Author's Notes: Nothing much to say about this one. Cissnei is 16 and has only been with the Turks for maybe 6 months. Siri Tachi has been a Jedi Knight for close to 2 years. There are brief cameos by Zack Fair (pre-SOLDIER and mako infusion), Tseng, Reno, and Rude. I'm thinking of making a sequel where some of the Star Wars characters meet Reno and Rude, but I haven't decided yet. Other than the fact that it's a crossover, it might be considered slightly AU with the Final Fantasy VII 'verse.
Two Sides of the Same Coin
Eyes blazing with cerulean fire lock with cold amber ones. Two pairs of booted feet pace in endless circles around each other, both fighting for the upper hand in a silent battle of wills. One walks with her arms crossed and with slow, privileged steps while the other walks more cautiously, keeping one hand over a strange cylinder on her belt as if it is important. She is probably some poor soul from beneath the plate who thinks a short piece of pipe is a worthy weapon. And her clothing looks outlandish enough to be from a scrapheap.
A light breeze blows lose tendrils of hair across their vision, but neither chooses to look away. The fresh aroma of plants in the foreign land invades the stranger's senses, and the stifling heat forces a tendril of sweat to trickle down her neck. She had just landed on the outskirts of a jungle of some sort and began traipsing through it, only to stumble upon the person in front of her now. How the native is able to wear all black in this climate is a mystery to her. She suspects that this particular reconnaissance mission is about to take a strange turn.
Her opponent is young—just a girl, really—but Siri learned years before not to be fooled by something as simple as a number. Master Yoda had always been solid proof of that. Sunlight glares off the tips of her opponent's weapon, causing it to appear maliciously mysterious even on her opponent's back. The sight of the silver object flying through the air flashes through her mind's eye, striking down a man in cold blood. His body is behind his killer, blood seeping into the soft dirt, staining it burgundy.
Her opponent is the first to break the silence. "What do you want?" she asks, her voice laced with ice. It is her turf that is being invaded, thus she has the advantage.
"You killed him," Siri replies, trying without success to keep the disgust from her voice. Diplomacy has never been her forte.
"He was a threat." Her shoulders rise in the slightest hint of a shrug.
"He was an old man searching for food." Her hand tightens on the hilt of her lightsaber.
The killer catches the motion and a smirk plays across her lips. Apparently, she is just another vagabond clinging to her toys. She is not even worthy of a fight.
She pauses, however, in her pacing to contemplate the question, refusing to look at the body of the man. "He knew things that were too dangerous for him to know."
Siri takes note of the girl's refusal and files it away for future contemplation.
"So you killed him?"
"It's safer that way." Her gaze falters, falling to the soft dirt beneath her boots, unable to hold Siri's gaze any longer.
"How?"
Her head snaps up. The tightness of her jaw and the fire in her eyes warn her adversary to stop asking questions. "Look. It's my job. Shinra ordered me to and I followed through." Leather half-gloves creak as her hands tighten into fists against her bidding. She still has a lot to learn before she will be fully trusted in the ranks.
"The who?" Siri asks, one brow raising. Perhaps they would be the ones to give her answers about the workings of this world.
Incredulity crosses her face as her upper lip twitches upward in a slight sneer. "You must have hit your head hard on your way here. The Shinra Electric Power Company? Rulers of Midgar?" So the last remark was not entirely truthful, but it was better than explaining the political nuances of the mayor being nothing more than a pawn in a plot decades in the making. Luckily, it is unlikely that saying such a statement to a vagabond from the slums would cost her her job.
"Never heard of them. I'm…not from around here," Siri replies, careful to keep as much information as she can under wraps. Did her statement mean that this was Midgar? Was that the capital?
The girl snorts with derision. "That was obvious. Midgar's slums are halfway across the planet. What are you doing in Gongaga?"
Siri ignores the jibe at her appearance—dark cloaks and worn, mud-covered robes were not always common on new planets especially when the girl's crisp outfit looks as though she had spent her day behind a desk and not traipsing through the mud—and focuses on the rest of the statement. She has landed near Gongaga, presumably a small town by the looks of it. "I thought I would do some travelling."
"Did you catch a ship out of Junon?" It was highly unlikely, as Shinra had had the area in lockdown for days for one of President Shinra's speeches, but there really was no other way. Veld himself had gone to oversee the proceedings along with Tseng, Reno, and Rude. Being the youngest and most inexperienced, she had been sent to track down a minor criminal that was threatening Shinra's reputation.
"Something like that," Siri says, trying her best to sidestep the question.
Cissnei nods, noting the evasion, but making no further comments. Shrewd eyes flicker up and down her adversary and tallying everything the answer meant. The vagabond must have managed to bypass Shinra security and smuggler herself into the cargo hold. Interesting, to say the least. Cissnei would have to inform Veld about the breach or else it would cause a great deal of trouble in the future. She could only imagine the fits that the president and his son would throw if worse criminals than the one standing in front of her got through.
Twigs snap in the jungle nearby, echoing in the stillness. Siri drops into a defensive stance, turning towards the sound. All of her senses are on alert as she removes her lightsaber from her belt. Her thumb hovers over the activation button. I've got a bad feeling about this, she thinks, but chooses not to vocalize the sentiment, instead turning to her would-be adversary. "Stand back," Siri says, nodding with her head for the girl to get behind her.
Cissnei rolls her eyes, as she reaches to remove her weapon from her back. Perfect. Reno's probably drinking in Junon right now and I'm stuck with a vagrant with a hero complex. And they're always the worst kind. Her eyes narrow. Most knew by her suit that she would be better off doing the fighting. Everyone feared them. "You have no idea who I am, do you?"
Great. It's probably another Agrabah incident, only this time instead of a prince pretending to be a street urchin, it's a princess being a cutthroat, Siri realizes, trying to keep from voicing the growl that has begun forming in the back of her throat. "I'm assuming that you're going to tell me now?" she shoots back, feeling the tension rise in the Force.
"I'm a member of the Department of Administrative Research—or a Turk, if you prefer."
Choosing not to comment, Siri reaches out to the Force seeking out the threat that has yet to arise. At least the girl doesn't sound like a princess—unless princesses on this planet interned as office assistants before taking the throne.
Cissnei fights back the urge to put her hand on her hip, choosing instead to continue, "I'm Ciss—" Her words are cut off, morphing into a stifled cry as her feet fall from beneath her, sending her face first into the mud. Sound rages around them, echoing in the former calmness as ash pours from the sky.
She glances upward, seeing the stranger standing with her back towards her, hands raised above her head. A large sheet of broken metal floats above her as if enchanted. The thought lingers only for a moment as the implications strike her. "The reactor…" she breathes, bursting to her feet and reaching for Rekka. Her heart pounds as she moves to rush towards the explosion. A slight movement stops her, as she sees a splash of white fabric dancing through the trees. Elfé.
Red colors her vision as she makes her way to the members of AVALANCHE. She is no longer aware that she is moving, her feet pounding beneath her, beyond her control. As the terrorists break beyond the trees, her grip tightens on Rekka as she raises it with habitual grace, aiming without thought, without care. It lashes through the air, one tip catching one man along the neck, dropping him immediately.
Elfé's scarf curves around her as she turns to see what fell her comrade. Eyes widen and her upper lip curls into a sneer as she shouts, "It's a Turk!"
Those with guns raise them instantly while the others fall back, drawing their swords and other weaponry in preparation of the fight to come. Cissnei is already moving for the next throw, ignoring everything but the leader so bent destruction. She has seen the devastation of the reactors' explosions firsthand on previous missions. So much death. So much carnage. How could they even think of using such tactics when all it caused was a loss of life?
The young Turk is lost in her own struggles. She does not even register the whistles of bullets flying towards her or the faint snap-hiss signifying the stranger's appearance behind her. She is unaware of her sudden ally until violet light flashes in front of her, blurring into endless circles. Only one bullet gets through, barely grazing Cissnei's arm.
She hisses as pain brings her back to reality. The vagrant turns back to her, eyes flashing, as Cissnei moves to throw her shuriken once more. "No!" she says, motioning with the purple shaft of light back to the trees behind them. "We have to help them!"
There is a single moment of hesitation where she wars with the residual blood boiling, before Cissnei steels her resolve and nods in agreement, already moving back to the jungle. Even as she zigzags through the trees, leaps over plants, and dashes around rocks, she is fumbling in her coat pocket for her PHS system. With trembling hands she flips it open and punches in the first number that comes to mind. It isn't Veld—the man she should be calling—but her former mentor.
There is a faint click as someone answers the phone. "Tseng! The reactor at Gongaga exploded. AVALANCHE is to blame. I need back up."
"Right. We'll send help as soon as we can." Another click signifies the end of the conversation. Tseng has never been one for words, but he is among the best that she could ask. It will be hours before a helicopter will be able to reach them, but it will be better for all to know that help is on the way.
Two pairs of feet falter as they reach the reactor's clearing. Screams reverberate against the steel walls of the interior, bouncing out to the people standing outside it. The plume of black smoke continues to roll out of the top and ash is still tumbling down on them as smaller chemical explosions rock the core. Blood smears the steps where bodies have stumbled out, people working on maintenance in one of the more frequented corridors. More are still locked inside.
Neither of them needs to confirm with the other as they race inside, smoke instantly clouding their lungs and forcing coughs to wrack their shoulders as they find the first man in need of rescue, lifting the fallen beam from him before helping him to his waiting wife outside. They race back up the steps to the interior, already moving to help the next victim.
Soon, however, come the bodies, the ones that there is nothing left to do for. Hours pass, in silence, each lost in the repetition of mourning for the unknown and the strangled cries of hope being shattered for those that love them. Each is beyond words, beyond pain. Both have seen the results countless times before, but that does not make it any easier. It leaves them hollow, emotions stretched so thin that it soon becomes easier just to have no emotions at all.
Sometime during the procedure, a boy joins them but neither notice the spiky hair nor the green eyes—once vibrant, but now shrouded in loss. No one says a word. Soon they bring out what they believe to be the last body. The boy takes to dashing from person to person, body to body, fighting to comfort and help anyone that he can. Like a puppy whose masters have all fallen ill at once.
Every muscle trembles as Cissnei all but collapses on the steps. The stranger sits down nearby as well. Cissnei gazes at her for a moment, taking every centimeter of her in. She did not have to intervene, but she chose to. If she hadn't, there would be one more funeral for her comrades to attend this week. Perhaps she is not as much of a vagrant as she first thought. "Thank you," Cissnei whispers.
Siri forces a tired smile. "Don't mention it. It's my job."
Neither says anything for a moment, before Cissnei chooses to say the only conclusion she can draw about the woman, "You must have been subject to the experiments." She cringes as she speaks. Being subject to Hojo's insanity never did anything but cause harm—not that she would ever say so outside of the Department of Administrative Research. All of the up and coming Turks despised the procedures.
Siri's eyebrow rises. What experiments could she be referring to? "What do you mean?"
"Your light sword and the floating trick you performed. It had to have been a result of Professor Hojo's insanity."
Siri averts her eyes, running one hand through hair darkened with grime. "Not exactly."
"Then what?"
"It is…difficult to explain." The girl stares at her for a moment, daring her to continue, but she chooses not to elaborate. "You said you were a Turk, a member of the Administrative Research Department of Shinra, but I didn't catch your name."
"I'm Cissnei."
Siri smiles. "I'm Siri Tachi."
"Strange name," she replies, noting that it is one she has never heard before. It sounds foreign but there is nowhere on Gaia where names sounded similar. Not even in Wutai.
"Yours isn't much better." A smirk touches her lips, already used to the sentiment. Scouting missions to newfound planets always resulted in a culture clash.
They sit in companionable silence for a long while, neither having much to say as they contemplate what they know of the other.
As the adrenaline and numbness fades away, the wound on her arm, long forgotten, starts to sting. Cissnei glances down at it with vacant eyes. It means nothing to her. She has suffered from worse in the past and there is nothing she can do about it now. All of her potions have already been passed to the families of the survivors, in hopes that she could help them further.
Siri catches the motion and immediately reaches into one of the pouches on her belt, drawing out a flat, sky blue square. "Here."
Giving her a strange look, Cissnei takes it reluctantly. "What is it?"
"It's a bacta patch."
"A what?" Incredulity colors her voice.
"It'll heal the graze. Just stick it on and it will fall off once all of the bacta's gone."
"Thanks, but I'm fine." She is wary of the healing method, and does not feel like she deserves to be healed right now. There are others who require it more.
Siri's brows furrow as she switches to her newfound master mode, and says, "You don't want infection to set in."
Cissnei rolls her eyes.
"And you can't help anyone else if you're dead." Blunt and to the point, much more her style.
Her lips tighten in annoyance but she says nothing more, choosing instead to take off her mud-covered blazer. As she rolls up her sleeve, she tries to avoid thinking about the crimson stains on her dress shirt. The patch congeals to the wound, almost instantly taking away some of the pain.
Siri smirks as she senses her relief in the Force. Though she didn't put up much of a fight, she knows that the girl would be more of a hassle than Ferus ever would be. In truth, it would not surprise her at all if sometime in the future the roles would be reversed and her ever-logical Padawan would be the one forcing her to accept the bacta patch. Stubbornness is engrained in her.
Auburn bangs clumped together with the dried blood of the dead and a thousand other substances from the reactor that she does not want to think about, fall across her vision, and Cissnei reaches up a hand to brush them from her eyes. "When you said you weren't from around here, you didn't mean Midgar or Modeoheim or Kalm, did you?"
Siri shakes her head. "Not at all."
Her thoughts drift to the incident at the explosion and the strange weapon on Siri's belt. "Then what are you?"
"I'm a keeper of peace." Not exactly the answer the Turk had been seeking.
"Whom do you work for?"
"Anyone who needs it," Siri replies without hesitation, the smallest of smiles touching her lips.
Cissnei nods, realizing that it is probably the most descriptive answer she is going to get.
"Can I ask you something?" Siri asks, one hand absently tracing a pale white scar on tan skin. It serves as a reminder of her time with Krayn, where killing meant nothing to the companions she was forced to keep.
"It depends on the question."
"Why did you kill him?" The Turk had seemed so affected by the explosion, so physically drained by the carnage they both witnessed, that killing in cold blood seemed so unnatural, so forced to her. She isn't at all like the pirates that Siri thought her to relate to at first.
"I already answered that question," Cissnei replies, a tightness in her throat constricting, as she tries to banish the unbidden memory. A new Turk has a difficult time dealing with death. It is a feeling that she fears she will never become accustomed to—which in her line of work could only bring about her own demise.
"I want another," Siri replies, her eyes glinting with a hardness that swears she will not back down.
Cissnei sighs. "My duty is to the people I serve and what they deem best for Gaia." She pauses for a moment, staring into the fading sunlight. "We become the enemy to protect those who do not bother protecting themselves." At least, that is what she has always told herself. Reality and dreams are two very different things.
Silence. For a moment, Siri says nothing, staring out at the distant treetops swaying in the sharp breeze as though hoping to fan the smoke away. People have already begun dispersing, traveling back to their huts to continue mourning. Shards of broken metal create long, jagged shadows across the mud they are forever embedded in. "Then perhaps we are not so different. My job consists of harming some to save others too."
"I know no different," Cissnei says in a whisper, thinking back on all the years of training and the empty spots where the recollection of a parent's face should reside.
One hand comes to rest against hers. "Neither do I."
The familiar clatter of helicopter blades whirs in the distance, causing both to look up. "Those are my associates," Cissnei says.
"I'd better go."
Cissnei nods, wishing she would not, but knowing it is for the best. She reaches down for her blazer, swinging it over one shoulder. Both stare at each other for a moment, before Cissnei extends her hand, "Take care."
The Jedi smiles down at her. "You too," she replies, taking the proffered hand and shaking it.
Moments before the contraption touches down, Siri fades into the shadows of the trees, becoming nothing more than a memory as she looks on, stealing one last glance at the girl. A man with long, flaming red hair and an unkempt uniform leaps from the machine before it is even off. He wraps Cissnei in a quick hug, before his eyes take in the damage the terrorists caused. The shouted curse escapes his lips and reverberates throughout the clearing before everything falls still once more.
A second man comes around from the other side, placing one hand on the girl's shoulder and asking something that cannot be heard. She nods and he fades back, one hand running over the top of his bald head before he stops to stand like a sentry nearby.
The redhead motions at the town and they head towards it, preparing to help the townspeople further.
Cissnei gives the jungle one last glance, but Siri knows she cannot see her. The redhead yells at her to get a move on, and she rushes after him, appearing slightly surprised when he slings an arm over her shoulders and draws her close.
Siri turns on her heel, preparing to head back to her ship for nightfall. One hand reaches for her comlink to report in, while her mind drifts through the events of the passing day. Before she makes the call, her mind draws a single conclusion: They each have different methods and philosophies, but in the end, they are like two different sides of the same coin.
Fighters until there is nothing left to fight for in the name of peace.