Author's Note:

Hello, dear reader. This is my first attempt at a 100 Theme challenge. I intend to make this a 100 chapter continuous story as opposed to the theme challenges I always see where there are 100 one shots that don't really relate to each other aside from the ship they represent.

Strap yourselves in, this is going to be a long ride for all of us.

Timeline: Following the events of Dirge of Cerberus, approximately two years after game. (Year 2012)

Characters will vary.

Rating: M (for violence/gore, language, and overall adult situations that may or may not include smut but that are obviously not intended for everyone. I do NOT want children reading this.)

This story will be written in first person point of view and the character who is narrating the experience will be noted at the beginning of the chapter. Reno will be the main character, but others may be used.

Disclaimer: I do not own FFVII (not like we don't all fuckin know that xD)

Reno's POV

1. Blink

Blink. Breathe. Move. DO something!

The darkness and pain are overwhelming. I can feel jagged rubble pressing into my skin, cutting through me. I can hear the cries of the dying and the crackling of flames. Parts of the plate are still raining down and crushing us all, burying some of us alive while giving others a sweet sudden release into the Lifestream as vital organs are forcefully shut down and spines are cracked like twigs. My own screams won't come, my throat is too choked with dust to make a sound. I'm having enough trouble pulling air through my grit-clogged mouth to even fill my lungs for a breath, let alone a scream. The dryness of my throat is only a minor discomfort compared to the new and terrifying sensation of being slowly crushed to death. I know that bones are broken, that some of the warmth I'm feeling is not from flames, but from blood. Still I claw at the rubble around me with broken and bleeding fingers, fighting to keep near the surface of the wreckage. I know that if I allow myself to be pulled beneath it all, any chance of rescue will be erased. I don't even know if they will come looking for me, I have no idea if there are civilians around the wreckage who would search for survivors. I thought I had been far enough from the plate to avoid being brought down with it. I had only paused for breath to watch my own mortifying handiwork bring the world crumbling down. I had just wanted a taste of the consequences of my actions, not the full meal.

Finally, I force my eyelids to open, seeing the rubble-crowded darkness for a few moments more before my own ceiling comes into focus. As the nightmare fades, I sit up, tossing away blankets that choke me. The sensation of being buried alive persists, as it always does, and I pull myself out of bed, forcing air into my lungs like a drowning man. My legs are shaky as I stagger to the bathroom, tripping over discarded clothing I had stripped away the night before in a drunken stupor. The drinking is supposed to protect me from the nightmares, the memories, but it doesn't work as often anymore. There are still nights where I get to remain blissfully unaware of what I've done, what I've been through, but this wasn't one of them.

I stand before the mirror, face dripping. I feel too old to look this young. The slow work of time on my face worries me, especially since Rude's beard is peppered with light tones already and he's only got four years of age on me. But here I am, still a shock of red and smooth skin between scars. Sure, maybe I've got a worry line here or there, but they aren't close to how I feel I should look. After all I've been through and all the terrible things that plague my sleep and my silences, I should be a latticework of lines and creases. Instead, here I am fresh faced and thirty, feeling like an old man.