that time comes, I’ll be the one given the order. I long for that day. And maybe then my higher ups will see what I’m worth. There will be no more pointless baby sitting jobs for me then, oh no. I will be one of the President’s men.

Porter’s silent communion with Vincent’s image continued for a while. Finally he tucked that particular picture into his coat pocket and left the building.