For the love of—

Tseng rubbed his face to get rid of the perpetual fatigue caused by his job. As his gloved hand dropped to his side again, he rose from his seat.

The soft squeak of his chair protested. The statics of the hung dial reminded him.

Boss—” Reno had hissed from the other side of the receiver. Before his boss could demand the purpose of the call or issue a command, Reno had continued hurriedly, as though he had known the impatience of his own boss, “—are you with Aerith?

Why do you ask? Don't start it, boss; this is urgent. What is it? It had been all too mundane. Regardless, the nature of their job was full of unpleasant surprises and expected betrayals. Urgency had never been their own virtue.

Where is this headed? Tseng had asked himself in his uncharacteristic naïveté. What had he expected from his subordinate, seemingly unreliable in disguise yet proving to be nothing short of competent? Then, Reno's uncommonly solemn voice disturbed his doubts.

I've got an order directly from Hojo.

Hojo; that name alone was enough to make his heartbeat soar. It can't be, he had naïvely reassured himself. He urged Reno to elaborate and fill the odd gaps between his disjointed sentences.

There is another sample of the Ancient.

That had been when Tseng had realized the omissions had been a rather efficient method of breaking the news. Those two incoherent sentences immediately stuck together and blurted out the conclusion for him without the need for the Chief of Turks to deduce it. Tseng had dissuaded Reno from following the lunatic's order, giving him the ultimatum that overrode any command: "This is my order, Turk."

Yet, why did Tseng feel dread? That's not enough, the ghosts whispered into his troubled mind. "Shit," he cursed under his breath and snatched the jacket off the back of his chair.

Who would have thought he would be the next Dr. Gast, who had fallen in love with his Cetra, Ifalna? A joke. Still, Tseng needed to see if his Cetra was safe or not. {{user}}, he prayed silently.