- The Second Calamity -

Denzel could still remember it. The day the second calamity fell from the skies was seared into his skull in bits of blinding color and dreadful sensations. It had been a beautiful day, really. Cloudless, sunny. Then the sky turned red and black in angry streaks, enveloping a single fireball as it crashed against the unmarred backdrop, plummeting down to the planet. He'd been with Marlene at the time in Edge. It was just after school and they'd been walking home together when it happened.

The calamity hit right along the outskirts the city, smashing through a section of homes and offices before grinding to a halt in piles of burnt earth and twisted metal. The acrid smell of chemicals from the destroyed buildings mingled with the delicate ash that hung in the air. And the smoke. Denzel would never forget the smoke. It billowed upwards, black and snakelike, a living thing in and of itself. Unnatural, had been his first impression.

Afterwards, everything had changed. The clear cold panic of that day dwindled into a constant undercurrent of dread as the WRO and ex-ShinRa scientists examined the chunk of rock that had fallen. Nobody knew what it was or where it had come from, only that it housed something surreal. An alien lifeform. Jenova, Cloud had told Tifa one night in a hushed voice downstairs. It must be, he'd said, and Denzel thought he could hear a tinge of fear in the man's voice.

General uneasiness followed for weeks. Still no reports were forthcoming, and Yuffie shook her head each time Tifa asked if there was news from the WRO. Something, she'd begged, anything. Cloud was falling into paranoia. He'd pace the empty bar late at night after closing far into the daylight of morning, then sleep all afternoon. Marlene reasoned to Denzel that he must be having nightmares. She'd heard him talk in his sleep once and he'd sounded angry.

It took a while for the smoke to cease. The fires burning deep beneath the mass of crumpled metal and concrete smoldered for days. When the initial scare had passed, the WRO announced that they were going to attempt communicating with the creature within, which, they claimed, was something they'd never seen before.

It all happened so fast after that. Suddenly, the thing had sparked to life, had duplicated itself in the form of a human, had attacked and killed several WRO agents. Then it spread. Like an infection, the alien being seemed to influence those around it, bending any mind to its will. The WRO lost control, and the alien amassed a small army relatively quickly, growing ever larger by the minute. A sea of mindless horrific hosts. By the time ShinRa developed a way to block the alien's influence, it was already too late.

But that had been ten years ago. Denzel sighed to clear the memories away. Ten long years, and Denzel had been but a boy. He wasn't a boy any longer.

He stared down the scope of his rifle, steadying his aim. Far below him in the street was a pair of scavengers talking. Denzel knew they had equipment, medicine specifically, but it didn't belong to them. They'd poached it from one of his transports, and it was Denzel's job to get it back.

Slowly, he breathed out and just at the end of his exhale, in the perfect moment of stillness, he squeezed the trigger. With a controlled kick, the bullet shot through his target, dropping the man instantly. His companion looked around in shock, but Denzel was already firing a second round, and a sudden hole in the man's throat bled out. Both lay in a lifeless heap, and Denzel breathed in.

Hopping down from the back of the defunct pickup truck, abandoned long ago when the initial battles had happened, Denzel approached. The city of Junon was a giant desolate husk laced with burnt-out buildings and crumbling wreckage. Only the most desperate lived this close to Edge and stole from the WRO.

The first man Denzel had shot lay bleeding on the concrete, but as Denzel stepped closer, he noticed the man wasn't quite dead yet. The bullet must've missed his heart. Blood bubbled from the man's lips and his wide eyes moved over Denzel in silent begging. Then he spotted the faded WRO badge on Denzel's arm, and anger cut his expression.

"WRO…" he said weakly, spitting a glob of blood, "You fuckin' pigs."

Denzel stood above him, rifle safely stowed on his back, and withdrew his dagger.

"You control...everything...while the rest of us...fade away," the man struggled to speak, then he grinned with a mouthful of red, "Heh. You're just like ShinRa...it's no different…"

Denzel knelt, pushing the man over to gain access to the backpack pinned beneath him. Sure enough, inside were the supplies and medicine. He pulled the bag from the dying man and put it on his own back.

"Just...like...ShinRa."

Then the man fell silent, dead. It was just as good. Denzel didn't want to have to slit his throat. He never enjoyed watching death up close like that. Leaving the bodies behind, he headed back into the maze of urban ruins, towards his motorcycle parked near the outskirts. This place would have once been considered the slums long ago, but now it was a wasteland.

Nobody else troubled him. The patch on his arm, though dirty and tattered, was usually enough to keep others away. It was nearly sunset by the time Denzel put the city at his back. He put on some music, an old cassette he'd kept from Tifa's bar, and Junon disappeared behind him, diminishing into a gray blot on the horizon.