The City is Burning

by spiral staircase

When the world goes to pot thanks to the powers that be, a select few take it upon themselves to things right again. However, they may have bitten off more than they can chew even with their mole on the inside. Nobody's ever accused them of being heroes

Chapter 1: Prologue: sending out smoke signals

Disclaimer: If it seems familiar, SquareEnix owns it.

Author's Note: Nineteen Eighty-Four. George Orwell, what can I say? Great Book. I watched Advent Children the other night and something happened. Geostigma, Big Brother, Shinra…the gears just started turnin' and I decided to crank this out at two a.m.

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THE CITY IS BURNING

A Final Fantasy VII Story

Prologue: sending out smoke signals

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There is a TV sitting in the corner of the room, turned on with the familiar static plastered across the screen. A tape is popped in, the static and unpleasant sound replaced with a shadow-y figure lighting a cigarette, his features barely visible. If anything, there was a glimmer of yellow. Possibly hair. With sharp intake of breath, he speaks.

"Don't say anythin'," he says. "They hear it all. Keep quiet."

He takes a drag, "I know yer there, don't fuckin' ignore me when I speak to you. You just gonna sit there and listen?"

There's off camera murmuring, something about it not being video call and another stating they were told not to say anything anyway. The man sighs. "Fine, but don't fuckin' innerupt."

"Where ya from, pard'ner?" Pause. "Never mind, I don't care. There ain't a damn thing worth carin' for on this earth no more. Not yer mother, not yer woman, not yer fucking goldfish. Nada." He flicks the ashes onto the floor and brings the cigarette back to his lips. "They took frum us. Every-fuckin'-thing. What's theirs is theirs and what's ours is theirs.

"'Who?' Well... maybe you oughta take a look at yer electric bill. Shinra, preyin' on our hopes and dreams." He lets out a cold laugh. "Democracy ain't the way o' the world, it's a dictatorship. Don't lookit me like that, it's not like we ain't trying. How in pluperfect hell do we overthrow the all-knowing? You don't take a shit without someone knowing it." He tosses the cigarette butt on the ground. He pulls another from his pocket. He lights it. "A campaign based on lies. S'not the way it was supposed to be. They said they'd make it better, they'd stop the Stigma and look after those who were affected. But it went wrong. So wrong. Pestilence and decay, everywhere you look. It's not what it used to be, it's a lot worse.

"It's like we traveled back in time."

For the first time, his face becomes visible through the shadows. His hair, yellow as gold. He's not an old man though he does indeed look weathered and tired.

"Except this is the future. This is our reality.

Welcome to Midgar."

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