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ECHOES |
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ECHOES |
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Cloud Strife closed his office door with a silent click,
locking it securely before turning away. He took a moment to lean against
the stark, white wall, eyes shut blissfully. He was tired. The day had worn
on him hard and his forehead throbbed beneath the white bandage the nurse
had wrapped it with. He ran a gloved hand through his tangled blonde hair,
the spikes popping back into place when he was done. He sighed.
To live in the town of Icicle Inn and enter a conversation
with a remark about the weather was a little frowned upon by the natives.
It was the northernmost city in the world. Residents sweated when the thermostat
hit twenty above. But dammit, Arik Bivs didn't bloody care!
It was nearing three in the morning before he stopped,
pulling himself away from his work with a paint-smeared face and oil streaked
hand. He was hungry, so he made himself a bowl of rice and a sandwich, stoked
the fire and sat himself down on his bed, back to the wall. The cold was
intense, but he ignored it, thinking of other things. The painting he'd finished
was turned so that he could look at it while he ate. He was rather proud
of this one. He thought absently that she would have like it. Well, he would
know for sure tomorrow. Tomorrow he would make the trip to the falls to give
it to her, just as he did every year at that time. At first, it had been
snatches of writing that he'd leave in that fair cave beyond the water, writing
and flowers. But he noticed after a while that the words he wrote eventually
became hollow, and that the flowers always died. One Christmas, Tifa had
given him a set of oils and brushes. So he decided to paint a tribute. And
to his surprise and joy, his soul came out onto the canvas, a thing that
time could never rot.
It was nearly twelve-thirty when Cloud found himself
putting the key to the door of his home in the upper class neighborhood of
Sector One. It came unlocked with a reassuring click. The events of the day,
but especially of the night plagued him still, keeping his pulse from slowing.
Each noise sent it roaring again in his ears. The peacefulness of the night
as he'd walked home from the train station had done a little towards getting
him to think the voice he'd heard had been a mere figment of his imagination,
but it couldn't stifle his unease completely. Even under the clear, star-studded
night sky, the closeness of the lab clung to him, making him nearly
claustrophobic despite the limitless space surrounding him. He still heard
the voice, the genderless voice, calling his name like a death sentence.
"Dad! Dad, please! Pleeeze!" CJ Strife, his ten
year old hands clasped in supplication, prostrated himself comically before
his father. He looked a lot like Cloud. His hair was starkly blonde and to
avoid the family heirloom, he kept it cropped close to his head, spiky hair
not considered to be very "cool" in his fifth grade class. His complexion
was dark, something he got from his mother, and his eyes were starkly violet,
perhaps a strange, genetics-defying mixture of his blue and her maroon. For
a ten year old, he was rather short but he made up for it in volume. "Dad!"
he cried again, the walls nearly reverberating, "I promised I would!"
er twelve years of marriage, her beauty sometimes startled him. She stood
there now, arms hugging herself, her hands lost in the billowing folds of
her white sweater, beautiful chestnut hair falling gently over her shoulders.
Tears made her eyes shine like two perfect rubies. And her smile filled his
soul with wonder. Unable to help himself, the man stood and took her in his
arms, kissing away her fears. She embraced him, kissing him back a little
crookedly, looking up through her soft bangs into his shimmering blue eyes.
For a moment, she searched them, checking for things that shouldn't be there;
sadness, anger, fear. But they only burned brightly with mako. She wondered
why his eyes glowed so intensely. She'd seen many men with mako-altered bodies,
SOLDIER members, test subjects, Sephiroth, but none of their eyes had burned
as brightly as Cloud's always had. She peered into them deeper, nearly entranced.
The energy flowed in tight white tendrils, obscuring his pupils and pouring
light from behind the blue pigment in his irises so that in the dim illumination
of the kitchen, the skin around them held a blue-ish tint, catching his own
internal light a little eerily. She reached a hand up and rubbed his face,
smiling gently. They were so beautiful, his eyes, but what a price they'd
cost him. She didn't want him to have to pay any more.
A continent away, Barret Wallace watched his own baby
with quite the opposite emotion. Frowning, he stood in the doorway of his
daughter's bedroom, taking in her drooping form soberly. She was sitting
up in bed, her back supported by pillows, an open book in her lap. Her eyelids
were shut and she was breathing softly. He stood there a while longer, staring
at her lovingly but with concern etched in the lines of his face. He hesitated
before calling her name, hating to wake her from sleep. She was such a beautiful
creature, the light in his life. And she looked so much like her mother it
frightened him sometimes. The same large brown eyes, doe eyes he'd heard
them called, beautiful auburn hair braided into a thick rope that wreathed
her face like a glorious crown. She had many of Eleanor's features too, the
same round face, and delicate cheekbones, but she had Dyne's nose, a perky
thing that sat confrontationally between her eyes. She was seventeen and
causing Barret more problems now than she had when Shinra'd kidnapped her
at four years old.
Yunata had to be his favorite chocobo. He'd raised her
from birth, the first bird he'd bred alone, taking the tips he'd learned
from Cloud, Billy, and the Chocobo Sage to create one of the greatest Golden
Chocobos to ever grace the planet. She was so intelligent she could nearly
guide herself, so fast that she'd easily knock the wind out of him if he
let her go and could keep up that speed for miles, never even breaking a
sweat. If he'd ever cared to race her at the Golden Saucer, he'd no doubt
she'd blast the competition into a disorderly mash of beaks and feathers.
"I'm gonna grind you into hamburger, ya freak. . . "
Ash's tone bespoke how sincerely he meant the words. CJ gulped, fists raised
defensively. The two boys stood facing eachother in the schoolyard, nearly
fifty feet from the back of their school, their actions hidden from the recess
monitor by a line of trees. Twenty fifth-graders ringed them, breaths held.
They'd called the ambulance. This had caused CJ to worry.
The staff in the Sector One Elemantary School front office buzzed about him
busily where he sat awaiting punishment in a hard wooden chair near the assistant
principal's conference room. First they'd been bustling to make sure the
ambulance hurried, then they'd answered the EMS workers' questions frantically
once they'd arrived, now they hovered about Ash as he sat up in the gurney,
a bag of ice pressed to his broken nose. CJ sighed. They'd yet to care that
he was bleeding. He could have a busted head or something. He removed the
tooth from under his tongue and spat it out into his hand. Tucking it safely
away in his shirt pocket, he jumped suddenly as Cait Sith entered the office
in a panic.
That Strife, Reno thought and he shook his head slowly.
The former Turk stood with crossed arms in the doorway of Hojo's decrepit
old lab. He watched his friend giving orders to the orange-clad Shinra labor
bustling around and moving crates, machinery, and broken projects out of
the room. They were depositing it all in a rusty old garbage bin that maintanance
had moved upstairs that morning.
"What we're going for
is total annihilation, "said the young technician earnestly, the alarming
words sounding strange coming from his thin, mouse-like face, "Unless this
weapon can pack enough punch with the first blow to take out the target,
than the dragon can easily recover, double back, and attack before another
shot can be gotten off. That would rather squash its usefulness." The young
man scribbled something onto the oversized clipboard in his hands, then looked
up at his superiors for instruction.
"You sure seem to know a lot about dragons, Neto."
"Oh, of course, sir, we always research our target to
the fullest extent before we even think about the weapons we'll use to destroy
it. That's the scientific way. May as well give ourselves the advantage."
Neto sniggered messily and the two men looking down on him rolled their eyes,
his humor lost upon them. The first of them, an aging fellow with rusty-colored
hair and bright aqua eyes, lines stretching across his handsome face betraying
boredom and impatience, waggled a hand towards the tech hurriedly.
"Well, get on with it, Neto, if you think the damned
thing's ready!" he said in exasperation. The tech nodded and walked off,
calling signals to his assistants. The man watched him go in aggravation.
"I swear, Cloud, sometimes I think all this bullshit isn't worth it. I never
thought I would start to hate a desk job."
"You don't hate it, Reno, you're just having a particularly
bad day. And so am I, if you want the truth. We need some excitement. Some
adventure."
Reno laughed darkly, eyeing his friend in bemusement.
"Haven't you had enough adventure to last you your life, "he asked.
The other man just smiled. He was dressed strangely
compared to Reno. While the latter wore a standard black business suit, slightly
frumpled with a collar that never seemed to stay buttoned, Cloud wore roomy
black pants with black boots pulled midway up his calves, and a hunter green
tee-shirt stretched tight across his chest. A black leather jacket protected
him from the chilling AC and green leather gloves kept his hands warm. But
like Reno, he wore a pin on his jacket declaring he was co-head of Shinra
security, his name, Cloud Strife, printed boldly across it.
"Are you kidding me?" he finally answered Reno, "I haven't
had a real adventure in years. Not since Scarlet rose up outta nowhere and
tried to take down Reeve. Just constant boredom, signing papers, supervising
these damned boring tests, and training new lackeys to do what we say."
Reno grinned, raised an imaginary gun, and fired into
the air. "That Scarlet, "he reminisced, "She was quite easily handled, if
I remember correctly." He fired again, taking out whole batallions in his
mind. "Trying to reclaim a little glory, eh, bitch? Trying to ruin what we've
all tried so hard to repair, eh?" He fired off a few more rounds, smiling
wickedly. "I don't think I've ever seen a sadder funeral than hers. It's
pretty depressing when you have to hire pallbearers, because you don't have
friends enough to carry you away, don't you think?"
Cloud only nodded, watching the technicians scrambling
to set up the massive rocket launcher they'd constructed. The thing was huge,
the size of a tank, yet the genius of it was it weighed only a slight three
hundred pounds. Neto and his science goons had really outdone themselves.
From the look of the thing, it seemed it could take out whole platoons of
Da-Chao Dragons. Reno poked Cloud in the shoulder suddenly, pulling his attention
away.
"But that's not what I was talking about, "he said eagerly,
a strand of his red hair falling into his eye, "Before that, in the days
of the Shinras and Meteor. That was adventure. Scarlet's lame attempts weren't
anything compared to that."
"You mean in the days when we'd bad mouth eachother
whenever we met?" asked Cloud laughingly, "When we tried to take eachother's
heads off? Nah, you can have those kinds of adventures, Reno. Those aren't
exactly days I think of with fondness." Cloud scratched at his nose, images
from his past, images he preferred not to think on, snapping into his mind,
flipping themselves before his eyes quickly, like a horrible picture book.
Green eyes, fire, mako, and blood. Bodies, a dead friend, betrayal. He shook
his head slightly. He'd had thirteen years to heal from that madness, but
even now, he knew, thirteen years wasn't enough. His lifetime, however long
it extended, wouldn't be enough. But he ignored it, and was grateful when
Neto's squeeky, excited voice called for their attention.
Mr. Reno, Mr. Strife, "he addressed them proudly, "This
is Dragon Weapon."
"Oh, brother. . . "Reno sighed.
The Shinra technicians, their blue lab coats slapping
at their calves as they walked, wheeled the monstrosity into position, then
proceeded to load it with a three foot long razor-finned missile, wickedly
pointed. Neto gave the signals for the hangar doors to be opened, and the
techs rushed to follow orders, the immense, rickety, wooden doors sliding
apart with a horrible report. Bright afternoon sunlight poured into the gloomy
hangar. It didn't last though. At Neto's word, five young employees entered
from outside tugging at the leads of a thirty foot tall Da-Chao Dragon, which
immediately blocked the entrance and killed the illumination..
"Son of a . . ." Cloud's voice trailed away as he reached
for the handle of his gun. "Neto, you idiot, that thing could take out this
place with a single breath!" He looked to Reno who'd also drawn his weapon,
a dangerous looking nightstick with a two-pronged tip, and they split up,
going automatically into attack stances, prepared to take the creature out,
science be damned. Neto approached them quickly, hands held up reassuringly
before him. There was a smug grin on his face.
"Gentlemen! Gentlemen, sirs! It's not real! It's a model!
A duplicate! A fake!"
Cloud eyed the technician warily. Seems someone had
gotten a thesaurus for christmas. He straightened, holstering his pistol
away in the flap of his jacket.
"A model?" he asked, "That's a damned realistic model."
Neto beamed, and Reno grimaced.
"Of course, it's realistic, sir. We've researched the
Da-Chao Dragons exhaustively. Bone structure, behavior, skin, offensive
capabilities, defensive capabilties. We've constructed this replica out of
mytheril, which is very near to how tough the dragon's skin actually is.
It's teeth are actual dragon teeth gotten from the fire caves, as are its
claws and scales. Exhaustive, sirs."
"Exhaustive is right. I say you technicians need lives."
"I'm sorry, Mr. Reno. Shall we commence with the test?"
Cloud shook his head, not to deny commencement of the
testing, but in befuddled disbelief.
"That thing's made out of mytheril?" he asked breathless,
"It must have cost of a fortune! And you're going to blow it up?"
Neto nodded, not seeing Cloud's point. "Mayor Kisaragi
said to spare no expense. She wants a weapon that'll do the job."
"Doesn't sound like Yuffie, "Cloud muttered to himself,
"I've never known a cheaper woman. Alright, then, whatever. Fire the thing
off."
Neto nodded again, his favorite response, and gestured
to the small group of Turks who'd been standing in the corner waiting. They
talked amongst themselves for a moment, then one of them, a lanky, black-haired
young man, crisply suited and starkly neat approached Dragon Weapon. He hoisted
himself in the seat and put his eyes to the sights.
"Watch your aim, Berk, "Neto called to the young Turk
cautiously, "You misfire and it's coming out of your salary."
Reno stifled a laugh.
"Did Neto just tell one of the Turks to watch his aim?
Ha, if Rude were here, he'd be furious. Turks don't know how to miss." Cloud
didn't answer him, but he marked the tone of Reno's voice. He'd been a member
of the organization once. He still kept some of that Turk pride and spirit
with him.
"Alright, Mr. Strife, Mr. Reno, behold! Four, three,
two, one. . . " At the word "fire", Berk let the missile fly with a vengeance,
straight into where the Da-Chao Dragon's heart would be. Having witnessed
Neto's thoroughness, Cloud had no doubt if he were to look, a perfectly wrought
heart could be found sitting in its proper place in the dragon's chest. But
he'd never know. The model exploded violently as the missile did it's work,
Berk thrown from Dragon Weapon with the force of the kick-back. Huge plates
of nearly indestructable mytheril hurdled everywhere, embedding themselves
in the wooden walls, sticking there, twanging. Cloud picked himself up, looking
around. A shard of the stuff was stuck in his brow, he could feel the warm
blood trickling down into his right eye.
"Reno?" he called lowly, looking around for his partner.
"That was an explosion, "the red-haired man said
suddenly from Cloud's side, "That enough adventure for you, Mr. Strife? Hey,
you're bleeding there, you alright?"
"Yeah." Cloud wiped the blood from his eye absently,
then turned to the model. There wasn't a model anymore, just a twenty foot
wide crater containing a few smoking debris. A quick survey proved that no
one was hurt. The technicians were in fact, quite thrilled.
"Beautiful, "Neto muttered gleefully. His assistants
agreed with him whole-heartedly, patting eachother on the backs. The Turks
remained stoic in the corner, their cool Turk masks hiding all emotions.
Even Berk, after he'd been picked up from the ground with a broken arm, only
shrugged painfully and, at Cloud's orders, began trudging briskly to the
infirmary.
"Is that it, then?" Reno asked in impatience, straightening
his hair which had flown out of place with the force of the explosion. "Can
we go?"
Neto was conversing earnestly with the other technicians,
and looked up at Reno as though he'd forgotten he was there. "Excuse me?
Oh, sir, I'm not sure. I'm afraid we may have done our job too well. I think
we'll take down some of the oomph from Dragon Weapon. It's too strong. If
we could just have one more day. . . "
Cloud smiled at the silly little man. "Too strong?"
he repeated, "Yuffie wouldn't have it any other way. Page the Highwind, crate
that sucker up, and send it along to Wutai. Reno, do me a favor and call
Reeve when you get back to the office. He needs to have someone from accounting
accompany this over there and make sure we get paid in full."
"Don't you trust Mayor Kisaragi?" Reno asked, grinning.
"About as far as I can throw her."
The Shinra building could be pleasingly peaceful at
the right hours. It was nearly eleven by Cloud's watch. The regulars had
all gone home, and the after hours security guards had all settled down enough
so that the atmosphere had lost its official air. Of course, Cloud was supposed
to not like this. As security head along with Reno, by rights he should've
been out checking up on the guards, making sure they were alert and wary,
checking every room at least once every two hours, checking the main exits
and entrances hourly, and watching the monitors like hawks. Shinra had developed
a lot of widely envied technology in the past years. Competing companies
were itching to run their fingers through the development department's files,
he knew.
Adjusting his jacket, he began the long walk down the
hall to the elevators. It was a lengthy journey from the far east wing of
the 59th floor to the train station. The heels of his boots met the cold
floor silently, denying him even their companionship. Far away, he could
hear the moaning of the air conditioning units. From the floor above, he
could hear some ambitious Shinra employee working after hours on a project
or a proposal.
Reno had gone home hours before, asking him to go for
a drink before leaving, but Cloud had refused. He was feeling a little down
tonight. He didn't have the faintest idea why. Things were going well. The
weapon that Yuffie Kisaragi, mayor of Wutai after her father's death, had
commissioned met her specifications precisely and then some. They were to
receive 550,000 gil for it. Cloud got two percent of that in addition to
his normal salary, an impressive little bonus. Tifa was thrilled about it.
What else? The trainees were coming along nicely, and just last week, they'd
promoted a new Turk. Cloud was proud of his Turks. They were efficient, reliable,
and hard working. But most of all, most importantly to the man, they were
moral. Shinra under Reeve's presidentship was an honest company. They worked
for the people, not against them. They developed power sources that functioned
harmoniously with the planet, allowing a partnership between humanity and
nature for the first time since the hunters and gatherers of the past. The
Shinra of today was a far cry from what it had been when Rufus and his father
had commanded it. Cloud was proud. Much of it was because of him. Meteor's
destruction had given them a clean canvas on which to paint. And they'd painted
beautifully. Midgar spread about the majestic Shinra towers in gratefulness,
no longer concealed from view by ghastly plates. The slums still existed,
yes, but not to the extent which they had in the past. And there were programs
now, Shinra-aided programs to help those unfortunates who needed it; help
with jobs, family, and money. It was nearly too good to be true, but Midgar
was a changed place. Sure, prejudice still existed between the classes, but
that was simply human nature and nothing Cloud did could change it. He was
still fulfilling his promise to the planet. To life. He did so in small steps,
but he was doing it surely. It wasn't as it had been all those years ago,
when the planet's future had been defined in such stark terms: life or death.
Things were going great. Why then, the melancholy? Cloud
found himself suddenly at the elevators. He punched a button, not really
paying attention, thoughts turned backwards to the past. To think it had
started with one man. He hadn't thought of him in so long. He preferred not
to think of him. His ghostly visage seemed too far away now, like a nightmare
of years ago that had faded with each day. But a nightmare had to be truly
terrible to stay in the memory so long. Green eyes, fire, mako, blood. They
were a mash of emotions, of images only. They flooded his mind when he let
them. Even after thirteen years. Nothing had made sense then, really. It
had all happened so suddenly. Years without anything, years of training to
be a SOLDIER, monotonous drills, elementary exams, days, weeks, months would
go by and nothing out of the ordinary would happen. It had driven Cloud out
of his head, but he'd put up with it, that one goal keeping him going. To
be in SOLDIER. Of course, fate had kicked him in the head with that one.
For whatever reason, he'd failed. And his entire life had instantaneously
began to fall apart. One event after another, horrible. Green eyes, fire,
mako, blood. Bodies, a dead friend, and betrayal. But years were cold, they'd
dulled the hurt. Eighteen of them could do that to you. Cloud thought back
on his mother and missed her terribly, but he only thought of the good times,
not of the night she'd been burned alive. He thought back on his hometown
of Nibelheim and remembered the night by the well with Tifa, the peaceful
though lonely sojourns of his into the mountains to think, the few brief
memories of his father. The hurt had been shoved away and the joys embraced.
That was how the human heart healed. Even after he'd come, bringing
the end, bringing his pain, Cloud now only thought on him distantly. He'd
killed him then, though he'd had to kill him again later. So he was dead.
And that was how Cloud was able to go on.
"Why the hell am I drudging this all up?" he whispered
to himself. He stood in the back of the elevator, alone, the annoying tinny
music filtering to his ears from the speaker above. Then, with a snap of
his head, a blink of his eyes, he remembered. He'd had a dream last night.
He hadn't recalled it until now, but he'd dreamt of the past last night.
He hadn't let himself dream of the chaos of the Meteor incident for years.
He'd forced his subconscious into compliance after it had nearly driven him
insane in the months after the destruction of Midgar. Everynight the nightmares
had slammed at his skull while he slept. Not a night went by that those terrible
things didn't attack him. Green eyes, fire, mako, blood. But they'd stopped.
Time and his own will had caged them. Until last night.
It'd been the typical dream, but Cloud recalled it now
with an unconscious grimace contorting his features. It always started out
dark. But dark was such an insipid word. It began black, like tar in his
eyes, a velvet sack over his head. He'd blink, making sure his eyes were
open, but it would still be black. Then voices began, anonymous things that
slowly crescendoed into recognizeable tones. Aeris, pleading with him, screaming
for help through a voice choked with blood. Tifa, crying, hating him and
swearing at him for his betrayal, desperate to know the reason why he'd given
away the Black Materia. Barret's curses, hating him for his unstable mind.
Cid insulting his actions, his behavior. And Red XIII, growling ferally,
snapping out ire in unintelligeable snarls. Then silence. Horrible in its
emptiness. Then the green. It would begin as a barely discernable curling
about the edges of his blackened vision, until suddenly it came to a vicious
boil, flooding towards him. He could always feel its heat. It didn't matter
that he was dreaming, he could feel the fires burning at his flesh. That
was the mako. It would burn him until he was dust, a smudge of ash of the
ground, immobile, invisible. Nothing. And then every horrible event played
itself out around him. People died, their murderer oblivious to his screaming.
The small village burned again, flames reaching so high in the sky, when
you would have rightly thought they'd burn upside down, reaching to hell
instead of to heaven. Always that black mantled man flitted about, green
eyes blazing coldly, arm of silver cutting everything away. Years played
back like a bad rerun before him, until the last scene, the finale rolled
by, and Cloud saw himself, bloodied but holding Ultima Weapon resolutely,
facing the green-eyed warrior. Only for some reason, here, what had really
happened was forgotten. Cloud didn't emerge victor from the final duel. He
would slash out, Cloud would watch himself slash out, but the blade never
met its mark. His opponent never even had to move, and the sword missed again
and again, butted away by some invisible field.
"God damn you, hit him!" he'd hear himself cry out,
"Can't you hit him when he won't even fight you? Can't you do one thing right
in your life?" But Cloud would only drop his sword, searching out the
antagonizing voice, his own voice, and the green-eyed man needed to second
chance. His one strike was true. Cloud watched impassionately as he was cut
down, the masamune sliding from his body sickeningly. A smile at the lips
of his killer. Then a laugh. Then Sephiroth, damn that name, strode towards
the dust, the ash and Cloud saw what scared him the most. It wasn't Sephiroth
holding the masamune. It wasn't the son of Lucrecia who'd cut him down. It
was Cloud Strife, his blonde hair spiked and slicing the air, his bright
blue eyes mocking him.
And then he would wake up.
"Stupid dream, "he muttered. He could say that now.
It was a stupid dream. He had killed Sephiroth. His subconscious
just desired to keep the game going. But Cloud had declared checkmate long
ago.
There was a sharp ping and the elevator doors slid silently
open. Shaking off all thoughts of the past, Cloud stepped outside, expecting
to see Howard, the security guard scheduled to watch the side employee exits
that night, give him a wave and a respectful smile. But no. Instead of the
bright, almost harsh light of the lobby, it was dark outside. Cloud turned
around, suddenly fearful, but the elevator slid closed as though sensing
evil, and retreated, leaving him alone. It smelled strange here. He backed
up against the wall, where he knew the the lobby lightswitch was. He found
it and flicked it on.
"Oh."
The room he was in certainly wasn't the lobby. In his
absentmindedness, he must've pushed the wrong button. This place hadn't seen
use in ages. He could tell by the crumpled stacks of boxes, the scattered
papers, the inch thick layer of dust sprinkled over everything. No cobwebs
of course, Reeve had a bit of arachnophobia, had the entire building sprayed
and tarped every six months. Cloud scratched at his bandaged forehead and
for a reason he didn't understand, instead of turning back around and heading
home, he stepped away from the wall and into the sprawling complex, something
unnamed pulling him onward.
It seemed familiar to him. This wasn't surprising. In
his twelve years as head of security, he knew the Shinra building inside
out. He had to have been up here at some point. Beneath the dust, he could
see the room had once been very modern. Very mechanical, nearly like a
laboratory. Anonymous machines lay silent against the walls. A large glass
dome occupied one area of the room, though it's walls had been shattered
and now lay gleaming dangerously against the tile floor. A catwalk encircled
the place, leading back to a control booth set high, and more rows of machinery.
The air buzzed slightly, making the dust motes vibrate and the hair on Cloud's
arms stand on end.
"I'm such an asshole, "he breathed to himself suddenly,
"Such an ass. This is Hojo's lab. This is where we found Red." He approached
the broken dome, nearly stepping inside to examine in curiosity, but some
foreboding sense kept him from it. "Over there is where the blood trail led
away. Hojo's assistant had lain there too, I think. And Jenova. . . the structure
holding Jenova was in that room over there." The name of the monster quashed
Cloud's excitement over the memories. He walked about the room with more
solemnity now. It was all so old, so disused, and discontinued. Well, thank
God it was discontinued. He didn't like to imagine the things that had gone
on in that room during Hojo's reign. Though he knew too well of it. He'd
been a part of it.
He pushed deeper inside. It really was large. Everytime
he thought he was about to hit a wall, he moved boxes aside and discovered
more. He didn't know what it was, but he couldn't make himself go back. It
was late, his long day pressed hard upon him, his head ached, he was tired,
but he couldn't make his feet take him back to the elevator. He continued
sloshing through the dust, papers, and debris but something inside told him
he was getting closer to whatever it was he was looking for. Suddenly, the
walls, which had begun to narrow down into something approaching a corrider,
stretched away dramatically, the ceilings raised, the floor lowered about
a foot, and a huge room opened up before him. That's when Cloud collapsed.
"I've been here before. . . "he whispered. His eyes
opened wide, all weariness forgotten. He began to taste fear in the back
of his throat. His pulse quickened and his hands turned cold. He shoved them
in his pockets as he picked himself up, almost embarrased at falling. Green
eyes, fire, mako, blood. They'd done it to him here. Those five years he'd
spent missing, that he'd forgotten, repressed for so long, he'd been here
in this room. This wasn't a sudden realization. He knew he'd been under Hojo's
imprisonment for that time, the madman had told him that himself before he,
Vincent, and his friends had torn him apart. But none of his memories from
that time had been very clear, they'd all been muddled by pain, and the green
haze of mako-- this place-- it terrified him. Being here again, Cloud
had to fight to keep from running.
Trembling slightly despite his best efforts not to,
he made his way about the room. Here was the table they'd so often bolted
him to. Needles on a rack were ones they might've used. And this chamber
here, with the thick lead door, a mako radiation chamber. . . distinct memories
came to him suddenly of being thrown inside and allowed to scream for hours.
Frowning deeply, he found a dilapidated desk chair and threw himself into
it. Its wheels, rusted solid, didn't move under his weight. He looked about
the room in a mixture of horror and anger.
"They did it to me here. . . "he said, his voice raspy.
He spoke outloud as though to hide from his mind, which threw constant images
of the torture before his eyes. "For five years, oh God, how did I live through
it? I can remember. . . everyday, the mako injections. Constantly poisoned.
I'd be allowed to heal, then poisoned again, and again. A never-ending cycle.
What were they trying to do? I know. Hojo wanted another Sephiroth. He wanted
me to give him power he couldn't give himself. Did he ever talk to me? He
must have." Cloud shut his eyes, trying to recall things more clearly. He
wanted to understand the scientist's motives. The pain, the robbery of his
life, it might be more bearable to him if he could only recall Hojo's intentions
better. Then, he'd have someone he could blame without qualms.
"Tell me about your mother. . . " Hojo's voice was cold,
scientific, just as all of him was. Cloud had lain on the table, his wrists
bleeding, sores that had just began healing broken open again after the mako
treatment. His mind was just beginning to resurface after sinking into
unconsciousness from the pain. Hojo and his assistants had discovered though,
that each time it resurfaced, less of it came up. The more mako they inundated
his blood with, the fewer sane memories were left to him. It was a terrible
switch-off.
"My mother. . . "he'd began, his tongue feeling thick,
his mind tired and sore. He told of her physical features, of his love for
her, her cooking, her smile, her laugh, her devotion to him. He forgot that
he was talking to an enemy and he let his soul spill away because it comforted
him. Hojo only nodded coldly, not really listening.
"Tell me of the night Sephiroth went mad."
This was harder. This was painful. And full of gaps.
Cloud would fumble through the events, his mind racing but coming up blank
in many places. But he knew this was wrong! If he'd been there, why couldn't
he remember? Feeling Hojo's intense gaze upon him as he hesitated, Cloud
would race to fill in the story. Suddenly, things would come to mind, images
of events that seemed clear enough, yet didn't entirely make sense. Perhaps
he had been in SOLDIER when he'd returned home. Maybe he hadn't killed
Sephiroth himself. Maybe he had. He just couldn't recall. . . a green haze
smudged away anything definate and it hurt too much to try and remember.
"But I remember now." Cloud sat up in the rotted chair,
looking the room over. How he wished that Hojo was there so he could bash
his head in with a rock hard fist. Five years gone, and more taken away besides.
But it didn't matter now, did it. Cloud smiled to himself weakly, passing
a gloved hand over his face, rubbing hard at his eyes. Distractedly, he leaned
over the examining table. Raising a hand, he swept away some of the dust,
revealing it's finely polished surface, nearly like a mirror. He looked at
himself there, almost for reassurance. He didn't seem a day over sixteen.
For a thirty-four year old to be able to say that was something else, but
it made Cloud nauseous. It was the mako. It had done things to his body.
Years ago, Tifa had loved to tell him how young he looked, how healthy he
was, how lucky it seemed for the years to be so kind. But she'd stopped that
after a while. When she began to get older, not noticeably older, just as
should naturally happen as years roll on, while he never aged, she began
to worry. He remained young and his blue eyes never lost even a degree of
their mako burn. It was unsettling. But Cloud was grateful she didn't mention
it anymore. She knew somehow.
"I'm a monster, "the man sighed, not really meaning
it. He could relate with Vincent sometimes. Though as far as Cloud knew,
he'd been thankfully spared from having Jenova cells pumped into him. Or
had he. Sephiroth had always hinted at the possibility. To hell with hinting,
he'd flat out told Cloud that he was a Jenova puppet. The way he'd controlled
the young man's mind only backed up his claim. But Cloud wasn't sure. He
didn't think it was true. It didn't matter now though. That freak was dead.
"To hell with this shit, "he said suddenly standing.
"I'm just dragging my feet through a lot of dead shit. Anyone that ever meant
anything to this lab is dead and buried. Hojo, you idiot, I care about you
so little, that I'm not even going to think about you. And Sephiroth. . .
I figure I showed you all you needed to be shown. Goodbye." He stood violently
from the chair, fury thick in his actions. This place didn't need to be here
anymore. First thing in the morning, he'd go to Reeve and ask why it hadn't
been torn down and replaced with something useful. And then he'd make sure
that it was.
"Cloud."
His breath caught in his throat as the low voice carried
his name to his ears. He turned around in a panic, clutching at his gun.
"Who's there?" he called softly, though his voice wavered
more than he would have liked.
There wasn't an answer, but then, Cloud hadn't expected
one. Mind's playing havoc with me tonight, he thought to himself nervously.
He gave the horrible room another glance and then began walking back the
way he'd came, perhaps, a little too quickly.
"Cloud."
The voice called again, a little stronger this time,
neither male nor female in tone. He didn't answer. His only response was
to walk faster, fear causing sweat to stand out and sting his eyes. I don't
hear that, he told himself firmly. The halls narrowed again as he left the
mako treatment room and re-entered the main part of Hojo's lab, the glass
lying broken on the floor shining brightly. Cloud had to squint his eyes
for a second. The shards had seemed to been covered in blood, fresh blood
that ran in rivulets and collected on the floor. He blinked, and the gore
was gone. He ran now, knocking over the packing boxes in his panic. They
tumbled noisily, their contents breaking, but they couldn't drown out the
voice.
"Cloud. . . Cloud!"
It was fairly screaming now, screaming in anger. He
slammed himself against the elevator doors, desperately skidding to a halt
and jabbing the down button again and again. The voice repeated his name,
each time in more agitation. Cloud felt that if he didn't get out soon, its
owner would appear and jab something into his heart.
"Cloud!"
Finally! The doors opened silently, unaware that anything
was wrong. He threw himself through, and pushed the L button as though he
were on fire. The voice called his name one final time, in a shriek so high
and piercing, it cut through his head like a pike. The elevator closed at
last and the dark lab slid from sight. Cloud sank to his knees, back against
the wall, just as something slammed itself into the doors, making a reverberating
thud that shook him to his bones. It sounded as though some huge, ungodly
fist had pounded the elevator door in frustration at his escape. The echo
of the noise, and of the voice who'd cried his name, rang through the man's
head the entire ride down.
"It's friggin cold outside!" he declared, entering the
bar and throwing himself on the stool closest to the fire. The place's few
patrons barely looked up at his statement. The town was small and they all
knew eachother, but there was absolutely no way to respond to such a comment
without wasting words. He was right. It was cold.
"What'll it be, Arik?" the bald-headed barkeeper asked
chummily. Arik grinned, rubbing his hands together gingerly.
"Lessee, I been coming in this bar for fifteen years
and ordering the same thing: a shot of jack daniels and a shot of rum. Maybe
I'll try something different today. How about. . . hmm. . . a shot of whisky
and a shot of Lucky Seven?"
"Surgeon general says excessive drinking can lead to
liver disease, "the barkeep remarked jokingly. Arik grinned, not really
listening.
"Surgeon general is going to put you out of a job."
"Nah, as long as there are thirsty men, there'll be
a place in the world for me."
"Hallelujah." Arik leaned his elbows forward onto the
bar, settling down comfortably, wishing to enjoy the warmth of the fire against
his face and hands. After his friend brought him his drinks, his insides
began to warm up too, a pleasant fire burning cheerfully within him.
"So what have you been up to today?" the barkeep asked
conversationally. Arik shrugged.
"Same old. Can't do too much more on m'roof until those
new shingles come in. Holzoff tells me the weather should be letting up any
day now, but the snow seems as thick as ever if you ask me. The trucks won't
even try to come through until this blizzard lets up. I'm stranded, so to
speak. And bored out of my mind."
The barkeep shrugged, handing a beer to a customer seated
in one the booths.
"You could always move to Costa del Sol, "he said
laughingly, "Sorry to break it to you, Arik, but you live here by choice,
so you have no right to complain."
The man smiled, watching the empy shotglass before him.
He didn't know why anyone would want to live in Icicle Inn. It seemed more
a place for hermits, than sociable men. A person could come there and lose
himself in the blinding whiteness of the snowscape. Why had Arik moved there?
He didn't even remember anymore. But it didn't matter, it'd become his home.
He shrugged to the barkeeper, then went back to his rum.
The tavern door blew open behind him suddenly and Arik
shivered as icy air ran cold fingers over his back. He didn't turn though,
he only watched the man who entered now with distracted interest as he walked
rather stiffly up to the bar and ordered a drink. From the corner of his
eyes, he saw he was a foreign fellow with deeply tanned skin and black hair.
His coat looked brand new, as did his boots and gloves. Not from around her,
not used to this cold, Arik thought to himself with a bit of an internal
smile.
Drink in hand, the man took the stool next to Arik and
drank gratefully.
"I needed that, "he said, plopping the glass down and
smacking his lips.
"Hullo, stranger, "Arik said before he could stop himself,
feeling quite friendly. The man looked to Arik in surprise, then smiled.
"Hullo. Quite a bit of snow out, eh?"
"It happens occasionally this side o' the equator. Where
ya from?"
"Midgar. I'm visiting my aunt Opal. You probably know
her."
"That I do. You must be Holzoff's nephew then. Have
you been in to see him?"
The man shook his head rather shamefully. "The Great
Glacier's been rather unsurmountable since I arrived. I went to hire a guide
to take me up there but he said it was impossible, all the roads are snowed
in. And I'm not a very good snowboarder. Give me a skateboard, sure, but
me and the cold don't mix."
"Well, maybe I can give you a lesson or two. I know
Holzoff gets a mite lonely up there doing his research and all. We could
try for it tomorrow."
"Can't." The man shrugged sadly, gesturing for the barkeep
to pour him another round. "I have to be back in Midgar."
"That's a shame, "Arik said tonelessly.
"You wouldn't happen to know where I could rent a chocobo,
would you? I was going to wait for the transport trucks, but my son's birthday
is wednesday, and I'd rather not miss it. He's going to be twelve. Only happens
once, y'know."
Arik grinned, beginning to button up his coat again.
"So I've heard. C'mon. There's a place just a few buildings down that rents
them out. I'll take you."
"That'll be eleven gil, "the barkeep said. Holzoff's
nephew tossed a couple coins into the man's hand and thanked him. Arik gestured
carelessly, a signal for his total to be added onto his ever growing tab.
The two men exitted the tavern, arms wrapped close to their bodies to retain
warmth.
"This chocobo fellow isn't exactly your average joe,
"said Arik as they were tramping through the snow, his breath like smoke
billowing from his mouth. "A lot of people are a little thrown off when they
first meet him, but they shouldn't be, he's a nice enough sort. Not too friendly,
but not too mean either. He just likes to be left to himself. I've had a
coupla drinks with him in the past, he will talk to ya, if he decides you're
worth it."
"So you're friends?" the man asked, teeth chattering
uncontrollably against the cold.
"Mmmm. . . more like acquaintances. He's from Midgar,
like yourself. I think his friends all live there. Maybe you know him? Named
Vincent?"
"Midgar isn't like here, sir, "the man said, smiling,
"Here, everyone knows everyone. Midgar has a population of about 400,000.
There, even after you think you know someone, you'll find you really don't."
"Ah. Well, here's the place."
They stood before a rather beat up old shack, greying
and a little dilapidated. A small painted sign hung on the door. Chocobos:
for sale and lease. The snow piled high about it, almost up to the windows,
but a small path had been dug about the door and after Arik gave a polite
little knock, the two men stood in the space expectantly. After a moment,
they heard someone moving about inside and then locks unclasping sharply.
The door opened and Arik's young companion had trouble keeping from gibbering
like an idiot.
"Good afternoon to you, Vincent, "Arik remarked casually.
The man standing in the doorway nodded curtly. Holzoff's
nephew stared. He had red eyes. They glowed brightly from beneath his mess
of black hair. His face, young and handsome was marred by long scars that
ran the length of his jaw cruelly. But his red eyes. . . the young man couldn't
believe it. He looked the fellow over from head to toe. He was dressed entirely
in black, from his boots to the sweeping coat he wore. He was holding a strange
metallic tube in one hand. . . no, that was his arm. His left arm was a wicked
looking claw that extended from his elbow, five hooked fingers pronging out
at one end. It glinted with his every movement.
Arik saw his companion staring and rolled his eyes.
"This young fellow wants to rent a chocobo from you,
"he said, trying to get the ball rolling. Vincent nodded again.
"Come inside, "he said, holding the door wide for them.
Arik pushed the younger man through, then followed.
The shack was pleasantly warm. A bright fire glowed
in the hearth. The place was sparsely furnished, but what was there was clean
and serviceable. The house contained only one large room. That in turn was
divided into corners. A bed stuck far back against the left wall, a table
and chairs against the right with the fireplace seperating them. Nearest
the front door was an easel, the painting there hastily covered with a
paint-splattered piece of canvas. Other paintings were stacked against the
walls, their fronts hidden from view. A desk and typewriter, along with a
radio, lay beside them. A lone door to the left led back into the stable
and bathroom.
Vincent led them to the table and motioned for them
to sit down. He took off his coat and hung it from a hook on the wall, then
he too sat, his claw resting on the table. Holzoff's nephew stuck a hand
out and Vincent made as though he'd shake it with the claw, smiling ever
so slightly as the young man paled. But he of course relented at the last
moment and stuck out his good hand.
"Where are you headed?" he asked, staring him in the
eye.
"Midgar, "the man answered truthfully, "I've been here
visiting relations, but I have to get back to the city by wednesday."
"Why not wait for the trucks? What's so important? Even
by chocobo it's dangerous out there. It's been very bleak, and the wolves
are hungry."
"It's my son's birthday. I promised him I'd be back
in time. He'd be heartbroken if I didn't make it. And my wife would give
me hell." Holzoff's nephew laughed nervously, and Arik smiled. Vincent only
nodded.
"Midgar. You'll need a Gold Chocobo then, at 300 gil
a day, to cross the sea. It's a two day journey, so it'll cost you 600."
The young man's smile faded at hearing the price. It
was a fair deal, probably more than fair, but his funds were limited. "I
can give you 400, "he said hopefully. Vincent nodded, and the man was nearly
blown back. "Really? Thank you!"
"Something else though, "the red-eyed man said suddenly,
"I need you to deliver a note to a friend of mine in Sector One."
"Not a problem. I live in Sector Two, I can drop it
in his box on my way to work."
Vincent rose and gestured for the man to follow him.
They exitted through the door and into the stable, leaving Arik sittling
alone at the table. He tried to sit there patiently and wait for their return,
but patience wasn't one of his strongest virtues.
That Vincent Valentine is a strange sort, the older
man said to himself. What does he do in here all day? I know I'd die of boredom
if I were stuck in here alone. The man oughta get himself a wife, some company.
Arik rose from his chair and waltzed over to the fire, spreading his hands
before its warmth. This place was so sparse. It needed the touch of a woman.
Curiosity getting the best of him, he sauntered casually over to a mess of
cabinets stuck up on the wall. The first he opened revealed a few loaves
of brown bread, cans of soup, and bags of rice. This all he eats? wondered
Arik silently. The next cabinet was full of oil paints, turpentine, and rolls
of canvas. The last cabinet made the older man cringe. It was stuffed with
a wide array of weapons, pistols mainly, but he spied a lethal looking sniping
rifle and some huge, hulking piece of metal inscribed with the words "Death
Penalty". A few stray bullets rolled out and he stuffed them back in, closing
the cabinet doors hurriedly. The sound of cooing chocobos drifted to his
ears and he turned, but the stable door was still shut.
"Bloody freak. . . "murmered Arik, eying the last cabinet
fearfully. "What's he got all them guns for? It's like he's preparing for
a war or something. Hmph." The man waited for a moment, trying in all honesty
to keep from snooping around further. He'd never been in Vincent's house
before. He had shared drinks with the man, that was true but having never
had the need for a chocobo, he'd never been invited inside. That covered
painting on the easel cried out to him suddenly, and he itched to see what
it was of. He inched closer to the work, his eyes on the door, for some reason
fearful of being caught, as though he were breaking a law. He stood before
the canvas a moment, then lifted the cover and peeped under.
At first he couldn't make out anything. It seemed only
a balance of red, black, and blue color thrown about the panel. But as he
squinted, stepped forward and then back again, he was able to discern a woman's
face hidden in the marks. Shrugging, he dropped the cover, a little disappointed.
He didn't know what he'd expected to see. Someone cleared their throat, and
Arik looked up sharply. Vincent stood in the doorway, staring at him icily.
"Your friend is in the stable, Mr. Bivs, "said the red-eyed
man emotionlessly, "He wants to thank you for your kindness before he leaves."
Vincent held something clutched in his hand, Arik assumed it was a pouch
of gil, but he was very careful as he passed him and entered the stable.
Vincent closed the door behind him.
Chocobos of every color lined the place, each tucked
neatly away in its own little stall, a blanket covering each to protect them
from the biting cold. Many were asleep, but a few were awake and warked softly
as Arik entered their domain. Holzoff's nephew straddled a beautiful golden
bird, reins clutched tight in his hands. The creature could sense how
inexperienced its rider was, but had been well trained and didn't take advantage
of it.
"I'm loving this thing, "the young man exclaimed, stroking
the chocobo's downy neck. "I'd love to ride this guy to work every morning."
Arik smiled, but it was forced. Vincent's cold gaze
had startled him and the man felt he'd remain startled for the rest of his
life. "You take care out there, young fellow. The wind's picking up. Ride
safely."
"Thank you for your help, sir. I'll be sure to visit
you next time I'm in town."
"You do that. And happy birthday to your son."
"Thanks." The young man touched his heels to the chocobo's
golden sides and in a flash it was off out the stable doors which Vincent
had left open, and heading towards the sea. Bracing himself, Arik turned
and opened the door to the shack. He bid the man inside a polite goodbye,
then saw himself out, squirming under his red gaze. Vincent sat at the table
for a few minutes after he was gone, fingertips pressed together and flexing
in and out, his eyes distant with thought. Then he rose, and continued to
paint.
He'd been growing fond of the painting he'd been working
on that afternoon and had been mildly upset when he'd had to burn it after
Arik Bivs' eyes had stained its surface, but it didn't matter. He could afford
more canvas, and his inspiration was inexhaustable.
Popping the last crust of his sandwich into his mouth
and then following it with a gulp of water, Vincent stood and stretched,
beginning to tire a bit. He put on his coat and boots and wandered out to
the stable to tuck his chocobos in for the night. He petted each as he passed
them, checking their greens and straw to make sure they were all supplied.
He checked the lock on the stable door, and then poured each bird a fresh
trough of water. They warked contentedly in their sleep, and Vincent sighed,
satisfied. It put him at peace to care for the animals, to fill their base
needs and protect them. Really, it was the ideal job for him. He felt the
less he was forced to interact with the people of Icicle Inn, the better
off everyone was. Humanity often filled him with a terrible anger. And anger
was dangerous. But peace was welcome, it kept the beast within him caged
away. He hadn't transformed into the Chaos demon in years. A small part of
him hoped that it wasn't even there anymore. But that small part was naive,
Vincent often felt the beast prowling about in his mind while he dreamt,
pacing back and forth like an imprisoned animal.
It doesn't matter, he thought, I'll keep it caged.
Giving the chocobos one last glance, he re-entered his
home, shutting the door behind him silently. He pulled back the thick bedclothes,
flicked off the lights, then stripped to his waist, sliding quickly between
the sheets. Head centered on his pillow, he lay there, staring at the light
of the fire flickering against the ceiling. Pleasant thoughts must have come
to him, because after a few minutes he fell softly asleep, the hint of a
smile on his lips, perhaps anticipating the next day. Within him, the demon
paced.
Careful to keep his footfalls muted, he entered his
home, his family sleeping. He'd called Tifa earlier and told her not to wait
up and apparently she hadn't. He'd been keeping a lot of late hours the last
couple of weeks, Reeve insisting that Dragon Weapon be hurriedly completed
and sent out so that Yuffie would get off his back about it. "And of course,
the techs and Turks just can't function correctly unless Reno or I are there
to watch over them, "thought the man in heavy sarcasm.
Cloud was the fifth highest paid employee at the Shinra
Company. His home showed the fact. It wasn't sickeningly extravegant or anything,
but Cloud made sure his family lived in comfort, despite the fact that the
name on their mailbox read "Strife". Silently, he climbed the stairs up to
the second floor, ignoring the darkness since he knew his home so well he
didn't need lights to navigate it. The door to his son CJ's room had been
left opened just a crack. He knew that Tifa had done it, so he could peek
in on him when he came home. He entered the darkened bedroom soundlessly,
made sure that CJ was sleeping, half-hoping he'd wake up so that he could
talk to him, then tiptoed out again. Ifalna, his five year old daughter,
was sleeping softly in the room next door, her peaceful breathing occasionally
interrupted by little hiccups. The sound of his two children brushed every
ounce of unease from his mind. His two most prized possessions were safe.
He and Tifa's bedroom was just down the hall. He peeled
his shoes off as he walked, the soft carpet warm and rich beneath his feet.
The light was off behind his bedroom door. Tifa was rolled over on her side,
breathing softly. Cloud set his keys and things down gently on the dresser,
then undressed, careful not to disturb her. He draped his gun belt over the
back of a chair, removing the pistol and laying it conveniently on the
nightstand. Since he'd began to work for Shinra, Reeve had insisted he learn
how to use a gun. His sword was too conspicuous and too clumsy for company
work, he'd said. Cloud had balked at the command at first but had found that
he had a knack for marksmanship. He was nearly as a good a aim as Reno now,
however he knew he could never match Vincent or Barret. If he'd had a choice
though, he would have picked the firm, solid grip of a hilt to the cold metallic
feel of a gun. Giving the room a last glance around, he rolled into bed with
a long, shaky sigh and settled back against the pillow.
"How was work?" Tifa asked suddenly. Cloud grinned.
It never failed, no matter how quietly he thought he'd moved, she always
woke up. He swore she had ears like a cat. She rolled over to face him, laying
a hand on his chest, and he squinted to make out her silouhette, a darker
dark against the black of the room. Cloud stretched lazily.
"Productive, "he said firmly, "That damned weapon of
Yuffie's is finally done and on its way."
"Thank Shiva, "Tifa breathed, laying her head against
Cloud's chest, "She won't be calling here anymore then, nagging about it?"
"No. I swear, I regret the day I ever gave her her own
PHS. Seems to me I remember telling her it was only for emergencies."
"Well, the dragons are causing her a lot of trouble."
"I suppose, "the man relented, rubbing his wife's soft
hair through his calloused fingers pleasantly, "It'll be alright though.
Even Yuffie can't screw up this weapon. You should have seen the thing, Tifa,
it blew a life-size replica of a Da-Chao Dragon made out of mytheril, entirely
of mytheril, to total oblivion. There were fragments everywhere. Even Reno
was thrown off." Cloud chuckled, remembering Reno's pale face as he'd risen
from the floor. A pale Turk.
Tifa raised a hand and drew attention to the bandage
still wrapped around his forehead. "Is that how you got this, luv? Bit o'
shrapnel?" Just to be frivolous, she was talking in a very bad english accent.
Cloud guessed she must have taken the kids to see a puppet show that day.
He laughed and answered in his best cockney impression,
which was rather terrible, "That I did, sweets. Mytheril to the noggin, ya
know. Sharp stuff that, take your 'ead off at fifty paces."
Tifa laughed, sat up and kissed his forehead gently,
prying the bandage up for a moment to see the damage done to her husband.
Just a deep cut was all, only an inch or so wide. She laid back, satisfied.
"Will I live, doc?" Cloud asked, turning over onto his
side and pressing his head into the soft pillow.
Tifa kissed him lightly on the lips, smiling.
"I think your chances are pretty good, "she whispered.
Cloud let his eyes slip shut as she flipped onto her side, her slender back
firm against his chest so that they could share eachother's warmth. He laid
a weary hand comfortably on her hip. As he drifted to sleep, the wonderful
scent of her hair in his nostrils, his mind viciously shoved the voice into
his head again, calling his name repeatedly in lethal tones. But he didn't
pay any attention to it. Tifa's presence shoved it all away, leaving only
peace and bliss.
Cloud was seated at the kitchen table, a newspaper spread
before him. He drank his tea soberly, unperturbed by his son. "That's your
own fault, CJ. Don't make promises you can't keep."
"But dad, I had to. Ash said he was gonna bust my head
open! And Sliver Takada said he meant it! There's no other way!" CJ's eyebrows
arched imploringly above his bright eyes, his small mouth frowning deep.
Cloud looked down at him and had to fight to keep from laughing. CJ was trying
his hardest to be earnest, the man knew this, but he always came off so damned
funny. Tifa entered the kitchen suddenly, running a brush through her hair
and looking down at her kneeling son curiously.
"Are you still bugging your dad, CJ? Cloud, just tell
him no."
Cloud shrugged his shoulders smiling. "Maybe I should
consider it. He really seems to wanna."
A breath of hope caught in CJ's throat and Tifa sighed
in exasperation. Donning her meanest mom glare, she bent down and wagged
a finger in her son's face forcefully.
"You're not taking the Ultima Weapon to school!" she
said firmly, and by her tone, CJ knew the argument was finished. She
straightened, putting the brush on the table and pulling an oversized sweater
on over her blouse. The November winds were whistling outside, making the
air colder that it really was. CJ glared at her, then crossed his arms and
stomped from the room. Cloud watched him go with a bit of concern.
"Well, at least we know he can't go against our orders
and sneak it in his bookbag, "he said lightly, but Tifa didn't laugh.
"He really has an obsession with your swords, Cloud,
"she said softly, sitting in the seat across from him and grabbing the comic
section from the newspaper.
"Hell, I have an obsession with my swords. He doesn't,
I mean, come on. He's just having a little spat at school with that Ash kid.
CJ can wallop him, don't worry. I've taught him how to fight. Kids have to
learn to take care of themselves."
"At the age of ten?" Tifa asked, eyebrow raised. Cloud
shrugged.
"The sooner, the better. You wait, he'll come home today
victorious. And in a couple of years, when he's stronger, I'll start giving
him fencing lessons."
Tifa didn't answer. She didn't want CJ to turn into
a fighter and Cloud knew it. She never wanted to see him bloodied in battle
or killing to survive. She'd thought that's what she and Cloud had fought
for all those years ago: a world where people wouldn't have to make war anymore.
They'd argued about it before, but her husband was rather adamant on the
subject. He remembered what it had been like when he was young. He'd had
no father to teach him how to defend himself. He'd had no one to show him
how to take a punch and then give one back. So he'd failed miserably when
the children of Nibelheim had beaten on him. He didn't want to see that happen
to CJ.
Not wanting to argue again, Tifa changed the subject.
"Are you going to be late again tonight?" she asked,
her eyes skimming through the comics.
Cloud gulped the last of his tea and nodded. "Probably.
I'm going to be starting a new project today." The man said the sentence
sort of queerly and it made Tifa look up at him in curiosity.
"And what would that be?" she questioned.
Taking a deep breath, Cloud answered, "I found out yesterday
that Hojo's old laboratory still exists." He watched as Tifa's eyes widened
slightly, her gaze fixed upon him. "For some reason, Meteor spared it years
ago, spared the very heart-artery of the entire ordeal which I don't understand,
and the employees have never put in a request to appropriate the space for
anything else. The place is a wreck. I don't think anyone could salvage anything
from it if they wanted to but I don't care. I'm meeting with Reeve today
and I'll get him to let me tear it all down."
"Are there files in there still?" she asked quietly.
"I suppose. . . "Cloud looked up in surprise at her
question. "Why?"
The woman turned away and he thought he saw tears in
her rusty-colored eyes. On instinct, he reached for her hand.
"You could find out what happened all those years ago.
After Nibelheim burned. Those five years you disappeared."
"I know what happened, "Cloud said darkly, looking back
carefully into his memories, "They pumped me full of mako and tried to turn
me into another Sephiroth."
"But you don't know why. . . "
Cloud shrugged, seeing her point.
"Alright then, "he said rather easily, "I'll haul out
the old files and look through--"
"No!"
Cloud flinched as Tifa jumped from the chair, her eyes
wide in fear. Tears were pouring down her cheeks. She walked towards him
quickly and put her two strong hands on his broad shoulders, staring him
in the eyes.
"No, "she repeated, "Promise me you won't do that."
"But I thought--"
"No, Cloud. Don't you remember what happened when Sephiroth
began asking too many questions? When he holed himself up in the mansion
and read for days of the orchestration and manipulation of his life? No,
you know enough, and the things you don't know are in the past. I. . . I
don't want to see what happened to Sephiroth happen to you. Please, stay
out of there. That place is dead."
Tifa wiped her eyes on the sleeve of her sweater and
turned away from him, quiet for a long moment. Cloud sat blinking, staring
at her back. How could she think his sanity was so fragile? It nearly angered
him that she doubted him so. He wanted to argue with her, but then he recalled
the voice he'd heard in the lab the night before, the voice that now, in
the light of day, seemed so ridiculous. How many men with perfectly sound
minds allowed themselves to be chased out of rooms by hallucinations? he
asked himself mockingly.
"I promise, Tifa, "he said gently to the back of her
head. She turned, smiling through her tears. The breath caught in Cloud's
throat. Even af
"Mama. . . " Tifa turned and saw Ifalna walking towards
her. The little girl wore a baby blue jumper embroidered with waltzing chocobos.
Her blonde hair was pulled back into two pigtails. "Why are ya crying?"
"No reason, sweets, "Tifa said, kneeling down and fixing
the strap that had come loose on her jumper. "Ready to go?"
"Can I stay home today?"
"Nope."
"Oh." The girl rubbed her eyes and yawned. She was a
very quiet child, nearly pensive. She left the screaming to CJ. Her sober
violet eyes turned to Cloud.
"'Morning, dad, "she said, smiling.
"'Morning, sunshine. Get your coat on so you can go,
it's chilly out." The little girl turned and left the kitchen just as silently
as she'd entered, snatching a donut on the way out. Tifa watched her leave,
love in her expression.
"CJ is a huricane, Ifalna is the eye, "she remarked
tenderly. Cloud laughed then gave her a quick peck and was out the door.
He was dressed in the same sort of clothes he'd worn yesterday, his own personal
uniform. He refused to wear what Reeve assigned. He didn't like monkeysuits.
As she watched him make his way down the path and out into the street towards
the station, Tifa thought he was the handsomest man she'd ever seen.
She straightened her outfit suddenly, blowing breath
into her eyes to dry the tears and refusing to give Hojo's lab another thought.
She trusted Cloud to do as he'd said. Finally, she turned and exitted the
kitchen to make sure her kids got off to school alright before she herself
headed for work.
"Cait Sith!" she hollared, stepping into the living
room, her hands on her hips. "Are you up?" She knew that the robotic cat
never actually slept, just turned itself off and plugged in to recharge,
but she couldn't help saying things her way. At her words, a large grey and
white splotched feline approached her on four legs. A crimson cape was tied
about its neck rather dashingly, and a plastic party crown sat pushed backwards
on his head.
"Good morning, Tifa, "the cat said cheerfully, rising
up to two feet and grinning. "CJ and Ifalna ready to go?"
As if on cue, Ifalna shuffled her way down the stairs,
tugging at her coat. She held a piece of yellow construction paper in one
hand, a curl of tape stuck to the back. Upon approaching Cait Sith, she attached
it to his chest.
"What's this?" the cat asked examining it closely.
"A medal, "said Ifalna matter-of-factly, "For winning
at cards last night."
Cait's artificial intelligence whirred and clicked to
come up with a response.
"Cute, "he said finally. He patted Ifalna on the head
and then turned to Tifa. "What about the other one?"
The woman frowned.
"CJ!"
Mom's voice came to his ears harshly, startling him.
He was standing in the middle of his parents' armoury, oggling the weapons
there as was his habit. The room sat on the second floor, all the way to
the left and usually remained locked, but Cloud had been going through his
things the week before, searching for a few gold armlets to sell off, and
had forgotten to lock up. CJ had been taking advantage of the slip. He was
imagining his father as he must've looked thirteen years before, in his SOLDIER
uniform, wearing the enchanted mystile armband and wielding the gently humming
sword before him. Ultima Weapon. The boy gazed on it as though his eyes could
never get their fill. The massive blade hung mounted on the wall at the very
rear of the room, besides his mother's Premium Heart. But he thought boxing
rather brutish. It was always the swords that held his attention. His dad
had saved the planet with that sword, he thought proudly, longing to hold
it in his hand.
"CJ!"
"Coming, mom!"
Standing on tiptoes, he tried to reach the hilt, but
his father'd hung it too high. "By Odinn's beard, "he muttered, using an
expression he'd heard Cait say sometimes. He sighed. Ash would've really
quaked if he'd gone to face him clutching that sword, he thought, smiling
wickedly. He would've spun it around his head and plunged it into the ground
for effect. Then Ash would've ran. CJ almost laughed at the mental image.
But then he frowned, reality popping him upside the head. He wouldn't be
taking the beautiful sword to school today. He would be facing Ash alone,
with his own two fists. He sighed again, the force of it wracking his chest
and making him shiver.
He didn't even understand why Ash hated him so much.
But then, something in his ten year old mind did have a slightly vague idea.
Maybe it was because his father was Cloud Strife, a legend, a hero. Maybe
it was because Ash's father was a seldom seen pothead who made his existance
known only through the burns, blisters, and welts he left on his son. CJ
shrugged. The why's weren't really important. The fact of the matter was,
Ash was going to kick his butt at recess, and CJ was going to disappoint
his father by letting him.
The weight of the world on his narrow shoulders, the
little boy left the fantastic weapons behind, blinking as harsh reality shone
in his eyes, blaring away the dreams he'd had of victory. He plodded down
the stairs, miserable. Tifa saw him and her heart went out. Why did he have
to be so much like his father?
Bundled in their coats, she shuffled them out the door.
Cait would lead them to the Sector One Elementary School as he did every
morning, mog-less at CJ's request. The boy thought a robotic talking cat
as a babysitter was bad enough without him having to ride atop a giant mog
to boot. He watched the cat shuffle along contentedly, happy in his position.
Reeve had been ready to scrap him after Meteor had hit and his usefulness
expired. Cloud, however, had developed a softspot for the bundle of fur,
wires, and stuffing, and had asked the Shinra president if he could have
him. A little reprogramming from Cid Highwind, and Cait Sith went from toysaurus
to nanny overnight. He was perfectly satisfied with the change.
Closing and locking the door behind them, Tifa gave
Ifalna and CJ quick kisses before they parted ways for the day. Before pulling
away from her son though, she punched him chummily in the shoulder, grinning
as though she were about to commit a crime.
"I'm going to give you something, "she said to him lowly.
The boy's face lit up in surprise. "And I want you to be careful with it.
Here." His right hand went out and she placed a small, worn glove onto it,
strapping it tightly about his wrist. "My old teacher Zangan gave me this,
CJ. My first glove. It's not particularly powerful, but it is enchanted.
It makes the wearer's strength equal to that of his opponent's. It creates
a fair fight. I've seen that Ash kid. He's the size of a frigging vlakorados.
But now you don't need to be scared of him." She smiled warmly at her son,
and he hugged her, grateful. "Now, I don't want you to fight. I want you
to avoid it at all costs. But if you have absolutely no choice, then I've
got only one thing to say."
CJ looked at her, blinking in disbelief.
"What?"
Tifa beamed. "Kick his ass." CJ grinned and hugged her
again, holding his gloved right hand lovingly. He ran to catch up with Cait
and Ifalna, already half-way down the block. His mother sighed contentedly
and began the walk to work, confident that her babies were safe for another
day.
"Marlene, baby, "he said finally, trying to keep the
gruff from his voice. "It's seven-thirty. Rise and shine."
She was still for a moment, as though she hadn't heard.
Then her face scrunched up, eyes still shut, and she murmered, "Alright,
daddy. Five minutes."
"You said five minutes, ten minutes ago."
She smiled, opening her eyes slowly. Her back was stiff
from sleeping sitting up. Bones popping stacatto down her spine, she rose
to her feet and stretched. She was wearing the same clothes she'd worn the
day before: jeans and a Golden Saucer teeshirt. Her hair somehow remained
perfectly braided and pinned atop her head. She stretched again to get the
kinks out and grinned as her shoulder popped.
"Guess I'm getting old, "she said laughingly.
"That you are." Barret couldn't help but smile as Marlene
skipped towards him, arms open wide in anticipation of a hug. He didn't
disappoint.
"I guess I won't bother askin' if you're excited, "he
said after they parted. The girl didn't answer him. Her flushed cheeks burned
brightly and her grin stretched from ear to ear. Barret couldn't remember
the last time she'd looked so happy.
"After two years, dad!" she exclaimed, twirling, her
stiffness forgotten, "Two years! Two years and seven months actually. Heck,
that's almost three years. . . "
"Not quite--"
". . . Is Nanaki awake yet? Is he going to see us off?
Oh, my god, I can't wait. . . " Marlene hugged herself, then hugged Barret
again, then ran from her bedroom in excitement. Her father watched her go
wearily. He couldn't share in her joy. She was leaving him. She'd go on to
a new life, maybe a better life, certainly a more interesting one. He turned
back to look at her bedroom. It was quite stark and empty in the morning
light. All of her things had been packed up already. The sheets on her bed
were from a guest room and the book she'd been reading was his. It was already
as though she didn't live there anymore. He picked the book up distractedly
and glanced at the cover. Theories of the LifeStream by Elder Buganhagen.
Hmph. Volume Five. Barret had never know a more long-winded man in his life.
He could nearly curse himself for ever moving to Cosmo Canyon, for ever
introducing his daughter to a subject she'd fall passionately in love with:
the Planet. "Why does she hafta leave?" he asked himself quietly, leaning
dejectedly back against the wall.
He tossed the book back onto her bed and stalked from
the bedroom, through the hall and out onto the main balcony. He grabbed the
handle of the wooden ladder there and began climbing down to the canyon floor,
covering the vertigo-inspiring height with practiced ease, though he only
had one hand. His left arm ended in a polished silver cap. A gun had sat
there once, but the time for fighting had past.
The citizens of Cosmo Canyon were rather eccentric.
Most had spent there lives there, studying life, a subject that one could
never exactly claim to know everything about. There was always more to learn,
more to see and experience. The futility of their studies often revealed
itself in their actions. They worried of little, consumed by a desire for
knowledge. They could have been the scholars occupying Laputa, their heads
stuck so far up in the clouds. If such was the case, that meant Barret was
Gulliver.
He landed on the canyon floor with a thud, glancing
about for his daughter. The few people walking by looked to him and called
good morning but he only grunted and shook his hand dismissively. Everyone
knew what his problem was. Cosmo Canyon's citizens had been preparing for
it for weeks: Marlene Wallace was moving to Midgar that day. And Barret wasn't
happy about it.
"Good morning, Barret!" elder Bugah called in over
emphasized sunnyness. The balding man approached him waving and smiling as
though his life depended on it. "I was wondering if you'd finished your work
on my bicycle yet. I was hoping you'd get to it before Marlene and you set
off this morning."
Barret nodded, not looking at the elder. "It's finished,
Bugah. I had Will lock it up for you in your garden. Have you seen Marlene?"
"Why no, I haven't. How much do I owe you?"
"Fifty-five gil for parts." The elder dug about in the
pockets of his robe and dropped a few coins into Barret's massive palm. The
man stood there tapping his feet, deep in thought. He pocketed the money
carelessly.
"The transport comes in a few minutes, Barret, don't
you think you and Marlene should be waiting? If you miss the buggy, you'll
have to wait till next week before you can go again." Bugah looked up to
his friend anxiously. Barret frightened him a bit, but he was a good man.
He'd come to Cosmo Canyon years ago with a random assortment of beings destined
to save the world, including his dead friend Bugenhagen's grandson, Nanaki,
thought by all to be lost to them forever. He'd expressed an interest then
in learning what the Canyon had to offer and had returned nearly a year later,
to stay. He studied less now than he did work. He'd become the town's unofficial
handyman. He loved the planet with a fire that not even he could truly explain,
but he'd discovered in his time there that he would love it the way an artist
loves a flower; admiring the colors, the handywork, the beauty of the thing,
fighting to preserve it if need be, but not particularly wondering why it
grew, or bloomed, or died.
The man looked down at Bugah finally, squinting in the
morning sun. "I know the time we got is limited, "he said, "That's why the
hell I'm lookin' for her. Marlene!" he bellowed, patience gone. "Get your
ass out here, girl!" There was a sprinkling of laughter from far above their
heads. It floated to the two men like angel feathers on the breeze. A deep,
playful growl followed it that would have alarmed anyone, but Barret only
sighed in exasperation, cupped a hand to his mouth and hollared, "Marlene!
I hear the damned transport coming! If you wanna continue with this fool
notion of yours of going to Midgar, than you'd better start acting your age
and--" Barret blinked in surprise as Marlene landed before him, cutting his
rant short. She could move so fast up and down the ladders of Cosmo Canyon
it surprised even him sometimes. Nanaki sprang off a low cliff, coming to
rest at her side, his paws hitting the dusty ground silently. His one good
eye blinked fiercely and his dark mane slapped at his neck in the wind. He
gave Barret a feline grin before sitting on his haunches and staring up at
him expectantly.
"Sorry, dad, "Marlene said a little breathlessly, "You
let me sleep so late that I gotta be quick saying my goodbyes before we go."
"It's not my fault you wouldn't get up--"
"Elder Bugah, "she said, turning to the old man and
clutching at his hands, "Thank you for putting up with all these years. I
know it hasn't been the easiest. . . "
"Nonsense, "the elder said quickly, his eyes misting
over ever so slightly, "You're one of the best students I've ever had. Who
would have guessed that your father'd come here to study the planet and you'd
be the one to wind up with the degree? Buganhagen would have been hysterical."
The old man looked at the girl fondly, silent suddenly, and thinking of
something. He pulled one of his hands from her grasp and reached in his pocket,
withdrawing a small sphere of red materia. "For you, "he said, placing it
in her grasp, the orb sparkling promisingly. Marlene held it up and examined
it, laughing a little.
"Summon Materia, "she said, "Why?"
"A memento. The day you came here, a mako fountain sealed
away deep in the Gi caves spewed this onto its shores. It worked on making
it for thousands of years, maybe a million, and it finished it the day you
arrived, in your little pink dress riding on Barret's shoulders. I think
it's yours." Marlene embraced the elder in a loving hug that left the old
man a little dizzy, whispering thank you and crying a little. Bugah broke
free, gave a wave and retired to his room, wishing her the best of luck.
"Be careful in the city, Marlene. Midgar is dangerous. Of all the places
on the planet, that city is most removed from here."
"Yes, Elder."
"You listen to him about Midgar, but not to me?" Barret
spat, feigning hurt, as soon as Bugah had left. "'Guess I'm just an idiot
who don't know the ins'n' outs a the planet so my advice is worthless, huh?
I tell you what, girl, I may not have a lotta book smarts, but I've had plenty
a experiences wit' that city. You're makin' a mistake."
Nanaki frowned, his dangerous teeth protruding from
his lips suggestively. "Stop living in the past, Barret, "he growled, looking
to Marlene for backup, "Cloud and Reeve have cleaned the city up. All the
young people are moving there, it's a place of opportunity now."
"Listen to Nanaki, dad, "Marlene pleaded but Barret
turned away. They'd already been though all of this. The entire week had
been spent in vicious arguements. There were few things left to say that
hadn't been said already. Barret refused to change his opinion and Marlene
refused to change her plans. Afterall, she'd had them for nearly three years.
Bugah hadn't lied when he'd called her one of his best
pupils. From a very young age, he could tell that she possessed a lust for
learning that would require a lot to ever be satisfied. Where Barret had
eventually tired of studying the planet, the lifestream, and materia, seeing
in it the futility and ignorance of humanity, Marlene saw just the opposite,
convinced that humanity could redeem itself in the planet's eyes if only
they sacrificed enough and learned enough about why the planet did the things
it did. By the time she was fifteen she'd read every book in Buganhagen's
study, she'd memorized everything that could be seen from the observatory.
She'd written a treatise on the symbology of materia hues. Bugah called her
a genius. Barret called her a fanatic. But never to her face. And then, two
years and seven months ago, Marlene had begun reading about Shinra. All of
her life, she'd known of the company only from her father's very one-sided
stories but for the longest time had been content enough to leave the corporation
at that. No one in Cosmo Canyon would dispute Barret's tales of Shinra's
wickedness. They all recalled the near end of their lives as the blood-streaked
face of Meteor had hovered over them promising terrible things. It had been
summoned there by Sephiroth. And Sephiroth had been summoned into existance
by Shinra. But Marlene had begun to read about Shinra's reforms, about the
efforts of the new president Reeve. They no longer used mako energy, but
instead were pioneering the use of electricity, which could be gotten from
sources as simple as sunlight and the movement of water. It had fascinated
the girl and she'd written to her uncle Cloud, unbeknownst to her father,
asking him to share all he knew about it. He was merely in charge of security
and weapon development though, and the info he'd given had been scarce. He
had sent her a packet of information though on how to qualify for an internship
in the Weapons Development Department. It required a huge exam and two letters
of recommendation that had to be written by recognized experts in the fields
of science and planet life, and also a recommendation from a current Shinra
Department head.
Marlene could still remember the day she'd gotten that
thick envelope in the mail. She'd pored over what Cloud had sent her, convinced
that she wanted nothing more in life than to work for Shinra. But she hadn't
been naive. Barret hadn't talked to uncle Cloud in over ten years simply
because he worked for the company. Marlene had had no doubt in her mind that
he'd alienate his daughter just as easily if she followed in Cloud's footsteps.
So she'd studied for the exam in secret, convinced that she'd never make
it in anyways, but letting the thing become a hobby she worked on in her
spare time. Last june, things had taken a turn for the serious. Cloud had
sent her the exam without warning, attaching a brief note saying that if
she'd send a few of her papers and essays to him, he'd pass them to a fellow
named Neto, weapons development head who might very well write her a
recommendation if he liked what he read. And President Reeve was an old friend
of both his and her fathers. He'd write a recommendation in the blink of
an eye. That had gotten her excited. With a recommendation by the Shinra
president himself, she would have to be selected to intern! So one night,
termbling with the possiblity of it all, she'd gone to elder Bugah, explained,
and he'd proctored while she'd taken the exam, writing her a letter of
recommendation afterwards. She'd packaged it all up then and sent it to Cloud.
The reply had come barely a week later.
She was in. Hell, she was more than in. They'd been
so impressed with her exam that they'd wanted to hire her on the spot. She'd
made a perfect score, something unheard of in the company. But that had all
been easy. It was getting her father's permission that had proven nearly
impossible.
Barret had taken a seat near the Cosmo Candle. His feet
dangled off the edge of the upraised mound of earth, the glow of the fire
throwing a ring of light around his head and shoulders. Marlene looked at
him in aggravation. If only he understood, she sighed. But he didn't and
he probably never would. She wondered if he knew just how much it upset her
that he insisted on accompanying her into Midgar, chaperoning her like a
little girl. She was a woman now, a woman going places. She'd just landed
herself a 40,000 gil a year job in the world's biggest corporation. Why couldn't
he be proud? Why couldn't he accept that Shinra wasn't the evil conglomerate
it had once been? Marlene wondered if this was how uncle Cloud had felt years
ago when he and her father had had this arguement.
Nanaki flicked his tail, looking from father to daughter
and back again. Humans perplexed him so.
"He did the same thing to Cloud," the animal said lowly,
recalling how cruel and cutting that arguement had been. Marlene nodded her
head.
"I was just thinking the same thing."
"Cloud had been working for Reeve for a few years. He'd
taken the job only temporarily at first, meaning to quit after he and Tifa's
house was paid for, but then they found out she was pregnant. Then CJ came
into the world, needing things that a new life needs and Cloud found less
and less reasons to quit. He discovered Shinra was different. Different because
of him, "said Nanaki quietly, looking to his friend. "But your father can't
forget the people that the company stole from him. You have to understand
his reasoning just a bit, Marlene."
The young woman crossed her arms, looking out into the
distance at the approaching transport unit rolling in from Costa Del Sol.
It threw up a dreadful plume of dust and dirt behind it, clouding the sky
as though it were burning. It was nearly half a mile away still, yet they
could already hear the thunder of its massive engines. Marlene watched it
thoughtfully.
"The first thing I'm going to do at Shinra, "she said
resolutely, "Is design a new buggy. See that, Nanaki? It's eroding the dust
away faster than the wind can. There's got to be a better way."
The fiery animal grinned at her words. It had been humans
like Marlene that his grandfather Buganhagen had been telling him of as a
cub. Humans like her would save the Planet. He nuzzled her hand fondly and
she scratched him lovingly behind the ear, leaving part of his mane sticking
straight up. She fixed it for him, then looked him over before heading towards
the city gates. He'd been her best friend in this desolate canyon. Well,
not desolate, she reprimanded herself sharply. A lot of people cared for
her in this town, but Nanaki had beaten them all. And he'd done his best
to change her father's mind.
"Bye, Red, "she said, using the nickname affectionately,
already at the gate of Cosmo Canyon and shouldering one of her bags.
"Visit?" Nanaki asked, the flame at the end of his tail
flickering hopefully. She nodded.
"In the springtime, if I can. I have to make a good
impression there, ya know. I can't go taking months off. I'm going to be
head of that place one day." Marlene smiled cockily, reveling in the hopefulness
of youth. Barret eyed her uncertainly and stood from his dejected seat, walking
slowly towards her as the transport suddenly screeched to a halt right outside
the gates. The driver opened the door, tossing out the mail in a large,
canvas-wrapped bundle, then gestured for any passengers to climb inside.
Marlene waved to Nanaki and a few of the other canyon residents who'd gathered
around to see them off, then hopped aboard. Barret tossed the rest of the
bags into the cargo hold of the transport, grabbed his own satchel and waved
the town farewell. He'd return, but it'd be without his daughter, so the
homecoming would be a false one.
"Hold the fort down, Red, "he called as he mounted the
transport steps lightly. "We'll be back."
The door shut and in the blink of an eye, the hulking
vehicle began moving away, retracing its steps back the way it'd come. Nanaki
watched it go in confusion. "We'll be back?" he repeated beneath his breath,
"Either you committed a simple slip of the tonue, Barret, or you're gonna
attempt to keep your daughter from doing what she wants to with her life.
If you've chosen the latter, my friend, you may lose her entirely. Marlene
will never come back to Cosmo Canyon. Not to stay." He watched the transport
away in the distance now, a blotch of pink and rusting silver against the
red sands of the canyon. He sincerely wished them both luck, knowing that
Marlene would need it most.
Vincent sat easily on Yunata's broad back, riding
saddle-less, one hand loosely clutching the reins. Another golden bird was
tethered to Yunata and straggled behind as she moved, a little weighed down
by the packs Vincent had strapped to it. It seemed a lot of supplies for
a simple trip to the falls.
They'd left the northern continent behind a few hours
ago, and Yunata moved easier now, unhampered by the snow. The mountains loomed
ahead, a ring of peaks surrounding Lucrecia's lake menacingly. But Vincent
loved them. They protected what he thought of as his. His cave. Their cave.
He urged Yunata on, letting her stretch her neck and wings and really take
off, covering the short distance to the base of the peaks in no time. The
poor pack chocobo struggled to keep up, warking in distress. For Yunata,
once there, scaling the mountains was just as easy. The Golden creature's
claws which could so effortlessly skim over the waters of the ocean, found
it simple to locate the footholds of the mountains and zip up their sides,
like a cat climbing a tree. They were moving like the wind but jerking around
a lot and Vincent turned his head to check on the painting and other packages.
He had to turn quickly back though as Yunata, cocky now, reached the summit
and without checking her speed, plummeted down the opposite slope. They were
approaching the thin strip of land between the mountain's base and the glittering
lake rather fast for his liking. Not thinking of the consequence, he jerked
on the reins, worried that she'd loose her footing. Yunata panicked, a rarity
for her, and began to back-peddle in midstride.
"Dammit. . . "Vincent muttered, right before she slipped,
fell, and her, her rider, and the pack chocobo all tumbled down into the
waters.
It was mid-November and the lake was cold. His
black coat soaked its waters up quickly, threatening to pull him down to
the murky bottom. He unbuttoned it with numb fingers and it fluttered away
as he paddled upwards, a dark splotch against the blue crystal of the lake.
His head broke the surface suddenly, and he gulped in a long breath of air
his teeth began to chatter. Moving quickly, he made for the shore, swimming
past Yunata and throwing her a dirty look. She perched on the surface of
the waters carelessly, her webbed feet and mysterious abilities keeping her
perfectly afloat. The other chocobo stood behind her, panting a bit but perfectly
dry, Vincent's supplies still strapped to its golden back. They glanced to
their master in curiosity and he almost thought he saw a smug look in their
beady black eyes. Damned birds.
Once on land, Vincent called to them and tethered
the mounts to an outcrop of rock, grabbing a change of clothes
from his supplies. Changed and comfortable now, he pulled out a long,
somewhat-tattered blood-red cloak. He donned it against the chill in the
air, strapping it securely onto his tunic, the collar falling just below
his lower lip. He hadn't really been thinking that he might actually wear
it when he'd packed it away that morning. It was a cloak that held a lot
of memories, a lot of bloodstains that'd been washed away from its material,
but never from its soul. "Perhaps it is apropos, "he thought to himself,
running his good hand through his damp hair. It fell over his eyes messily.
He grabbed the large canvas-wrapped painting off of the ground then pulled
out a handful of flowers, white lilies tied with ribbon. Leaving the chocobos
behind, he approached the falls, his steps slow and measured.
Walking through, the mists almost seemed to part for
him. They cascaded in beautiful colors; violets and blues, deep greens in
the shadows. The afternoon sun fliltered through, turning the sprays into
liquid gold that frothed from off the rocks and showered Vincent's face with
small, chilly kisses. But his gaze never turned to the natural beauty. He
had eyes only for what lay beyond, concealed in the dark, less glamourous
shadows. The cave was small, almost perfectly round. Directly across from
the entrance, a fissure in the rock ceiling above allowed light from the
outside to shine down upon a shaped stone altar. The altar was filled with
the fruits of Vincent's love for his lost Lucrecia, paintings for the most
part. Those he left for her were never the dark, tortuous scenes that he
so often commited to canvas. He gave her only pictures of her own beauty
as he remembered it, of flowers, of the light off the snow on the Great Glacier.
Things he thought she might like to see. Writings were there too, stacks
of papers in Vincent's small, cramped hand. But those he had written solely
for himself. They consisted mainly of confessions.
He approached the softly illuminated space and knelt
down before it, the only thing in the world that could make him kneel. He
laid his flowers atop the altar, removing the now dead blossoms he'd brought
last year. They also had been white lilies bound with a ribbon. He always
offered her these same kind, they'd been her favourite. He put them away
in his pocket, then, laying his claw on the altar and closing his brightly
blazing red eyes, he prayed. He prayed to his angel.
But what he muttered in words so soft they couldn't
be heard weren't really prayers, not the kind of pleading, half-frightened,
dubious prayers that most men prayed. He simply talked. He told Lucrecia
of the past year. He told her what he'd been doing, thinking, feeling. He
told her of Cloud, Tifa, Cid, and the others, and how they were faring, of
his chocobo business and of the new birds that'd been born that year. He
told her of Arik Bivs and the young man from Midgar of the day before. He
told her how Yunata had gotten over confident and how he'd gotten worried,
stopping her short and plunging them all down the mountain. And he could
swear he heard a light joyous laugh at the words and he laughed with her,
glad to do so, even at his own expense.
He talked for a long time, his spirit lightening with
every word. Finally, his heart, soul, and conscious cleared, he unwrapped
the painting he'd brought for her and leaned it up against the altar. It
was rather simple. A canvas of blinding white, the paint laid on thickly.
Different colors blended away into it but they all were muted and neutral,
there only to enhance the perfectness of the white. In the upper right corner,
sprays of baby's breath had been rendered wonderfully. They spread down and
through the space, reaching each side, the tiny blooms opened, the tiny leaves
curling. And that was all. Some would have called it trite and Vincent might
have thought maybe they were right. But all art was relative. To him, the
painting was representative of the current state of his soul. He'd found
his niche in the world. He was at peace with his past and although he remained
quite apathetic about his future, he no longer minded sticking around to
see what'd happen.
Leaving the painting alongside the others, he rose,
his features calm. His hair had dried and he was considerably warmer. Glancing
at the light through the fissure above, he saw that it was dying a bit. He'd
spent longer talking to his lost love than he normally did, hours, it seemed
by the position of the sun. His red cloak falling over his shoulders, he
turned and headed for the exit, leaving a last smile and a last desiring
kiss on her lips, though the actions were unseen and impossible. She returned
the gesture by granting him an overwhelming sense of peace, and reassuring
him of her forgiveness. Vincent Valentine sighed contentedly as he did every
year. But then he frowned.
The beast never-endingly crouching at the back of his
mind suddenly bucked, roaring dangerously in his head. Without warning, the
man's face became taut with unease and apprehension. Those two feelings didn't
belong here. This cave was his sanctuary from all of that. Fighting back
the rising anger in his chest, wary lest the Chaos demon claw through to
the outside, Vincent turned slowly, taking everything in. Something wrong
and evil suddenly possessed the air, crowding out the former sense of divine
peace. There was a scratching sound from directly above his head but when
he looked, there was nothing there.
"What do you want?" he said lowly, wishing he'd entered
the cave armed.
"To talk to you." A gloved hand grasped his shoulder,
nearly making him jump. He whipped around and suddenly found himself face
to face with an impossibility. Face to face with Sephiroth. The two men stood
there for a few moments, silently regarding eachother. Vincent's cool countenance
showed no hint of surprise. His mind of course was racing.
"You're dead, "he said, as though commenting on the
weather. The green eyed man grinned, nodded and released Vincent's shoulder.
He looked the same as he had when he'd terrorized the Planet years ago. Long
silver hair, black garb, flapping black cloak and his muscled chest peeping
through between his shoulder armour. He paced around Vincent carelessly.
"You're a sharp one, "he said, not sounding a lot like
Sephiroth, "I'm dead, quite dead. Been dead for a while. I'm still dead.
Perhaps you should be wondering why you're talking to a dead man."
"You're doing most of the talking." Vincent straightened,
feeling decidedly eerie.
Sephiroth laughed low, watching the red-eyed fellow
in mirth. "That was funny. But, please let me apologize, did you have something
you wanted to say to me?"
"Why are you here?"
Sephiroth shrugged. "I'm here to visit my mother."
Nonchalantly, he turned away and approached the altar looking around at the
paintings and flowers.
"I thought you thought Jenova was your mother."
"I know better now." He knelt down and examined the
newest painting carefully then peered at the signature. He laughed suddenly.
"That signature!" he said between gasps, "Ha! That's damned funny!" Vincent
bristled but said nothing. "Don't you see? Vincent? Ya know, like Van Gogh!
Hee hee hee. You've already lost an arm, I guess your ear will be the next
to go. You'd look quite funny with a claw for an ear." Sephiroth laughed
again, as though it were the funniest thing in the world and Vincent calmly
figured this was what it was like to go insane. He didn't say a word as the
black mantled man harrassed him. He only stood stoic, puzzled at the dead
intruder but hiding his confusion behind a cold mask. Finally, seeing his
insults were falling on deaf ears, Sephiroth stiffened. He'd insult the woman
he loved then, if the man hadn't any self-respect left.
"She was a whore, you know, "he began, his voice a sibilant
hiss, approaching Vincent slowly, "A two gil whore who couldn't make up her
mind between a lunatic and a deformed Turk. The lunatic hurt her, ignored
her, treated her like an animal but she picked him anyways. Over you. What's
it feel like to be second best? To have done all you could for her and still
be stuck with the guilt, when her murderer never even gave any of it a second
thought? Must feel pretty shitty, eh? Or maybe you like it. Maybe you cling
to that guilt so you'll have an excuse for not rejoining society when in
all actuality you just can't handle--"
Vincent snapped, releasing a feral snarl and lunging
for his antagonist, claw raised. He delivered a blow that should have taken
the already dead man's head from his neck, but instead the five metal prongs
on his left hand passed through Sephiroth as though he wasn't there.
"What the hell--?" he muttered, unconsciously stepping
back, eyes wide. Sephiroth grinned broadly.
"What did you expect to happen when you try to kill
a dead man?" he asked. His wicked smile spread wider and he began to chuckle.
Then, his shoulders shaking violently, he emitted an insane howling laugh
that chilled Vincent to the core. And just as suddenly as he began, he stopped.
Eyes snapping fire, he launched a lightning fast kick into the man's kidneys,
knocking him instantly to the ground. Then another savage kick to this chest,
then another and another. Vincent curled into a ball, knees shoved in his
face. How could a dead man cause him pain? How could the toes of his boots
be so solid? The beast within him roared as his defenses weakened. The edges
of his vision began to go black, as he felt Chaos creeping closer to the
surface. He gritted his teeth, struggling to keep it at bay.
"You're not Sephiroth, "he snapped in realization.
"Sephiroth was a bastard, but he wasn't a liar. And he wasn't a coward who
fought unfairly. Not to mention the fact that I saw him die thirteen years
ago."
Vincent heard another laugh, but this was in a different
voice. He looked up and saw that his attacker had vanished.
Good call, an invisible voice chuckled. Breathing
heavily, Vincent rose to his feet, clutching at his bruised ribs. Bent almost
double, he leaned against the cave wall, waiting for another assault.
"What the hell's going on?" he called, "Who are you?"
"You know me, Vincent Valentine. You know me quite well.
As I do you." Sudden pain shot through his head and he collapsed, unable
to bear it. Squeezing his eyes shut, images flooded him; images of pain,
death, and despair. Some were memories; Lucrecia's death, his imprisonment
in the Shinra mansion, the battles fought during the Meteor affair, but others
were things he'd never even thought of, things so terrible, so real that
tears ran down his face. He saw Cloud and Tifa dead in eachother's arms,
he saw Barret's little girl Marlene lying in a pool of her own blood, he
saw Icicle Inn burnt to the ground, lonely strips of smoke polluting the
sky. Terrible nightmare images that could never happen. He saw himself suddenly,
a picture of himself as a monster that could never revert back to humanity.
"Get out of my mind, you unconscionable bastard!" he
cried, clutching at his forehead. Laughter filled his ears, his torturerer
reveling in his pain. He clenched his hands into fists, suddenly summoning
all of his strength and lashing out, not with a kick or a punch, but with
a burst of his own will. It expelled the being from his thoughts and he was
able to think clearly, the horrible visions ceasing. Before it could attack
again, he jumped to his feet, roughly wiping the tears from his red eyes
and assuming an attack stance. "You try that again and I'll tear you apart,
"he threatened, his claw raised.
A few moments passed and he was able to catch his breath.
He could practically hear the other presence waiting, trying to think of
what it would do to him next. Without warning, the air directly in front
of him shimmered slightly and it seemed that the very molecules that composed
it reformed in front of his eyes to create an image of a man. The features
came into focus, the figure's body becoming solid, or at least creating a
convincing image of solidity. Vincent blinked hard as suddenly a mirror copy
of himself stood facing him, red eyes blazing brightly.
"Nice to meet you, "the real Vincent grumbled bitterly,
head aching along with his ribs. The copy didn't smile. It didn't speak to
him either. It only stood there, watching him.
"Well? What are you waiting for?"
His copy shrugged, then turned and walked away from
him towards the altar. It sat down upon the stone slab casually. Some sixth
sense told Vincent to glance behind him and make sure his escape route was
clear if need be. To his dismay, he saw that where the back of the waterfall
should be, there was only a cold stone wall. He was trapped. Chaos clawed
at his will. His attention refocused suddenly as the clone finally spoke.
It was holding up its claw, as though examining it.
He admired the way it glinted in the waning sunlight. "What a marvelous gift,
Vincent, "it murmered thoughtfully, "Hojo must've really liked us to bless
us with such a thing. We're never defenseless. How many men can claim to
that? Sure, we don't have our gun right now, but we have this claw. And that
beast within is ready to fight at the slightest whim. We're always ready
to kill, always armed. It's a shame we've wasted our life hiding in our little
chocobo shack in Icicle Inn, too afraid to use what was given to us."
"Shut up." Vincent eyed the being darkly. It was trying
to anger him. It wanted Chaos to come out. It could take Vincent's mind over
again if he turned into the beast. He'd have no power to stop it. "Shut up,
you figment of a diseased brain. You're not even real. You're not even worth
talking to."
The copy laughed, ignoring him. "You were a man years
ago. What are you now? A coward, hiding, scaring the locals with your darkness.
Hmph. The town oddity. What wasted potential. You're not worth the gifts
we've been given. Hojo should have let you bleed to death. Do you hear me,
you fool? You weak fool, mourning over lost love, over a woman who never
really cared about you. She preferred her scientist and her evil child to
you. And who the hell wouldn't. . .?"
Vincent shut his eyes, the words boring into his skull.
It had turned slowly from a physical voice into one that rang only in his
head. He'd have ran from the cave to escape it, but he had no where to go.
Things he preferred not to think upon were thrown suddenly into his thoughts.
He wasn't surprised to open his eyes and see himself standing directly before
his face. The copy, or was it even a copy? drilled into him with its gaze.
It raised the claw towards Vincent's head. The man prepared to die, nearly
welcoming it. But no, the claw stopped, two of the fingers resting lightly
against his brow.
"It's all in here, isn't it, my poor friend. You don't
need to be told. Hmph." Without warning, the thing turned quickly away and
vanished. I'll see ya later, it said in its disembodied voice, as
though bidding farewell to a brother. Vincent fell to his knees once it was
gone. The waterfall reappeared and the atmosphere resumed its peacefulness.
All was still and sane again, everything on the outside anyways. The peace
could no longer reach his unsettled heart.
"I don't wanna fight ya, Ash. I never done anything
to ya."
"Sissy," the boy sneered. Ash's friends in the crowd
laughed derisively and CJ reddened. His own friends though, came through.
"You're a jerk, ya know that?" his pal Sliver called.
"Yeah, CJ's gonna kick your ass, Ash-hole." This little
quip came from Britanny, CJ's best friend. He heard her stick her tongue
out at the bully, making little spurting noises.
"You shut your mouth, gagighandi face. I'll take care
of you after this!" With that last word, Ash sprang forward, landing a blow
to CJ's jaw. The boy blinked in surprise, and fell back hard onto his bottom.
Rusty blood flowed from his mouth. There went that loose tooth. He moved
it under his tongue for safe keeping. No use losing a perfectly good two
gil from the tooth fairy just because of stupid Ash.
Giving his mother's leather glove a reassuring pat with
his left hand, he stood quickly, glaring at his opponent.
"What's that little mitten gonna do, eh? You're such
a weakling, you could just take that thing off and throw it at me. 'Hurt
me more than you trying to punch me with it." Ash and his friends laughed
insanely. CJ growled. The bully wouldn't sucker punch him again, he swore.
He tried and CJ easily sidestepped it, racing to remember the moves his dad
had taught him. Seeing an opening, he jabbed at Ash's nose, landing his first
blow and causing his opponent to look up in surprise. That'd hurt.
"You little shit. . . "he breathed, stepping forward
intimidatingly. Smiling, CJ ducked and rolled between the much taller boy's
legs, springing to a standing position behind him and punching him in the
nose again as the bully turned to face him. Nose gushing blood now, he asked,
"Getting fancy, eh, Strife? Hope you have a will made out."
"Talk, talk, talk, that's all you ever do, Ash, "CJ
spat, cocky now. "Shut the hell up and fight." The bully came at him quickly
but CJ blocked and sweeped his legs sending him crashing to the ground. The
boy felt a sudden surge of power enter the muscles of his right arm. He felt
like he could rip a brick in half. Trembling slightly, he released the energy
into his opponent's jaw, ending the brawl. Ash's head lolled over and his
eyes shut, unconscious. The victor grinned wide in surprise. He'd never known
he could hit so hard. He turned to face the rest of the fifth grade and they
cheered him.
"CJ! Oh, my gawd, boy!" Britanny came forward and threw
her arms around his neck, thrilled for him, "I didn't know you could fight
like that! You were all like, "hah!" and "wah!" and doing that fancy twirling
stuff! Awesome!"
Sliver shook his head cooly, eyeing Ash's friends as
they walked slowly over to examine the fallen bully. "He's going to be feeling
that for a while."
The children all gathered around CJ, admiring the leather
glove, seeing past its age and torn material, and making of it an idol. They
knew the boy hadn't won that battle alone. But CJ Strife felt as though he
had, basking in their adolation, hands on his hips as he answered their questions
and responded to their compliments. Then, a thick, wrinkled hand grabbed
him roughly from behind and he was lifted bodily into the air by the collar
of his teeshirt. The fame couldn't last forever, and he'd been expecting
his capture. As he was carted off by Syd, the three-hundred pound, sixty
year old, thickly muscled recess monitor, his friends waved to him, applauding
him. He couldn't help but feel blissfully happy.
"CJ!" the mechanical cat cried, jumping off his mog,
cape flapping behind him. He landed in the boy's lap and threw two paws about
his neck in relief. He hugged the cat back to reassure him.
"Hi, Cait, "he said, then threw a wave to the mog. Mog
crossed his thick, stuffed arms huffily.
"Are you alright?" Cait asked in concern.
"Yeah, I guess. I lost a tooth, but it was loose anyways."
"So you're okay?"
"Yeah."
"Good, now take this!" The little cat hissed
in anger and bashed his charge over the head with a white-gloved paw. CJ
tried to cover himself from the robot's wrath, but to no avail.
"OW! Cait, I'm sorry! Really! I had no choice!"
"Sure you didn't!"
"Mr. Sith?" The cat halted his attack and looked over
his shoulder, eyes narrowed at the woman who'd addressed him.
"What?"
"Are you CJ's legal guardian?"
"I'm his babysitter. Why?"
"My name's Mrs. Hachimitsu, I'm the assistant principal.
We're sorry to say that young Mr. Strife here has earned himself a two week
suspension with this little fiasco. Would you please tell one of his parents
to call us so we can set up a conference to work out further punishment?"
As though suspension isn't bad enough, CJ groaned to
himself.
"Will do, ma'am. Is that kid alright?"
The woman looked the cat up and down, suddenly realizing
what a strange little thing he was, then nodded absentmindedly. "Broken nose
is all. Ambulance was called in as a precaution, he could have a concussion.
CJ, you've behaved very shamefully."
The boy just nodded. No use trying to defend himself
from the slander. And even if he had done a rather violent thing, he didn't
care. He hadn't a speck of guilt on his conscience.
"Well, you take this time to think about what you've
done. You, your parents and I will all meet soon and we'll discuss what we
should do to make sure you're sorry. Alright, Mr. Sith, you can take
him home now." The woman frowned and turned away, walking towards Ash to
tell him the same news. Cait hopped onto his mog, grabbing his megaphone.
CJ stood slowly, staring at the ground in dejection. The little cat had a
sudden change of heart. He'd known the boy all his life. He wouldn't have
fought without good cause.
"Wanna ride?" He offered. CJ looked up, half-grinned
and shrugged.
"Sure." Sure, why not? He'd ride out of school in style.
Ash would ride out in an ambulance. That thought left him with a dark feeling
of pleasure.
Mog was rather humongous and CJ had yet to have a growth
spurt, so there was plenty of room on the stuffed toy's right shoulder for
the boy to perch upon. Cait gave the thing a pat on the head and it moved
quickly from the office. Students and staff watched the kid and his babysitter
ride off in amazement. Those Strifes, they thought, shaking their heads.
"And you're sure we shouldn't be salvaging anything?"
he called to Cloud for the third time that day. They'd thrown so much out
without even examining it, crates containing experiments that could lead
to any number of amazing scientific finds, countless journals scribbled with
priceless notes and research. It boggled Reno's mind that one scientist's
life, Hojo's life, could be so easily discarded with one day's hard labor.
"I already told you, man, it's all going. Every last
test tube."
"But we could be missing so much."
Cloud turned, his face a cold mask. "Hojo specialized
in world domination, Reno. He performed experiments with mako, Jenova cells,
and genetics. By witnessing and dealing with the mistakes he made, I think
we learned more than all of these gizmos and books here combined could teach
us." The blonde haired man looked at his friend heatedly for a moment, but
then caught himself and weakly smiled. "I'm sorry, "he said, "I've just been
really thinking about this a lot."
Reno shrugged but returned the smile, his red hair masking
his eyes. "S'okay. I know that all this stuff is hard on you. I worked for
Shinra thirteen years ago, but I didn't really know what was going on up
here. I was only concerned with doing what the big cheeses wanted. That's
all a Turk is ever concerned with."
Cloud nodded. A Turk did the job, that's all there was
to it. At least, that'd been the creed of the old Department of Administrative
Research. The men and women that he and Reno trained now were taught to think
for themselves when the occassion rose. One mind could turn the tide.
"Really strange that you never knew this was still up
here, "Reno said suddenly. "I mean we've been in charge of security for twelve
years. I'm trying to think how you could have missed it."
"You knew then?"
"'Course I knew. This lab's been on the list of vacant
rooms for years. I just never really thought about it a lot. It's just been
forgotten. There's a certain stigma about this place, I suppose. Evil here,
and bad memories. The techs just weren't interested in renovating it for
their own needs. Too many old ghosts to deal with I guess."
"Yeah, I know what you mean. When I stumbled in here
last night, I started walking around, taking a look at everything, ended
up scaring the hell outta myself. I kept thinking I heard something yelling
at me. Just the mind playing tricks though." Cloud laughed as though it were
a joke. Reno didn't answer, he only turned to eye his friend strangely, a
curious look on his face.
"These too, sir?" a voice called from far away. Cloud
turned, looking past the crowd of workers laboring in the large room and
towards the back. He approached the voice, Reno walking easily at his heels.
He had nothing better to do. He didn't know why Cloud was personally supervising
the clean-up of the lab. It was a rather lowly task for the co-head of security
of the most successful corporation in the world.
"What is it, Hanson?" Cloud asked once they'd reached
the man who'd called him. The Shinra worker saluted quickly, and pointed
to his discovery. Sealed away in a ten foot square, flat lead drawer, was
an amazing stash of materia. Each softly glowing orb was nestled firmly in
its own grey foam slot. They looked like pearls on display at a jewelers.
Reno whistled softly. He leaned towards Cloud and eagerly
whispered, "Can I?" Cloud grinned and nodded. Both men ignored Hanson and
leaned forward towards the cache. There was an equal assortment there; summons,
magics, commands, supports, and independants. Reno lifted up a particularly
intense red sphere. He took off one of his gloves and held the materia against
his bare skin.
"Summon Ifrit, "he said, "Level three."
Cloud hefted a few orbs in his own hands, sensing their
spells and levels. "Mastered Fire, "he called off, "Mastered Ice, two level
two Contains. A raw Poison and a raw Earth. Pretty standard stuff."
Cloud seemed rather unimpressed with the discovery and
Reno was puzzled until he remembered that back in the days of Meteor, he
and his team had owned a veritable hoarde of materia. He wondered where it
had all gone to since then.
"Do you know how much this stuff is worth?" Reno breathed,
hefting a few Mastered Alls in his hands.
"On the black market?"
"Where else? It's illegal to buy or sell it anymore.
For medical purposes and millitary use only. I uh, don't suppose you'd turn
your head while I stuffed a few of these away in my jacket, eh?" Reno made
as though he'd stash them in his pockets, but then laughed and tossed the
orbs back in their slots. He didn't need the money. He made just as much
as Cloud, only he hadn't a family to support. Sometimes Reno would toss hundred
gil marks in his fireplace, just to watch them melt. "Well, "he said casually,
"Shall I call up the Mako Board and have them cart this stuff off?"
Cloud shook his head. "I'd ask you to, yeah, but they
don't meet till thursday." The Mako Board was an organization started by
Reeve immediately after the Meteor Disaster. In those early years it had
met everyday and occupied an entire floor of the Shinra building. It had
a say in every action of the company, ensuring that every product, every
project was planet-friendly and mako free. It had handled each new piece
of materia discovered, placing the orbs in special vaults that drained the
mako slowly from them, rereleasing it into the lifestream safely. But as
the amount of materia discovered grew less and less, and the mako-hungry
scientists remaining at Shinra either died, retired, or moved onto better
projects, the Board met less frequently now, only once a month, on the third
thursday. There hadn't been a piece of materia discovered in years. For some
reason, the planet had stopped producing it. Either that, or humans just
weren't able to find it anymore.
"Well, "asked Reno, "What do we do with it till then?
It's not like we can just toss it away in the bin with the rest of the stuff."
Cloud dropped the orbs back into the drawer and shut
it soundly. He flexed his fingers, the hand that'd been holding the materia
tingling and glowing slightly green. Reno stared.
"Damn! What's wrong?" the man asked, stepping away from
his friend cautiously. Cloud looked up at him, surprised at his shock.
"It's the mako, "he said simply, "I'm so full of the
stuff that it comes up to the surface occasionally, when I'm exposed to other
mako. It'll die down again in a few minutes. It's only because I haven't
used or held a piece of mat