Broken Mirror
act one - shatter
I - moment of weakness
What I have is, I have a second in time. I have a split second in an abandoned building with a gun in my hand and every instinct is telling me who I am at that moment. That's what I've got left and that's all I've got left.
-- Homicide: Life on the Streets
***
Quistis Trepe had plenty of experience as a teacher. What did youth matter, after all? She often told people – usually older and highly respected professors – that it was her destiny to help shape the future. That tattered old cliché read so well, an orphan's call to nurture ever so noble in the face of their vaunted principles. What she did not tell them was that it was no grand life's work that really motivated her. It simply wouldn't do to admit to those staunch old souls or even to herself that she didn't care for their fabled emotional fulfillment through education.
The truth was that Quistis Trepe just needed to be needed.
This was a rather fortunate thing, considering the company that she was currently keeping. Trudging through the Delling sewers with Selphie Tilmitt and Zell Dincht might not have been tolerable otherwise. In a way it was somewhat like shepherding cats.
Cats, or maybe kindergartners.
"Ugh. Look at that, Selph!"
"Zelllll! That was, like, totally uncool! I so did not need to see that…or that next to it..."
"Was that a hot-dog? I think I'm going to be sick... lemme stop for a sec."
"Quistiiiiis... when are we going to get there?"
"Now," Quistis answered, using the always classic Teacher Voice with professional ease.
The sewers around her were oddly pristine considering their nature. Azure stone and ornate gates brought to mind something almost classically elegant. That was, however, before said mind brushed upon the location's inevitably foul stench and the constant chatter of Selphie and Zell. It would be best to ignore the pair; Quistis found that many students did these sorts of things only to gain attention. Best also to do the same with the sickeningly pervasive smell - but that was more because the blonde really didn't want to think about what was producing it.
Shaking her head slightly, the former instructor motioned towards a burnished metal ladder.
"We need to go up there. I suppose that I'll go first," she calmly stated, trying to keep any concern about the mission or or a certain Mr.Leonhart from infecting her voice. For her charges' sake, of course. She had to be the voice of reason to get them through this. As always. In a way this was just some weird version of the now monotonous Fire Cave test she had been more than happy to guide dozens of students through.
This was stupid. Quistis knew that there was no logical reason to not think of them as her friends. They were only a year younger than her. In the past week, however, 'they are your friends' seemed to have become her personal mantra.
"Time to get you of here? Yeeeeees!" can a high-pitched reply from the rear. Not pausing to address the pair further, Quistis began her ascent in a barely restrained hurry. They were at least responsible enough not to let themselves be left behind in this cesspool.
The instructor forgot to chide herself for not thinking of them as her friends. She'd make an extra effort after the mission.
**
A posse is supposed to stick together. They were still a posse... weren't they?
"GONE," the pale woman stated in what one who knew her well might have deciphered to be a lament. But then, who really knew Fujin Asher all that well? Seifer had always been the most aloof of their private little clique, and Raijin was... well, Raijin was just Raijin. Meaning that he wouldn't notice her depression if it bit him in the ass.
The partner in question was more obvious in his emotions - lolling in Headmaster Martine's plush leather armchair and generally acting as morose as he was ever likely to. He hadn't, after all, said a word in nearly three minutes. That might be some kind of record.
Yay.
The pair technically wasn't supposed to be in Martine's office, but none of the Galbadian students had felt up to the task of challenging the Balamb Disciplinary Committee. Edea's patronage and the support of Galbadia Garden's more lax group of enforcers were enough of a threat to gain the odd duo access to pretty much any area that they wanted. Well, those and a few rather lurid rumors involving the mysterious disappearance of some kid who used to run around in Balamb Garden. Brat made the mistake of bumping into Raijin - and little boys shouldn't run in the hallways.
Words, Fujin was forced to admit, were useful that way - even if they did also prompt Raijin into one of his never-ending commentaries. Oh well. She was used to it.
"C'mon Fujin… I know that it's weird not to be in Balamb and all, but hey, it could be pretty cool here y'know. At least we found Seifer n' he's alive and all…"
Whether he had purposely misunderstood her earlier comment or was simply as dense as reputation indicated was unclear. The albino enforcer supposed that it was a little bit of both. Yet whatever his motivations, at least the fighter cared about how she felt. They both knew that this sure as hell had nothing to do with Balamb. Raijin was happy wherever Seifer was, and - handsome soldier notwithstanding - Fujin was in a secondary sort of love with her new home. The spartan grandeur of Galbadia Garden was so refreshing after Balamb's gaudy and useless furnishings. If Headmaster Cid thought that he was fooling anyone with babbling fountains and gold filigree he was very, very sadly mistaken. Balamb Garden was as much war's breeding ground as this place, except her current residence did without Balamb's strange pretense of tranquility and goodwill.
Maybe Headmaster Cid just needed to fool himself.
And a few government inspectors.
Bah.
As randomly as ever, Fujin continued with another non sequiteur, "SEIFER."
"Hey, hey!" Raijin smiled, once more dragging himself into the belief that life would end up sunny no matter how the cards were played. The man might be a little on the thick side, but her friend was always good for that at least. "Seifer told us to stay here n' , y'know, infiltrate n' stuff. It's not like he left us again or anything… We're a posse, y'know! S'just his dream, is all. Aren't ya happy for him? And now we don't have to take anything from, y'know, Squall and them… 'Sides, we're almost done actin' like diplomatic type-people ta Martine anyway..."
"AFFIRMATIVE," Fujin answered, almost letting a sigh creep into the void during an uncharacteristic lapse of control. Plush carpeting cushioned the restless meaderings of steel-toed work boots. Raijin… Raijin just couldn't see that strange look in his eyes, the one that only Fujin would notice. Raijin couldn't see that that woman was slowly pulling him away from them. The albino knew that if he did then the darkened man would be much more of a wreck than she was at the moment... or at least appear to be.
"Fujin? Yo, Fuuj!" pressed the dark-skinned fighter, "Edea's on the telescreen. Ya know what that means…"
"AFFIRMATIVE," the albino repeated, now still and much more focused. She would be patient, follow orders and the like in some insane parody of normality. For a posse stuck together, and whatever had lodged itself in her soul for the the missing member of their group would not be so easily denied. Certainly it would take more than the badly kept secret of his midnight visits to Edea's bedchamber or lengthening daytime absences to exorcise.
Goddamn witch. She was the biggest pretender of all, with her false love and fairytale mutterings. Her Seifer was too smart to be clouded by those pretty words, wasn't he? Raijin had been swayed quite easily but... that was different. That was Raijin. Raijin was prone to that sort of thing. But Seifer would recognize Edea's obvious manipulation eventually if Fujin had to...
No, dammit! She was absolutely not thinking like some jealous scheming floozy from one of her romance novels. The soldier knew better than to let herself think that she could rip him out of his romantic dream by attacking Edea... tempting as it was.
And so she would do his bidding this night. Modus operandi. Because if there was one thing that she did know, it was that unrequited love royally sucked.
**
Seifer Almasy had waited for what seemed like an eternity for this day. The day when they would cheer for him - the day when he would take his place at the side of his Sorceress just like in the legends.
The day when he would become the Knight.
"This is your new reality!" his mistress melodically called, cloaked in otherworldly flame and neon light. But it wasn't a new reality for him; not by a longshot. This more honorable existence had been mapped out in perfect detail within the corners of his mind all his life, just waiting to be unlocked by her presence. It was his destiny, after all. The warrior had known since he was a little child that he was the only one noble enough to be worthy of someone like her, the caretaker of a more honorable world. Seifer was the White Knight, protector of his Sorceress and master of the fates of thousands.
She was so beautiful as she stood there - that vision of mystic perfection that was any true Sorceress. They would be together forever, wouldn't they? She'd said as much, given him as much on what was perhaps the most perfect night of his life. No, make that second most perfect. Nothing could possibly match this fated debut, and for the first time in his existence Seifer Almasy convinced himself that he felt.... whole.
The Sorceress was on her throne, the Knight stood at attention, and all was right with the world.
It had to be.
**
"This is your New Reality!" crackled an authoritarian voice over the newly restored Galbadian telescreen network. The last thing most of it's viewers had expected to witness tonight was the immolation of their President.
And a New Reality it was - different if not better. But there was no time to ponder that or wallow in self-pity. More sensible things had to be done upon hearing the signal Seifer had outlined.
As Headmaster Martine hurriedly entered his office, Fujin quickly and quietly dispatched him. He was a trained fighter, to be sure, but well past his prime years and not nearly skilled enough to stand against the wind's frightening speed. As his broken body fell to expensive hand-woven rugs she didn't even spare a second glance. Hmph. Frivolous carpeting muffled an unpleasant squelch, if not contributing anything else useful to the room. She supposed that it was was dubious, however, that Martine had considered his own death by shruiken when he'd been interior decorating .
No matter. This was the sort of thing that she was supposed to feel bad about later, but then Fujin had always despised pretense - even that of tactful sorrow or regret. Trying to deny the fact that she would remorselessly obey Seifer to the point of cold-blooded assassination would be like cutting out her remaining eye.
Bah. Co-dependance was unbecoming in a soldier. And she never felt remorse, anyways.
As such, the telescreen was filled only with an eyepatch and sub-zero glare once Galbadia Garden's internal closed-circuit television system was activated by Raijin. The plan Fujin had conceived with Seifer scant hours ago was mechanically perfect, as per usual. While the few truly loyal Galbadian SeeDs spread among the Garden's general population like a virus, her voice filled the sprawling confines of the mercenary base much more substantially. The students - or, as Seifer would once have said, pansies - didn't know what hit them.
"NEW REALITY."
"MARTINE," she lifted a heavy, stiffened object to the cameras. The kill had been clean; nary a speck of clotted hemoglobin was present to contradict the former Headmaster's identity. It was always clean. There had been classes for the talented.
"DEAD."
"EXPLAIN."
The woman's strange voice carried the kind of threat that the man who proceeded to drone on behind her would never even think to express.
"Alright, people. This Garden is now under the control of those loyal to Her Majesty's Knight Seifer Almasy, y'know. I'm Captain Raijin Kasim of the Galbadian Imperial Army, and this is your new Commander Fujin Asher. Like she said, this is our new reality. Ya have no choice in this , y'know. Now we're going to try and make this change as smooth as possible, but those who don't play by the rules here will be, y'know…" Raijin's face was so innocent.. he really did make a great liar, though it was debatable if he really considered anything that Seifer told him to do really wrong.
"PUNISHED," the stark, arctic interjection of the new Commander rang through equally sparse halls. The gunshot of a command silenced any protest that the more bold students could have mustered.
"Now I wanna be your friend here, so, y'know, listen up. Now we all know that Martine wasn't the most popular guy around here what with the way you guys got shafted – y'know, only Balamb students and those who transfer there get t'be in SeeD n' all. But that wasn't why this had ta happen. Y'see, Sir Seifer stands for justice for ya, n' so do we. We tried to convince Martine to see justice, y'know. We really did. But he wanted to keep you all down, y'see…"
When Raijin Kasim spoke it was ordinary, and easily decipherable once one grew used to his characteristic accent.
"REBEL. POWER, OURS " Fujin once more interrupted. Yes, really theirs for once. The soldier's expression almost imperceptibly softened then, reaching out to all those rejected by the fickle favor of the powers that be. They were orphans trapped in the dead-end that was the Galbadian mercenary force - too unstable or unskilled or brilliant to be of any use in Balamb, and lacking any other real home. Abandoned for scrap. And for a split second, surprisingly, those watching could see an inkling of themselves through the static. They couldn't have known that it was because their new commander had quite the close personal relationship with rejection herself.
Fujin Asher didn't need pretty words.
**
There is a certain state of mind that is indicative of the truly skilled sniper. It has been defined by those experienced as a pronounced singularity of thought; the ability to focus one's every synapse on a tiny speck of flesh. The young man who was currently nestled inside the shadowed cranny of a rather gaudy clocktower was all too familiar with that technique. He had, after all, been trained in this particularly deadly art since the tender age of ten. Usually it was simple for him; find a satisfactory space and wait. Crouch low despite the biting insects or the pain of cramped muscles while descending into a world where all life is a target. A predominantly simulated target, to be sure, but a target nonetheless. In this the professors of Galbadia Garden could truly congratulate themselves: their pupil never tired, never missed, and absolutely never failed.
Unfortunately, this was not a simulation. And Irvine Kinneas was … distracted.
His teachers had warned him about this sort of thing. Don't wear that silly hat; the sweat upon your brow will blind you. There is no sound, sight, or smell - only white noise, a bullet, and that pivotal scrap of tissue. And above all, Irvine, don't think about the consequences of your actions. In fact, don't think at all! Numb your mind so that the job is all that matters. Be our perfect assassin, and we'll take care of you.
They needn't have worried for the most part. The oppressive humidity that was typical of Galbadia, the ominous chanting of clockwork dancers, and the harsh blue neon light were cleansed from his consciousness with practiced ease.
The would-be cowboy was, however, having a bit of trouble with his instructors' one final edict.
Don't think about it.. just don't…
Usually he could simply drown it out with the typical fantasies.
A shapely woman, barely clad in the tiniest of bikinis, rubbing his back on the inviting white sands of…
~The beach. Matron and stark granite
home behind them. Laughing, playing in the sun… running through the
surf
and then…
"Ooooowwww! Matroooooon!"
"There, there, Irvine. You're going to be fine"
…the most kindly smile in the world. ~
Startled from this reverie by sudden motion, Irvine looked up to see brightly clad phantasms dancing above his head. It was beginning; the growl of long-motionless iron sounding a call to arms. Yet despite his duty the sniper remained motionless.
Don't think… just don't think about it… focus…
~ "Happy Birthday, Irvine!"
"I..... I wish my Mom and Dad were here…Why don't they want me, Matron?"
Warmth; an embrace.
"Shhhhhh… your parents went away, but they loved you very, very much. Anyone would want you."
Tears, scalding his cheekbones. He was acting like such a baby…
"Really?"
And, once more, that peerless smile.
"Of course." ~
"Irvine Kinneas!"
This time it was the verbal which intruded upon Irvine's memories. The harsh command of his supposed commander could break through even the sniper's practiced trance. It was demanding, that call – an insistent urging towards bloodshed.
"I… I can't," Irvine muttered, not even bothering to turn and glance at a target he did not wish to see, " …I'm sorry. I just can't do it. I always choke like this." A lie, the assassin knew, but probably more palatable to his stone-faced companion than the truth, "… I try to act all cool, joke around, but I just can't handle the pressure…"
One single shot.
No. Women in those high-cut Seed skirts. Quistis getting out of the shower. Selphie in a bubble-bath. Laughter. Damn, he looked fine today… Anything but…
Blot out the smile. Buh-bye, Matron.
No. Focus. Don't think about it…
"Forget it. Just shoot, " Squall replied. In the streets below, the warm glow of fire clashed with emotionless neon reflected on the pavement.
He was right, Irvine knew. This was too important for him crack now, no matter how much the supposed monster below resembled his surrogate mother. Funny, that the woman who had bandaged his skinned knees had turned out a Sorceress and neophyte dictator. Life was strange that way.
"My bullet…. the Sorceress… I'll go down in history. I'll change the history of Galbadia… of the world!" Irvine mused. Yet the shadow of a haunting smile still superimposed itself over dreams of grandeur and import.
"It's all too much."
"Enough! Just shoot!" hissed Squall, glow of unfeeling turquoise light reflected as if by magic. You'd think that a man like that would absorb such a thing.
"I can't, dammit!" Irvine snapped. The cold-hearted bastard didn't even seem to care. But he had been there just like the rest of them; how could he forget Matron!?! How could any of them forget?
He should be used to being alone by now: it was the sniper's classic position.
Squall would have made a far better sharpshooter than Irvine.
Matron….I can't… I can't…
I have to focus.
"Irvine, calm down, " Squall said in a more pacifying manner; truly a great achievement considering the source. " Everyone's waiting on you. I don't care if you miss. Whatever happens, leave the rest to us."
"Just think of it as a signal, " Squall continued, " A sign for us to make our move."
"Just a signal," Irvine repeated.
....they don't have to think about it.. not like me…
...never like me...
....just a signal…
"Please."
It's not me… I won't… I can't…
Just a signal.. They don't have to think about it…
leave it all to them... and I don't have to think about it...
...don't think about it...
"Just a sign," whispered the sniper.
FOCUS
Turning, the gunman took aim without a second thought - firing in a release of sheer conditioned instinct.
***
It is truly amazing how one fragment of time can change the very fabric of reality. Sometimes dream becomes reality. And sometimes fantasy fades to black. Maybe there really was a place where Sorceress and Knight really could have stayed together forever, or at least for the time it took Seifer to go mad within the illusion. Or perhaps he could have stayed with her only to pull himself out of the dream a changed man. Raw iron forged to steel in the realization of his own reality.
Alas, this was the New Reality, and that was not to be. Death cloaked in steel cut through gladly yielding air and, with the sickening crack of bone, tore through Sorceress' Edea's scantily-clad chest.
Her usually infallible instincts had fallen just a tiny bit off the mark that time. Edea - or, more accurately, her puppeteer - had thought to raise a Shell before Protect.
"Mistress!" her Knight shouted, panic and rage clouding an otherwise keen intellect. This wasn't supposed to happening, everything was supposed to be perfect…..
Forever. She was supposed to stay with him forever.
"S-Seifer…."
Eyes blazing with a fury dampened by despair, he knelt down beside his Lady. The blood was seeping ever so slowly from a gaping wound just above her heart. The elaborately feathered throne in which she had rested was now so insignificant. Pomp didn't stand a chance against raw brutality.
"Mistress, you'll live! I'll protect you!" he cried, distraught and desperately trying to take solace in his own words. A Knight was supposed to be able to protect his Sorceress at any cost. Surely he hadn't failed? Not after it had taken him so long to find her, after all of the dreams…
It couldn't be. The Knight never failed.
"N-no…boy…," she croaked.
Clutching her to his body, the Knight's
snow-white coat was soon drenched in scarlet - the metallic tang
of blood polluting crisp night air. She couldn't die, she just couldn't,
for she was everything. And maybe in the warmth of his body the Knight
could somehow reclaim the shattered carcass of a lover far beyond the help
of magic. He had to; Knights were supposed to be able to make miracles
happen. Even if their Sorceress' looked frail and sickly inside once
glamorous trappings. Even if they
could not make out what remnant of power
and beauty had to be within one bony form. And even if clawlike hands
running
across their cheeks were for once faintly
grotesque instead of exotic.
"Y-you're not my Ci…," rasped the Sorceress, some subtle air of cruelty suddenly missing from her crippled bearing.
"Mistress?," Seifer cradled his Sorceress'
head, not understanding her meaning. A Knight was not supposed to
have to
prepare to comfort the dying.
"And another….I must find…another…"
"Don't say that, Mistress. You'll
live. You have to.…," bleary-eyed and desperate, the warrior might have
been about to start
sobbing. Or perhaps it was simply
a trick of the light.
This couldn't be. The Knight never failed, and neither did Seifer Almasy.
Not ever.
"Ahhh… there…." Edea whispered, once straining
body relaxed and almost limp in Seifer's arms. If she heard him now she
certainly did not show it.
"Goodbye…."
The true Sorceress Edea died with a gentle
– if long unused - smile. The living dream died with her. Seifer
Almasy, however,
would survive....
One way or another.
**
In an obvious contrast to the atmosphere
of dire resolution below, the mood inside Delling Gate was of a much more
celebratory nature.
"Whoooooo-hoooo! Booooooooyaka!!!!!!
We did it!!!" Selphie squealed, hopping about like some sort of deranged
rabbit.
Honestly, Quistis would never understand
how her students - err... friends, that is - could take everything so lightly.
The
instructor was herself, of course, plagued
by gnawing worry for a certain handsome student.
"Whoa. There's some kind of riot
outside, " Zell babbled, obviously rather pumped up himself and peering
through the room's
tiny window. "The army's trying
to put 'em down… wonder what's up with them? They should be cheering
or something,"
the puzzled youth continued.
Forehead in hand, Quistis slowly exhaled.
The pained screeching outside their little eye in the storm had made it
obvious
enough to her.
"They were probably enchanted, Zell.
It must be confusing for them to be broken out of it." Meeting his eyes,
the former
teacher continued, "Meaning that we have
to get out of here before either the military or that mob decides that
this gate would
be a good place to shore up."
"You're the boss!" their tiny comrade chirped, "Let's go!"
Zell was meanwhile making punching motions at the air, oblivious to the drama playing out below.
"Damn! I wanted some action! Oh well…" he wilted.
Good. The teacher in her had restored order, and they really did need to make their escape.
"Squall will make for the Caraway Manor.
It's fenced in, and the General will probably have at least a few loyal
soldiers
there," Quistis detailed, drawing out
her whip. "That means that..."
"Back to the sewers? Eeeeeeewwwww! Majorly gross!"
"We don't have a choice, Selphie. Now...."
~FITHOS~
Before she could further advance her point,
Quistis' train of thought was interrupted as the tendrils of a whisper
crept into her
mind. This didn't make any sense.
The dancers were out of commission by now and…
"What the…"
~LUSEC~
The cacophony grew louder, a dozen voices in dissonant resonance. Definitely not the dancers.
"Instructor Trepe? You okay?" Zell
asked, slipping into a more customary form of address as he scrambled across
the rough
sandstone floor. Strangely lightheaded,
his rose-clad instructor fell to her knees.
No.
can't black out.. Not here.. Not now....
They had to get out of here. Squall… Squall might need her! He'd never needed her before…
~WECOS~
...I have to... I have to be there...
Foreboding words seared themselves into
her skull, drowning out any remnants of rational thought. They also
camouflaged any
concerned panic that might have infused
the blurs which were Zell and Selphie standing over her.
~VINOSEC~
…have to... have to… think…
…think…
~FITHOS~
…where…?
~LUSEC~
…who…?
…somebody… needed…
~WECOS~
...who.. what... am....I.....
....I...?
~VINOSEC~
Somewhere between pain and exhilaration
an ancient melody entered into the woman's stream of consciousness,
knitting
together a soul rent by raw power.
Pulsing, crackling, and relentless as it reached a crescendo, the primal
beat could become
the only focus for fragmented synapses….
~FITHOS LUSEC WECOS VINOSEC~
.....fithos....lusec..........wecos......vinosec?
Until finally the sonic assault could scream it's victory.
~FITHOS LUSEC WECOS VINOSEC!~
~FITHOS LUSEC WECOS VINOSEC!~
And with an unseen surge of energy, fade
to black.