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28 August 2006 @ 12:10 am
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code_red_turk on August 28th, 2006 09:10 pm (UTC)
Re: Reno profile part 1!

Third person writing sample:

(OOC: I cheated. I'd already written this. ^^; But it's for Reno! Er, and my Reno seems a little off but I base him off the game, not Advent Children. Because Advent Children made him look so dory. XD)

A bullet split the air. The reverberation disturbed the soundless atmoshere of a back alley in the worst part of Midgar. The air was chilled, almost chrystalline, but snow had yet to fall. Taking a breath was painful when the cold hit the lungs and clung, spreading like a disease. But it felt a hell of a lot better than breathing in the stench of garbage through his nostrils.

Footfalls -- frantic and disjointed -- hit the pavement and scattered, first left and then right. One of them stumbled into a frozen puddle and jerked upward with a pitiful mewling sound, covering the cement with shards of ice. They were quick; funny what adrenaline did for you when you were running for your life. Still, they were little more than babies. Killing babies was like pissing, drinking coffee, and smoking a cigarette all at once.

Crushing the ice beneath the soles of his scuffed boots, Reno paused, looked up, and wished he hadn't. There was nothing above but darkness. The slums resided in the lowest part of the city, under a confining plate that shut out all hope of natural light. He was damn glad he didn't live here anymore; but the assignments in this area were numerous and he hated being reminded of his origins.

Ejecting the shells from the Weapons Development department's latest creation, he dropped two more in the barrels and aimed. To his left was the slightest hint of movement not creative enough to be a rat and too large to be a cat. Without hesitation, he turned and unloaded both barrels, taking a step forward without looking to make certain he'd hit where he aimed. The telltale thud of bodies hitting the pavement was enough.

Dropping to one knee suddenly, he pressed gloved fingers to the ground and came away with blood. He'd wounded one earlier, and the stained pavement was difficult to see even in the light of the street lamps. The copper scent that clung to a man's nostrils and followed him even into sleep was lost amid the miasma of trash, dead animals, and human waste. He'd never appreciated the sense of resignation these people felt, as if the inability to rise above the world they were born into meant they had to give in and contribute to it.

'These people', as if he'd never been here himself.

He rose, sharp eyes scanning the darkness, cutting into places were the shadows gathered the thickest. By his estimation, there were at least three left. Unless the one he'd wounded collapsed from loss of blood. Either way it was nothing to him, so long as they all turned up dead. And wasn't it handy, that working for Shinra meant never having to dispose of the bodies?