Into Broken Remnants
There are days – bad days when the once indomitable Rufus Shinra is but a shade of his former self. He would say it's all part and parcel; that the glory has run out of him in black pus and breath stealing pain. His moment is up. This is the planet's will. All that pseudo philosophical excuse-making that his younger self would call bullshit on.
It isn't in his hands anymore. Nothing is.
Better come to terms with that.
Rufus Shinra isn't a betting man. Gambling is something fools do when they have too much money (which he probably has), too much spare time (nowadays, Rufus is finding himself with this as well), and too little logic (Rufus scoffs).
But in a situation such as this, when the odds are stacked so high against him and the situation is lose/lose, it almost seems silly to delve too deeply into metaphor. (Is it really and truly a bet when no money is involved?) So Rufus throws caution and his own set of standards to the win and bets his life.
He bets he'll be gone within two months. Whether it'll be the Geostigma that takes him or something else has yet to be determined. Something is looming and that something is big. Larger than himself.
It almost feels like WEAPON all over again.
He has good days, too, but who's counting?
Doomsday is coming. Better get ready. He has a few tricks up his sleeve and damned if he'll be giving them up before the grand finale. Which begs the question: Are they really good days when his mind is always on the elephant in the room? The black box with Caution etched on yellow tape. The cure that wasn't and has now become the greatest liability he's probably ever touched.
It's like holding power once again, so maybe that kind of counts as being a good day.
His comrades are gone – fighting. Tseng and Elena are somewhere and he can only hope that somewhere isn't a metaphysical somewhere. It's all going to shit and time is drawing near. But it hasn't come. Rufus has a feeling he'll know when the time is right.
'It's not in my hands, anymore.'
There are days when he almost believes it. Thankfully this isn't one of those days.
He has unfinished business, after all.
On nights when the crickets dare to venture forth, Rufus likes to follow suit into the inky darkness of the predawn A.M. hours. Pressed flat on dried grass with his eyes closed, he can almost forget the past few years; can almost imagine any other world but this one.
But when he wakes up, he finds himself alone in the pale blue morning and nothing has changed.
But one day something has to.
Rufus mentally counts down the days. If he were a betting man, he would say that now he only has one month left, and would do something stupid like bet his leg (the good one) or his company (that one was a joke in more ways that one). It isn't like winning or losing will really matter much when he gets down to it. Dead is dead, after all.
But he'd like to go with a bang, rather than a whimper.
It only seems fitting.
There's this split second when everything clicks and the gears are suddenly spinning twice as efficiently. There's this split second when he's himself in all respects, when he realizes that everything has changed, but he is still Rufus Shinra and though different, this is his world.
There's this split second, and it may come between the pulse and backlash of a shotgun he isn't altogether familiar with, but it's clarity and its power and it's dealing.
He knows now. The time is right, and he casts the box over the edge. Power is the greatest bait, after all. And if he's going to go, anyway, he might as well take this bastard out with him.
And with a silent goodbye, he releases everything he knew, embraces this newfound reality…
And lets go.