AN: Hello, and welcome to my long in the making FFVII fanfiction. I'll be frank, if you don't like AU fanfictions, this probably isn't the fanfiction for you. That said, I'm hoping mine isn't going to read like the typical AU fanfiction. Only way to know is to try, so here goes nothing. I don't own FFVII, any characters in the compilation, and am in no way affiliated with Square Enix. Enjoy.
A stiff wind blew through the slums as the last of the gunshots faded into nothing, a dull thud as the last of the bodies fell, marking the end of the horror. The tiny sounds of choked tears came from under a worn down patio, the only place spared from the carnage. Bodies littered the outside of the house, pools of blood stagnating around the scene of horror.
It was less than an hour later that the first helicopter arrived. Men and women in suits began to comb over the scene, carefully packing bodies into thick bags and sending them away, crews of other people cleaning up the remnants splattered on the ground. Some started on the house, covering windows with planks and putting a condemned notice on the door. It wasn't until a startled squeak came from under the porch that anyone knew one person had survived.
"Boss! I've got something," one of the suited men called out, stooping to peer under the rotting wood. Shaking, a small girl no more than five scuttled as far back as she could go, squeezing between a few fallen planks, feet squishing into the mud beneath her. The man tried to reach under, but he was too big. One by one, each suited member of the group tried to reach under the porch and get the girl out, but it was no use.
"I have an idea," one of the women in the group declared, and pulled one of her fellows towards a helicopter. It flew away, only to return about half an hour later; it was getting dark, and the girl shifted uncomfortably, curled up and covered in mud. The woman approached the deck again, followed by a smaller figure, another girl who couldn't have been more than a year older if that. She squeezed under the porch.
"Hi."
"...Hi." The hiding girl curled her legs closer to her chest, watching with wary eyes.
"I'm Cissnei," she held out a small hand like she'd seen adults do, but the scared girl made no move to take it.
"...Fuyume."
"Did you get hurt?" Cissnei asked, noticing the blood on the girl's face. Fuyume shook her head, but her strong front was failing; tears dripped down her face, as much as she didn't want them to.
"Where's my mommy?" she asked. Cissnei hesitated, looking back at the woman, who nodded at her.
"She's gone now," Cissnei offered her hand. "If you come out, they'll take care of you." Fuyume still didn't move.
"Who're you?"
"I don't have a mommy or daddy either; they take care of me," she stretched her fingers out towards her. Fuyume watched her carefully for a moment, then slowly crawled from safety. She watched the rest of the suited people as the woman who accompanied Cissnei carefully cleaned her up, wiping blood from her face and dirt from her legs. She cast one last look at her home before she was bundled onto a helicopter and taken away.
"I don't know how much longer I can take this place," Fuyume mumbled, the two girls huddled together in the younger's room, speaking by flashlight so security wouldn't hear that Cissnei wasn't in her own room. Three years had passed, and both bore the scars, mental and physical. Cissnei was being put through rigorous training; it was no secret she was being groomed to be a Turk. Fuyume's scars were much more literal; cruel and unusual tests were carried out on the brunette almost every day, mako worked into her system in various ways, testing to see if any one way was better than the other, how high of a dose a human could take, how a growing body reacted to the treatment, and she didn't know how much longer she could take it before she snapped.
"I know. But we're just kids," Cissnei argued. "What can we do?" Fuyume bit her lip.
"We could leave," she suggested.
"And what? Starve on the streets?"
"Sometimes I feel like that'd be better." Fuyume turned away from her friend, fiddling with the flashlight. Cissnei scoffed.
"Sure, they use us, and they don't care, but we're warm and safe. We should stay." It was Fuyume's turn to scoff.
"You're safe. I'm a lab rat. They couldn't care less about me." Cissnei frowned at her friend.
"What do you mean?"
"You don't want to know. Go back to your room, I wanna go to bed," Fuyume mumbled, tossing her the light and crawling into her militaristic cot. Cissnei watched her, taking the light in her hands and covering it so just the barest sliver showed.
"Goodnight," she mumbled, sneaking out.
A blood curdling screech filled the halls. Fuyume was strapped to a sterile white table; she strained against the straps, the leather digging into her skin, leaving marks. She could see the faint glow of mako under her skin as it was injected in huge quantities, burning her veins, spots filling her vision. She lashed out with her teeth, but the scientists had long since learned to step back before the procedures began.
As the burning sensations dulled into a faint ache, the bonds were loosened and her limbs freed. She sat up, rubbing the injection points with a sour expression. Five years since the incident in the slums, and there wasn't a day that went by that she didn't regret coming out of her hiding spot. Sometimes she even wished she had died with her parents.
The scientists left her alone for several long moments. She rubbed her sore arms, expression stony as she determinedly refused to show how broken she felt. She had stood and was stretching when a man in a suit entered the room; Fuyume stiffened. Turk.
"Hello," he greeted professionally, taking a seat in a chair across from the testing table. "Veld, of the Turks."
"What do you want?" Fuyume wasted no greetings on this pariah.
"The company has begun considering your future in the company, considering your treatment."
"Torture," she corrected.
"Regardless, they want to make sure you're somewhere where your talents can be put to use. I'm here to offer you a place among the Turks."
"No." Fuyume's voice rang with finality as she turned away and, without waiting for the scientists' okay, left the room.
Gasping and shaking, Fuyume staggered to the science wing of Shinra Corp. She normally would rather suffer alone, or go get Cissnei, than turn to the science division of her makeshift home. It had been two days since her last treatment, and she didn't know what was happening to her. She was feet away from one of the labs before her legs gave out.
The haze cleared to show a familiar lab room and the equally familiar burning sensation in her veins, but she no longer screamed or cried when the mako flooded her veins. In the back of the room, the ringleader of the project scribbled on a clipboard; Professor Hojo. She narrowed her eyes at him.
"What's happening to me?" she growled, demanding, not asking. He didn't even pay her the courtesy to look at her.
"Mako addiction. A failure," was all he said before he headed for the door, completely uninterested. She hopped down from the table and grabbed his lab coat.
"And what exactly am I supposed to do about it?!" she snapped. "You don't think Cissnei would notice if I just stopped coming out of my room one day? You don't think she'll notice these?" Fuyume gestured at her eyes, which just a few days before had made a sudden change to a bright, vivid purple.
"Not my problem," he shrugged. "But this experiment is top secret; if you care about your friend, I suggest you not say anything." He pulled his sleeve from her vicegrip and left, slamming the door with a ringing finality.
"Fuyume! Why won't you let me in?" Cissnei called indignantly from the other side of the door. Fuyume squeezed her eyes shut, hands clutching the side of her head, one clinging to a now-empty syringe.
"You've changed, Cissnei. Joining the Turks? Being one of their pawns? You sicken me," she shot back, every word coming up like a burning tongue of flame. She didn't want to say these things, but Cissnei could never know. The long silence that stretched without retreating footsteps said more words than Cissnei needed to say to her old friend.
"If...if that's what you want," the newest Turk recruit said quietly, almost too quiet for Fuyume to hear, before the sound of boots on tile retreated from the door. Fuyume waited several moments before the tears started to come.
She was alone.