Well, I've beek lurking around for about a week now, and I decided to
write and post my first work of fan fiction.
This was originally supposed to be one scene in a much larger project,
but once I started writing, I decided it would do much better by itself,
and in a totally different context.

Not everybody may agree with my interpretation of some characters.
This is a semi-dark fic with some unusual implications.  My writing may
be dark at times, but I don't think it's ever been this psychological before.
I also wrote this in a bit of a rush, so I didn't go into as much depth as
I would have liked in some places.  (Maybe that's all the better).

C&C and MiSTing are always welcome.  Direct all questions, comments and
snide remarks to jrenouar@nmsu.edu
Clever and creative flames will be appreciated for their artistic context
before being deleted.  If you aren't going to be clever and creative about it,
don't waste anybody's time.

DISCLAMER:  Rally Vincent, Minnie May, Duke Nukem, Ukyou Kuonji
Kain of Nosgoroth and Cloud Strife are property of their respective
creators.  No attempt to derive monetary profit is made or implied.

* * * * *

	Tools
by J. Jordan Renouard

	The stupid rednecks were becoming really annoying.
Everything they did and everything they said was testament to
a complete lack of familiarity with the subject matter.  And
that subject matter just happened to be shotguns and hunting
rifles, something where a little knowledge was a little more
dangerous than in Bonehead Freshman Biology 101G.
	They talked loud and long, mostly to impress the young
blond.  Minnie May technically should not have even been
there, but she insisted on dropping in to say hello.  "Well,
she looks older than she is." thought the proprietor, a
modestly attractive brunette in her late 20's.  "As long as
no one thinks to ID her, we'll be fine."
	Little miss Minnie May flirted with customers in hopes
of securing a potential sale for Rally.  Eventually, the two farm-boys
realized that their tall tales and bravado were being responded to
only cordialy, and decided to move along.  Rally Vincent's
demeanor improved noticeably as the pair left.
Unintelligence had hung over them like a miasma, and had
gratefully followed them out the door.
	Briefly glancing about the room, she saw that only one
customer remained, the _important_ one.  Rally sized him up
as he approached the counter.  Tall, dark and ugly, a hunk of
meat that was as tough as depleted uranium, with a bleached
buzz-cut you could land a helicopter on.  He returned the
gaze briefly, and she nodded to the unspoken question.
	He followed her into a poorly lit room behind a door
marked "EMPLOYEES ONLY."  Rally removed a large black case
from a shelf and set it on a small wooden table.  "Transfer
of funds was confirmed this morning." she stated coolly.
	"Of course it was, babe." the man replied.  "Show me
what you got."
	Rally undid the latches on the case and opened it for
the man to see.  The item within resembled a ray gun from a
bad 50's sci-fi horror movie.  The truth was unbelieveable
close to this.  The man carefully lifted the weapon from its
case and sighted down the barrel.
	"Are you sure this is the real McCoy?" he growled.
	In reply, Rally returned to the shelf and removed a
ceramic pot with a miniature pine tree growing in it.  "This
ain't no bonsai."
	The muscle man cracked a smile.  "Sweet deal, babe.
Let's do business again some time."  He replaced the weapon
in its case and departed with it.
	Rally returned to the sales floor and breathed a sigh of
relief.  Explaining the presence of a bona fide Shrink Ray to
the ATF would have been hell.  But she still had two more
unusual articles on hold for clients, neither of which rested
easy in her mind.
	"Who was that, Rally?" May asked.
	"Just a prefered customer." she answered.  They were
always customers, no names, no questions.  In this line of
work, questions weren't only unhealthy for business, they
were just plain unhealthy.
	Rally Vincent knew exactly where she stood in the
universe.  She sold tools.  If anyone wanted to nitpick, then
yes, the tools she sold were of a specific sort that had a
limited number of consumer end uses.  So what?  Foolish
people had devised so many different ways to injure
themselves and each other with more mundane objects that her
merchandise really had no bearing on the survival of the
species.
	She knew that there were people who despised her
merchandise and, by association, her as well.  "Sure, guys.
Treat the symptom, not the illness." she mused.  "Soldiers
and thugs were killing themselves with swords and crossbows
long before Rally Vincent sold guns and ammo to the average
American Joe.  I'm just the upgrade of the operating system.
Rally Vincent '95.  It must be my fault, yeah, riiiight."
	"Are you okay, Rally?"  It was Minnie May.
	Rally nodded.  "Yeah, maybe a little tired."
	The bell over the door rang.  An oriental woman in her
teens entered.  Her hair was tied behind her head with a
white ribbon, and she wore a bandolier of what appeared to be
metal spatulas.  She walked straight to the counter without
even blinking.  "Do you have the item I requested?" she
asked.
	"I'll be right out with it."  Rally went into the back
room again and emerged with a large cloth-wrapped bundle,
which she placed on the counter.
	"Was there any problem obtaining it?" the young lady
inquired.
	"I had some trouble convincing the design engineers that
a Japanese okonomiyaki spatula was significantly different
from an American pizza peel, but in the end, they agreed to
your specifications."
	The young lady hefted the huge cooking instrument and
tested its weight.  "I approve.  Hopefully this one will be
more durable than the original."
	Rally quoted a price, which the young lady paid in cash,
American dollars.  Rally was happily rid of yet another
nagging worry and had made a handsome profit doing so.
	The Shrink Ray would have definitely been a problem in
the event of a raid.  The giant titanium spatula would have
been easier to lie about.  The last item would not have even
merited a second glance from the most hardnosed federal
agent.  Only Rally knew how dangerous it truely was.
	"Are you _sure_ you're alright, Rally?" May asked yet
again.  "You look realy pale.  Maybe you ought to go home
early."
	"I think you're right.  I have one more client to meet,
and then I can close up.  You better run along.  I'll see you
later."
	"Okay.  Don't push yourself too hard, though."  And then
May was out the door.
	Rally thought about the last item, sitting in its little
box in the back room.  Never before had she questioned the
morality of what she did for a living.  Then again, this was
the first time she had ever sold an item that was this
destructive.
	It wasn't the first time she had dealt in something
unusual though.  There had been one time before.  The item
was a rare sword that had come from east Europe, not more
than a year ago.  The client insisted on meeting at night,
and in the middle of nowhere.  He had not even balked at the
astronomical price Rally had quoted, all in advance.
	Transporting the merchandise was truely problematic, as
it was nearly as large as Rally herself.  She had borrowed a
friend's truck, loaded the weapon in the back and driven to
the designated meeting place.  The client was there, a tall
gaunt ghost of a man who didn't look like he could carry the
item, much less brandish it in an all-out fight.
	"Do you have Soul Reaver?" he demanded.
	"Yes." she replied, and opened the back of the truck to
show him.
	Despite his appearance, he lifted the sword effortless
ly and examined it in the moonlight.  The sword's finish was
matte black.  Wicked looking runes followed the serpentine
contour of the blade from the point to the hilt.  "And I even
like the color." he said dryly.  "Verily, this is the sword
that can cut both flesh and soul, not that my usual foes
still possess souls.  You have done well."  Then he
disappeared into the night with his new weapon.
	That had been a year ago.
	It had troubled her at first, but that was nothing
compared to what she felt now.  Her feelings were of a
general sense of dread, not any specific remorse for what she
was doing.  She could not fathom any person having a need for
so dangerous a relic as the one sitting quietly by itself on
the shelf in the back room.  More dangerous than any weapon
that directly injured the soul of its victem, this might be
the one to covertly devour the soul of its master.
	More than an hour passed before her final customer of
the day arrived.  He was short, stocky, with a spikey mess of
blond hair.  His eyes had an unearthly blue glow in them.
Without so much as a "hello" passing between them, Rally lead
him into the back room.
	She removed a small box from the shelf and opened it.
Within was a small red crystal orb with its own etherial
lumenosity.
	"Is this the artifact we discussed?" he asked.
	"I'm sure you will understand if I chose not to field
test it myself."
	"Where did you obtain it?"
	"Avalon.  Don't even ask."
	As he reached for the jewel, Rally stopped him with a
question.  "Are you sure you want to do this?"
	"Yes." he said carefully.
	"Why?  Who deserves to die this way?  Who could possibly
deserve the holy wrath of all of Camelot?"
	The man did not answer.
	"What did he do to you?" Rally pleaded.
	"He hurt someone who was important to me."
	"Someone you loved?"
	There was a pause before the man answered "Yes."
	"And if he dies _this_ way?  What will that solve?"
	"He is very strong, and I will have only one chance to
strike.  If he does not die, he will kill many others as
well.  People I don't even know."
	He reached for the jewel again.  Rally did not stop him
this time.
	"You do realize that there will be questions if you use
this?  About where you got it?"
	The man nodded again.  "I can concoct something about
finding it in a dark corner of the world, where only a brave
man and a skilled chocobo can travel.  It won't come back to
you, I promise."
	When he had left, Rally prepared a sign that read
"Closed due to illness.  Open regular hours tomorow."  She
taped it to the window and hung the regular "CLOSED" sign
next to it.
	As she walked to her car, she wondered how much worse it
could get.  "Much worse." she thought.  "The dictionary
definition of 'weapon' still excludes living organisms."  She
dreaded the day that the phone would ring, and there would be
Katsuhiko Jinnai and the Bugrom Horde on the other end, or
Tedan Tippedai asking for a little piece of Zeiram.
	She wondered how she would answer.
	And the more she wondered, the less she was sure.