Author's Notes: It occurs to me that I have been dead for almost a year now, with nothing new or updated, and I feel awful about that. No, I do. XD Maybe it's just….I procrastinate to the point of forgetting all my good ideas and not bothering to write anything down. Because if it sucks, or if I lose the character then, there's no point in my mind to go on. I feel that way with a lot of my stories. So I'm going to try really hard on this one, and whether or not I get many reviews all depends on how well this story is liked by the lot of you. Please try to enjoy. Oh yea, and please don't bash me for not being completely accurate with names of towns, or timelines or anything crap like such as that because….as far as I know, this IS my story. So roll with it, yes? XD
The Summary: Takes place within the events of Final Fantasy VII. Cloud and the others are trying to put a stop to Shinra's ruthless actions against the planet. However during this time, a huge epidemic of Geostigma breaks out. Shinra, to cover up their criminal acts of Mako abuse, order quarantine for everyone still infected. However, the disease is spreading faster than ever. The President orders genocide of the quarantine victims to hide their faults. Members of the Turks have spread out from city to city, looking for infected victims. Currently, Reno and Rude are positioned in Costa Del Sol. It's told from the story of this young girl, but it mainly focuses around her interactions with the Turks and AVALANCHE.
Author's Note: And again, if I can't build up my idea from this, then I will shoot myself in the arm and never write again. XD
The Rating: T for violence, swearing? Let's see. XD
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Chapter One: It Begins.
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"You're sick."
Such a residual tone. Everywhere it followed her. Preventing her from anyone and anything. It plagued her and marked her, like a sin. She was detested. Dozens of job applications thrown back in her face, men disgustedly backing away from her. It wasn't as if she had chosen to be diseased. She wondered if it wasn't long now before she would die. Maybe she would go peacefully in her sleep, though she heard in most Geostigma cases you hardly went peacefully.
As far as she knew, it was a disease of the mind, mostly affecting your memories, altering your perceiving thought. It hadn't been that strong yet though. In fact, she had barely come into contact with the Mako, not realizing it had been so close to her home, but they say you don't always have to physically come into contact with Mako for you to become infected. The ailments had not affected her memory as of late, but the marks were visible on her arms. Her pale arms looked bruised on both undersides, like she had been beaten. There was no hiding the marks, so everywhere she went, people knew, and stared.
She had gone to the doctor before, she thought it was a rash, perhaps, since her skin looked mildly irritated, however it was the farthest thing from an allergic reaction.
"You have Mako poisoning."
It had devastated her.
There's no cure for Geostigma. She had remembered thinking, hopelessly. She had left the clinic without another word and since then had tried to go about her normal life. But nothing was normal after that.
From what she had heard, some people had been cured though. A miracle. But it must have been speculation. In fact, she saw many who were still infected, sitting in the café's, reading the news, or sipping from their cups casually, as if nothing was wrong. As if they
weren't going to die a painful death of agony. So if there was a cure, it would have been given to all of the cities and their doctors, wouldn't it? Unless…..unless there was no cure.
In her many months of sickness, there were those who were compassionate and sympathetic towards her, and those who were disgusted and fearful of her. It was as if the world had only these two kinds of people in it. She wasn't sure if the sympathetic ones were any better though, since they treated her like a child. It was a sickness of memory, not of her intelligence.
As she thought about all of this, turning the corner and stepping into the small café, she wondered briefly if all of her family had died from Geostigma, or if it was from the SOLDIERs attacking them. What would be a better death? By the hand of man or a disease? A bullet in the face, or an attack from inside your body. She figured that the disease would last longer, and be a more painful death. But she wondered, if she would be brave enough to end the pain, if given the chance to.
She sat down into one of the rod iron chairs, placing her purse on the table, and looking up at the small television. Oh perhaps not…she could never kill herself. But if someone else shot her…..
She wiped the thought quickly from her head, not wanting to plague her mind with thoughts of morbid death any longer. She prayed for a time she could think peacefully. She would give anything for a day of normalcy.
The waitress soon came to her table, looking at her with that sympathetic gaze, and she sighed, wishing for it to stop. The wait was long and grueling for one simple cup of coffee. She allowed herself to look around for a while. The bell attached to the door rang a few times, as customers walked in. It rang again, this time, two men in suits walked in, one tall and lanky, red hair, long ponytail down his back, and his opposite, a man much more built, with no hair at all, and a pair of sunglasses. She thought they were oddly dressed to be coming into a resort town, but then again they looked like they might've come from work. Perhaps they were on a vacation of some-
"Here you go, sweetie." The waitress set the steaming cup down with a huge smile on her face.
She sighed, rolling her eyes when the waitress stepped away finally. God, what she wouldn't give to stab everyone in the face who looked at her like that. She reached for the sugar, pouring a large amount in her cup. She slid it back to its place and then reached for her spoon, tucked next to her placemat. The spoon found its way onto the floor instead of in her cup, by accident, knocking it off of the small table. She sighed exasperatingly, reaching down to the floor to grab up her spoon, but another hand was faster and more diligent in the process, and swept it up for her. If it was the waitress, smiling at her like that again she was going to-
But it was not the waitress. It was him, the man she saw come in. He looked down at her, red hair framing his young face, a pair of glasses resting above his brow, reflecting the shiny lights above, blue crystalline eyes gazing back at her.
"You eh, dropped this, Miss." He said, corners of his mouth upturned into a bright smile. The other man, his partner, was sitting behind him, shaking his head.
"Oh….th-thank you." She tittered, cheeks flushing. She was so awkward when it came to the opposite sex, it made her sick. It didn't even matter if they were good looking or not, it was just her making an ass of herself. She took the spoon, starting to lean back into her seat, but she felt a strong hand wrapped around her wrist. She looked up at his face, and he merely smiled at her again.
"You have the Stigma, don't you." It was a statement, not a question. It would have been silly to ask, because it was obvious. There was no denying it.
The man's partner leaned over his shoulder, to see for himself. After seeing it was true, they quickly and quietly nodded to one another as if in a silent understanding.
"Come on with us." The man said, standing up, his partner doing the same, pulling her up along with them.
She looked so alarmed, reaching backwards for her purse, but feeling nothing but emptiness as she was pulled out the door.
She looked behind her, large doe eyes, watching the waitress peer out the window after her with a confused look on her face, biting her lip.
She tried to jerk free from their grip, kicking up dirt as she flailed around.
"PLEASE! No, where are you taking me?! Please, I haven't done anything wrong, please!" Look at this; she was resorting to begging now, like she had any control over her disease. And now she was discriminated because of it. They probably came to take her away, throw her into an abandoned facility somewhere with the rest of the diseased population.
And it was funny, in sort of a, twisted, sinister way.
She was not too far off.
And, another sinister thought crept its way into her subconscious. That sometimes….some people….just happened to be in the wrong place, at the wrong time. Had she never walked into that café that day, perhaps she would have never ran into the two men who were currently throwing her in the back of a large truck. Had she never arrived in Costa Del Sol a few weeks ago, perhaps she wouldn't have been stabbed in the arm with a syringe by a strange man in a long, dirty coat, with hands icier than death itself. And maybe, she thought drowsily to herself, as her eyes began to close and her vision blurred, if she'd never moved away from her family in Midgar, she would have been safely tucked away in her bedroom, with no sickness at all and not a care in the world.
Maybe is such a tenebrous word.
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Author's Note: NO SHE ISN'T DEAD. What kind of writer would I be to kill her? She has been drugged just so that is clear. So. Uh, I hope it catches some attention. If not…..Oh….well…..