A/N: This is the collaborative effort of some members of the Mare Serenitatis forum. Each chapter is written by a different author; they are listed below in the order they appear with the character they've chosen to write as.

Solain Rhyo writes as Vincent.

Drakonlily writes as Cloud.

Cendrillo writes as Cid.

xXx

I lost myself that night, like so many others, within the yellowed, brittle pages of books forgotten. When I rose with the setting of the sun I would wander the mansion and perhaps venture beyond the village, but always and inevitably I was drawn back to the place that had, at one point, been my self imposed exile. And when the last vestiges of the sun had been overwhelmed by the blanket of night I would return to the basement and enter the lab; it was almost ritual for me to light the lantern sitting upon the desk with my materia and then carry it aloft in one hand past the shelves upon shelves of books to the small study situated away in the back. The chair, which had once been stuffed but was now flattened and torn, was a familiar sensation as I sank down into it; long hours I'd spent seated within it. And carefully, mindful of their delicate, aged condition I'd lift a book from a pile I hadn't yet read, place it before me, and begin to read.

Months I'd spent thus, reading records and accounts deserted by their creators; I wanted to know, I needed to know, the reason for all that had happened. The Meteor incident had rocked the world as we knew it, and I very much doubted things would ever truly heal. Everyone dealt with the tragedies their own ways; Tifa told me point blank in her blunt manner that by hiding, by running away, I was trying to come to terms. I had no reply for her; I didn't really know why I did what I did. All I knew was I needed answers –I needed the clarification, the vindication, and perhaps the salvation they would bring me.

This particular night passed no different than the many before it. I read by flickering lamplight, the only sounds to be heard in the eerie stillness were the rustling of the pages as I slowly turned them. Hours passed in this manner, my mind being drawn further and further into the ramblings of brilliant minds; when I became aware through heightened sense that were innate of a presence outside the library but steadily drawing near I almost dismissed it as a trick of delirium brought on by incessant reading.

Almost.

Removing my eyes from the text before me, I concentrated on what I could feel –seconds later I heard the soft screech of the large wooden door to the lab as something pushed it open. I was completely alert now; perhaps it was one of the Mako by-products that lurked in the mansion depths. I'd dealt with them before, after all. And so I waited, focusing on the quiet padding of feet as they ventured down the hall to the study in which I dwelt. I wasn't worried, not in the least; when suddenly a figure appeared in my view, however, I was genuinely surprised.

It was a child.

A girl, I realized after another moment, painfully thin and spare of frame. Hair the color of rust was bound back in a long braid that looked dirty and matted; wide, pale eyes stared at me from within a pale, freckled, dirt smudged face. Her clothing was tattered and ripped, and stains blotted it in several places. So taken aback was I by her appearance – a child, down here?- that I was speechless, and it was she that spoke first.

"I found you," she whispered, and there was something fervent, something hopeful in her husky voice that made me distinctly uneasy.

"Found me?" I asked then, frowning slightly. This was beyond bizarre, even for me …

"We heard about you," she said, her voice gaining strength although I could plainly see her small body was still poised for flight should I make any sudden moves. "They talk about you still. The man who lives beneath the mansion."

"Ah." I said, although I had no inkling whatsoever what she was talking about. "Who talks about me?"

She ignored my question and instead began to slowly circle the desk, gazing about the massive stacks of books and parchment. "They said you were powerful."

I didn't like the sound of that. "Oh?"

"And so when I got away, I came here to find you. I need your help, mister."

And so I was struck speechless a second time that evening. Feeling my frown deepen, I asked, "First – who are you, child? And what are you doing here?"

"I'm Aeryn," she said coming to a halt directly beside my chair. Her eyes, a very light blue, were regarding me with an earnestness that was almost disconcerting. "I'm here because I got away from them- I ran away …"

She trailed off, and there was a glistening aspect to her gaze then that spoke of tears. "Away from who?" I prompted, uncomfortable with the emotion I knew was coming.

"Them." She said angrily, and in that one word there was the utmost fear and loathing. "They took us from the city … they did things to some of us …" Despite the fact that tears trickled down her face, her expression became abruptly one of indignation. "Whatever they did, it made some of us sick. Four of us have died since they took us."

"What city?" I asked; against my will I was being drawn into the intrigue of this child's story.

"Midgar." She snuffled quietly, scrubbing in annoyance at the wetness on her cheeks.

I sat back in my chair, steepling my hands together as I studied the wretched waif before me. People still lived in the ruined city, I knew, making life the inhospitable climate beneath the surviving plates. She was a street urchin, then, but what on earth would someone want with the orphans and ruffians? What kind of testing was being done on them, for that matter, that would affect them so seriously?

"Where did you get away from them?"

"Here. In Nibelheim. I only knew it was Nibelheim because I heard them talking. They stopped for supplies and to let us out for a bit and I kicked one of them and ran … I'm lucky. If he'd caught me he would have killed me."

"Are they still here?"

She shook her head, "No. I watched them leave. I was hiding in a trash can. They didn't look very hard for me."

"And how many of you were there – children?"

She was silent a moment, as though counting mentally, and finally she said, "Almost thirty."

It was my turn for silence as I contemplated the matter –what did she expect me to do? As if knowing my inner question she said suddenly, "Please, mister … I just want you to get me home. Please. When I get there I can find people to help me … we can go after the others …" Her tears had started again, though they didn't affect me as they would most people. When she spoke again, it was in a wavering whisper, "Please?"

An interesting dilemma I found myself faced with … take her back to Midgar? It was the last place on earth I wanted to return to, but truth be told something about her story struck a chord within me, and I felt apprehension –old, familiar, hated- rise up inside once again. Perhaps because her words of "testing" reminded me of my unpleasant past, I found myself coming to a resolution. I would see this child home, and I would contact old acquaintances to see if they knew anything about this, or perhaps what should be done about it. I had been shut in these old walls for far too long besides …

"I'll take you to Midgar," I said, and a brilliant smile lit up her face.

"Thank you!" She shouted effusively, and for a moment it seemed as though she would hug me. Instead she clasped her hands behind her back and watched me expectantly.

I sighed inaudibly. I now had a child ward to concern myself with. "Let's go upstairs," I said. "There are beds up there and some food. We won't be able to leave until morning."

She nodded, and when I rose and departed the study she followed close behind me. Through the dark, musty basement passage we went, and up the rickety winding stair; I had to give Aeryn credit, for this was not a safe place for travel. And when we entered the first floor of the mansion I settled her in for the night, providing her with what little rations I had lying about and promising her I wouldn't leave without her. I settled myself in a chair in the corner of her room, and after sleep had claimed her, curled as she was into the fetal position on the dusty old bed, I removed from with my jacket my personal PHS and dialled the number.

"Cloud," I said when I heard the familiar voice on the other end, "It's Vincent. We need to talk."

xXx