Chapter 3: Korben’s Deck

*This is five years after the first two chapters. Willy is now a Turk, and Raile has replaced Trexim as the boss. You’re also about to meet the newest Turk, Korben Jay. ^_^

Drake Tyser raised his arms over his head and stretched, yawning loudly as he strolled leisurely through the darkened streets of Sector Seven. "So this is the lovely Sereim," he said to himself, allowing his bored gaze to wander about the dully scenery. "The Slums certainly aren’t much to look at. What a waste." Still, there might at least be a worthwhile bar to visit, or a couple women willing to spend an evening. The garbage-laden streets, broken-down buildings, and sunless alleys weren’t enough to crush his spirits.

"After we’re done here," the man at his side reminded him, as if having plucked the very thoughts from his brain.

"Damnit, why do you always do that?" He ran a hand through his shoulder length, dirty-blond hair. "Stop reading my mind. It’s eerie."

"I’m not reading your mind," the younger man protested mildly, staring straight ahead. "I’m simply—"

"I know, I know. You’re simply anticipating my train of thought."

Korben Jay arched a superior eyebrow. "See, you can do it, too."

Tyser growled in mock frustration. "Let’s just get this over with," he muttered, finally focusing on their task. "Have you been briefed?"

"No. It’s more interesting that way."

Damn him and his sarcasm, the elder thought with a taint of bitterness. At twenty-five years, Korben Jay was a sharp-minded and even sharper-tongued man, and a Turk for the past two years. Though no one could deny his skill as a sniper, his superiors didn’t quite care for his cool, casual approach to his missions. One day his luck would not be there to take care of him.

"We’re gang leaders," Tyser began to outline their mission. "Or Mafia men, or whatever you like. I’m sure you’ll play your own hand."

Korben snorted at one of his superior’s many over-used card analogies. "Naturally." He brushed back a strand of his straggly black hair.

"Our target’s a jittery one, all-and-out paranoid, probably armed. I’m playing hearts on this one—when he follows suit, you trump." Tyser intended to draw the target out into the open, from where a clear, uninterrupted shot could be taken by Korben.

"Someday I’m going to enter your gibberish as an official code," he responded, pulling a pair of headphones out of his collar and over his ears. He adjusted the main devise in his pocket, and the muffled beat of some techno rap song escaped the speakers. Tyser rolled his eyes; by now he knew better than to question his partner’s methods. Somehow, it always worked out.

The object of their stroll soon appeared ahead of them: a small weapon’s shop with a green neon sign. Tyser paused at the window to check his reflection and straighten his navy suit. "Not bad," he murmured, taking note of the many advanced models locked in display cases and mounted on the walls. His eye was drawn to a small handgun on the left wall, and he smirked. It was the same model and series as the weapon stuffed in his belt.

Korben went first, head nodding in time with the music--if one could call it that. He surveyed the small shop, expressed his approval with a grunt, and moved to inspect the display cases. Tyser had to admit that his companion’s act was convincing. He followed, striding confidently to the front desk. "Hey, anyone in?" He tapped the bell.

A man emerged from the back room. He was a short, gangly fellow with wide-set, protruding eyes and dark, unkept hair. His clothing was dirty and patched in several places. As he approached the desk, the flaps of his vest swung for a moment, revealing a handgun in its holster.

"Good, some service." Tyser folded his hands and leaned against the desk. "I’m aiming to buy. Looks like you’ve got some nice models here."

The man’s eyes swung over his supposed customer; Tyser wondered what kind of impression he was making with his sloppy hair, stubble beard, and navy suit. "You’re a Turk," the man declared once his evaluation was complete.

"Best of the best," the blonde affirmed, immediately switching strategies. He reached into his suit and removed his gun, and though the action at first caused the owner to reach for his own weapon, he relaxed once it was placed on the desk. "My Hand is acting up," he explained. "Took her apart—couldn’t figure it out. Maybe you’ll have a look."

"Thought you were buying," the man said suspiciously.

"I will be if you can’t fix her."

He’s not buying it. Tyser was about to refigure his plan again when the owner reached out, picking up the weapon. His hands moved over it, testing the weight and inspecting the serial number. "There’s a gun just like this on the wall over there," he said, nodded his head. "This gun looks like it’s past it’s prime."

Korben was bending over one of the cases, his face inches from the polished glass. He appeared perfectly content in simply examining the store wares. Tyser wondered if he was even paying attention to their exchange. "You mind if I check it?" he asked of the owner.

"Go ahead."

Tyser moved to the wall, considering what approach might work to get his quarry outside the shop. If they were going to do this job quietly, it would be best to get him open. It would be too dangerous to begin a shooting match inside the gun store. Glancing about at the different models, the Turk began to understand why his superior had warned him about such an event: all the weapons were loaded, top issue Shinra-produced firearms. He sure was able to smuggle out a lot. No wonder he’s wanted.

He heard the click of a rifle being cocked, and the next moment the explosive percussion of a single gunshot broke the stillness of the slum shop. Tyser whirled around, having snatched one of the handguns of the wall to replace his own weapon. By then he was already too late. The store owner was missing from his position at the counter; in his place was a splatter of blood and gore on the far wall.

Korben hummed thoughtfully to himself. "Not bad," he mused, looking over the rifle he’d used to slay the man with approval. He returned it to its spot on the wall and moved to inspect his kill.

Tyser heaved a sigh, replacing his own gun. "Damnit, you scared me." He shook his head. "Didn’t I say hearts?"

"It wasn’t working," he replied simply, pushing the headphones off his ears so that they dangled around his neck. "There’s no way you could have talked him outside. He was eyeing you like a hawk."

"Yeah, but…"

The store’s door-mounted bell announced the entrance of a customer. Tyser glanced over his shoulder carelessly, and was a bit surprised to see another of his navy-suited comrades. "Shot him with his own gun," the new-comer said thoughtfully. "Awful cold-hearted."

"I prefer ironic," Korben rejoined, bending over the body.

"Poetic, but reckless." Vincent Valentine ventured further into the store, checking the scene with a calm, trained eye. "The man had a loaded gun in his hand. If he hadn’t been so fixated on Tyser, you’d be dead."

He snorted. "I’m still here, aren’t I? It was a clear shot, and I took it."

"Next time, listen to Tyser’s call." Vincent turned to the blond man. "Sorry for showing up like this, but Raile asked me to keep an eye on you two."

"Yeah, yeah." Though Tyser wasn’t pleased at having been tracked, secretly he was relieved that Raile was looking out for him. Though missions with Korben always worked out, they rarely went as planned.

Korben passed between the pair, handing Tyser’s gun to him. "Here. Is that all? You were the one so eager to get back to your social life."

"Uh, yeah. We can leave the body—somebody’ll find it." He shrugged, and they exited the shop together.

Vincent shook his head as he followed them into the chilly, foul-smelling air of the slums. Later he would reflect upon the night’s events and wish he’d reported Korben’s behavior. For now, however, he let the incident go without comment. As the most experienced of the trio he’d seen many Turks come and go; Korben would soon lose his impulsive attitude, as the others always did. The first bullet to hit his gut would sober him quick enough. Until then, Vincent could only hope that Korben Jay’s skill and sharp mind would keep him alive, at least.

"Turks." The President of Shira Inc, a balding, squattish man in his late forties, leaned over his desk as he spoke. His eyes, forever squinted and sharp, regarded them carefully beneath a pair of thick eyebrows. "Though it pains me to admit it, I’m satisfied with your work." "Satisfied" was the largest compliment anyone could receive from this stolid perfectionist. "Your performance outside your designated duties makes me believe the money I spent on your training was perhaps worth it. Expect to receive more assignments in the future."

"Thank you, sir." Ban Raile, the Turks’ leader answered for all of them. "We rather enjoy the variety, sir."

The President’s brow furrowed. "I don’t pay you to enjoy yourselves, Mr. Raile." Before he could respond, his superior continued. "But as long as you can do what you’re told, it makes no difference to me. You are dismissed."

The five Turks bowed their heads simultaneously, and then moved soundlessly as a single unit out the door. Once outside, however, their composure shattered. "Can you believe that?" Tyser exclaimed, then was quickly hushed by his comrades. "Did he actually admit to being pleased with us for once?"

Willow Trust, the single female of their group, placed her hands on her hips. "I say it’s about time. We’re always cleaning up after SOLDIER and the army—we deserve credit." She flipped back a lock of her brunette hair, which now reached far down her back.

"Don’t get cocky," Vincent advised. "We—"

"Oh, lighten up." Tyser slung his arm over the man’s shoulder—quite a feat, considering their relative heights. The blond may have been the bulkier of the pair, but his superior was taller by far. "You’re always like that—can’t you admit we did good?" He dragged his captive into the elevator, the others close behind. "Come on—let’s go back and play some cards."

"All you do is play cards," Willy protested. "Can’t we go to a real bar for once?"

"Why, so you can pick up a cute waiter? This is our celebration."

They returned to the third-story, three-bedroom apartment in Sector Two. Vincent, Korben, Tyser, and Willy shared the suite, as Raile lived with his wife and family in Sector Three. Willy was often questioned as to whether she regretted her choice of living arrangements. She classically responded, "Having three gorgeous men at my disposal makes up for any inconvenience."

Presently Willy passed out a round of beers, though only Tyser and herself ultimately had any. She scrounged about the kitchen and unearthed a bag of pretzels, slightly stale. None of them minded, taking seats in the small living area surrounding the television. The night passed pleasantly enough, with the usual cards games (at Tyser’s insistence), remote-battles, casual banter and mini snack fights. Such a display of childishness would have never been accepted by their superiors, but for a while, at least, no one cared. Even Vincent. He laughed along with his friends, an act only the four of them had the privilege to see.

By the time the clock struck a new day, however, the group was looking for a more sensible medium of entertainment. In desperation they turned to Korben, who had slipped away from the impromptu festivities to shuffle through a deck of cards. "I hope he doesn’t intend to start another gin game," Raile complained. "I’ve had enough cards to last me a decade."

"They’re not playing cards," Korben replied, arranging his cards into a deck. "They’re like Tarot cards, but better."

"Tarot?" Tyser repeated curiously. "Like telling fortunes and stuff?"

"I didn’t think you believed in fate," Vincent remarked.

To this the younger man chuckled ironically. "Fate may be the only thing I believe in." He returned to his place in their circle, proudly displaying his collection. "This deck I made myself."

Willow snatched the top card and studied it. "You made this?" she echoed incredulously, marveling at the precise, highly detailed lines and shadings. The back of each card was printed with the same design: a dark, desolated scenery of twisted metal and broken glass. "What is this?"

"My special Midgar Edition," Korben explained, retrieving the item from her. "I call it ‘Hell on Earth.’"

His companions exchanged glances, but only Raile chose to speak. "You really think Midgar’s that awful of a place?"

He shrugged. "Hell is a place of misery and dejection, feeding off the souls it gathers. Midgar is the same, feeding off Mako. It’s not morbid—it’s common sense."

"As long as you get it, I guess," Tyser mumbled. "Well, you gonna tell our fortunes or not?"

Korben looked at his cards, then his friends. "Sure. Who’s game?"

"Read Raile’s fortune," Vincent suggested. "He’s the most predictable."

Raile made a disconcerted face, unsure if the remark was a compliment or an insult. "You know I don’t believe in this," he protested. "Fate and such."

Tyser shrugged. "Neither do we. Go on."

"It won’t work if you don’t really believe." Korben cleared off the table for his work space. Though his face was still only vaguely interested, they could sense a certain degree of seriousness in his manner. "Fate only speaks to those whom are willing to follow it."

Willy and Tyser exchanged in dubious looks. "Read mine," the former volunteered. "I believe you." She was lying, but her curiosity was too much.

Korben looked her over, sweeping a lock of stringy black hair from his face. His dark eyes met hers. For the first time that she could remember his gaze unnerved her, as if he were seeing something other than her face. A moment later the strange glare passed, and he shrugged. "If you say so. But trust me; it won’t work if you don’t believe."

"I do, I do. Deal me in."

Korben shuffled the cards, mumbling something under his breath, then asked for her to shuffle. Their audience became hushed, entranced by a strange, intangible spell. They leaned in close like excited schoolchildren despite their age. "Now take the first card and look at it," he instructed.

Willy set her hand on the top card, keeping it there for a moment to build suspense. At last she turned it over.

The cared was illustrated with amazing skill, with all the eerie detail and twisting shapes one would come to expect from a magical item. The picture was one of black robes that billowed about the pale, twisted form of a man with pure white hair. Though the limbs escaping the cloak were thin and bony, the face was flawlessly formed and quite handsome. Rising from behind the man was a single, white-feathered wing.

"Amphorus," Korben snorted, a wry smile twisting his lips. "Told you it wouldn’t work."

"Why not?" Willy demanded. "What does this card mean?"

"Amphorus, the one-winged angel I created, represents immortality." He set the card back in the deck.

"So I’ll live forever?" she said hopefully.

"It means I can’t read your fortune." He began to shuffle the deck once more. "Whenever I try to read someone who doesn’t believe, they always pull Amphorus."

Tyser frowned in disappointment. "Maybe you’re stacking the deck."

"Yeah, or maybe she was," he shot back lightly. "Unconsciously."

The room was silently thoughtful for a minute as everyone considered this. Sitting at once edge of the couch, Vincent watched as the cards slipped over each other. His attention had been captured fully by the strange, intricate designs. "Read my fortune," he said quietly. "I believe in fate."

Korben stopped shuffling, shrugged, and handed the cards over. "Sure. Shuffle and then pull the top card."

"If this will work for anyone," Raile remarked, "it will for Vincent. This should be interesting."

Vincent moved to sit on the floor, across the table from his would-be sage. The group’s spirits rose again in suspense as he took great care in handling the hand-made cards. After some time he stopped, placed the deck down, and removed the top card. He set it face-up on the table.

Korbed looked, half-expecting to see the same white-haired man; he was surprised and pleased to find himself faced with a woman wrapped in red lace and nothing else. "Well, Wha’d’ya’know’? It’s Rose, symbol of forbidden love."

"Love?" Tyser laughed, punching Vincent in the shoulder. "Didn’t think Romance was in ol’Jack’s agenda. He sure picked a hot dame, though."

Willy elbowed him sharply, making a face. Raile managed to calm them down before an argument could begin. "Is that all?" he asked. "How far can you read?"

"I usually read until I pull the Lifestream Card," Korben replied. "That’s death. Shall we continue?"

Vincent nodded, watching the card as if expecting the woman to come alive on the paper. He over-turned the next card, and then Korben indicated for him to flip some more. "Get at least four out here so I can get a better idea." He looked them over critically, a bit perplexed. "Rose, Angus, Vortex, and Exodus," he named each card. "Rose is the card of new, forbidden love—someone untouchable, or inaccessible. Angus is violent separation. Usually I’d say the death of a family member or lover, but since it follows Rose it could mean you have a bad break up. She’ll probably lay you down flat."

"Do you really believe any of this?" Tyser asked abruptly. "Somehow I can’t picture this happening to our Jack o’ Spades, here."

"Maybe you should change it to Jack of Hearts," Raile suggested.

Vincent glanced at them over his shoulder, and surprised them by smiling. "You don’t have to take it seriously."

"Do you?"

He shrugged, though his attention to the predictions was obvious to all of them. "Let’s hear the rest. Then I’ll decide whether or not I believe."

Korben went one once they’d settled. "Vortex represents intense emotional stress and indecision—angst over your affair. Anger, depression, resolution, or something along those lines. And Exodus represents a journey to a conclusion. You get yourself together and make a decision. You travel a great distance."

The next card was a picture of two dragons, jaws gaping to show blood-stained teeth and claws locked in combat. "Dragon Twins Mreg and Germ. Represents confrontation, maybe even a physical battle." He paused, reflecting on the other cards. "Maybe a Turk assignment," he said, pointing to the Exodus card. "Maybe you’re relocated, and put on a dangerous assignment. Next card, please."

Vincent obeyed, his face growing more serious. The moment the next card was laid, Korben caught his breath and leaned back. "That’s…Chaos," he murmured with wide, disbelieving eyes. "But…"

"What’s wrong?" asked Willy. "You made it, right?"

He nodded slowly. His thin fingers traced over the lines: it was the image of a devil with a wide, hideous face, thick limbs and spread bat-wings. The only color other than black was the creature’s intense red eyes. "Chaos was one of my first," he began quietly, truthfully startled by the symbol’s appearance. "I created it after my father’s death to represent a fate worse than anything a human can conceive. Losing one’s mind…complete isolation…." His eyes met Vincent’s briefly, almost fearfully. "The realization of your every nightmare. No one’s ever turned this card before."

"That’s understandable, if it’s as terrible as you say," Vincent replied calmly. Though he’d managed to keep his composure, any close observer would be able to see that he was shaken somewhat. "Is that all?"

"Let’s stop," Willy spoke up. She was staring at the card with wide eyes, as if entranced. "That’s enough. It’s stupid, anyway."

But Vincent turned the next card anyway; it was Amphorus again. Korben’s brow furrowed, trying to determine the meaning of this new vagary. "Amphorus never appears in a real fortune," he mused. "What the hell is going on?"

"I’ve had enough." Willy stood and began to quickly gather the leftover bottles and pretzel bags. "It’s just a bunch of spooky crap anyway."

"Yeah," Tyser piped up, laughing to break the stillness in the room. The tension began to lift. "Nothing like that’s gonna happen to our Jack—that’s ridiculous." He elbowed Raile. "Told ya’ he stacked the deck." In case Korben attempted to protest, he followed Willy’s cleaning example and continued talking. "I told Gavin we’d meet him tomorrow—is that okay?"

"Can’t," Raile answered, catching on. They were all escaping the subject as quickly as possible. "Promised my wife a nice dinner out—the kids are out for once."

"Hoping to score? I always told you married life would ruin you."

"You won’t think that forever."

The two men moved off, still talking and laughing. Willy was about to join their conversation when she noticed that Korben and Vincent hadn’t moved from their spots at the short table. The former was bent over his cards, trying to determine the meaning of this new arrangement. Vincent was watching silently, his gaze on the figure of the red-eyed beast. His hand reached for the abandoned deck.

Korben stopped him. "Don’t. Not until I figure this out." He picked up the entire deck and displayed the bottom card: a swirling matrix of iridescent, emerald tendrils. "Lifestream. As far as this deck’s concerned, you’re immortal."

"Hey guys, cut it out," Willy interrupted. "You’re always scaring us like that with your ghost stories, Korben. Lay off the spooky stuff."

Korben shrugged innocently, at once losing his air of mystified disbelief. "Yeah, okay. You guys could never handle it anyway." He collected his cards, only pausing a moment when retrieving Chaos. He shuffled the deck and moved off as if nothing had happened.

Vincent took longer in collecting himself, his movements slow as if afraid of disturbing the remnants of Korben’s spell. When Willy touched his arm he started. "You okay, Vince?" she asked.

"Yes." He took a deep breath, forcing out his anxiety. "Sorry, Willow, I—"

She punched his shoulder. "Willy," she insisted. "We’ve been living together for five years and you still can’t get it right?"

He was momentarily thrown by her sudden change in subjects. Then he smiled. "I’m sorry. I shouldn’t let this get to me."

"Damn right." She stood up on her tiptoes--for he was several inches taller--and kissed his cheek as she often did. "Korben does it on purpose to scare us. And even if you do believe in fate, that doesn’t mean he knows what he’s doing. He made those cards, after all."

"Yes, I know." Vincent began to straighten up the room. "I’m fine."

"Good. So, are you going to meet Gavin with us tomorrow?" She moved toward the kitchen.

He called after her, "I’m afraid not. I have an assignment tomorrow."

"Don’t you mean today? It’s after midnight."

"Oh." He glanced at the clock. "So it is."

Willy emerged from the kitchen once more, flicking off the lights. "I guess Raile left already. I’m going to bed—don’t worry about the rest of the cleaning. I’ll take care of it in the morning."

"Sure. Goodnight".

"G’night, Vince."

To Next Chapter

Return

Okay, I know Korben doesn’t read tarot cards correctly. I did some research, and decided I didn’t like the way normal tarot cards function, so I let him make up his own procedure. It’s more direct this way.