Disclaimer: Final Fantasy VII and the Compilation belongs to Square Enix.
Note: This fic was somewhat inspired by the song "Under My Skin" by Trading Yesterday. I've been wanting to make a Cloti vid to that song for a very long time, but I had a tendency to be literal-minded when it came to matching the lyrics with images, and there's a certain abstract-ness (yeah, not a word) to the song that kinda made it hard for me (though I did ended up making a vid for "She is the Sunlight" instead). So I guess a fic is the next best thing.
Warning: violence, gore, code names.
The rain had abated, and the sunlight broke through the clouds, lighting his way through the vast wasteland.
He trudged through, one foot in front of the other in a mechanical pace, dragging the huge sword behind him like a criminal on his way to be crucified on his own cross. His eyes were narrowed from the too-bright desert, not quite accustomed to opening them and seeing. He kept his head down, and part of his hair shielded him.
Outcrops of rocks lay scattered before him, and he could sense desert monsters watching him, tailing him, biding their time, searching for any weakness. His ears pricked at the quiet sounds they made, and he couldn't be certain if they knew he was already alerted to their presence.
He sniffed, their putrid stench carried by the slight, arid wind, and he almost recoiled from its strength. Ahead, he could sense he was close to the outskirts of the city, and he knew he would be attacked before he could reach it.
With a low growl they pounced, a half dozen crimson creatures that just could not let their prey reach the safety of the city.
His mind was still in a murky haze as both hands swung the huge sword seemingly of their own volition, as though something had taken over him and he was merely a spectator within his own body, the still-sharp blade cutting through sinew and bone with a crunch. His muscles contracted at the weight, and with a strength that surprised even himself, dispatched the rest of the pack in a series of fast arcs and swings, their blood and viscera splattering him, mingling with the dried blood already on him. After planting the sword on the ground, he knelt in front of it, panting from the exertion. He opened his eyes all the way, but couldn't make sense of the scattered bodies surrounding him.
And among the red, another approached him, tall and with a tattered cloak that gently fluttered in the breeze. The figure stood tall, a different creature than those that lay around them.
He gazed up and met its red eyes.
Spike sat atop the rooftop balcony, shadowed by the gargoyles beside him. He watched the flow of people down below, going about their business, singling out the one indiscernible from the rest except for the predatory way in which he paced.
"Wolf Man, this is Darklighter," came a voice from the comm embedded in the wolf earring in his left ear. "Has the target been sighted?"
"Affirmative," he whispered in reply, focusing on the figure yet remaining attentive to his surroundings.
"Ten-four. Awaiting confirmation from Artie."
After a few seconds, the one who called himself 'Darklighter' came back on. "Proceed. Viva's in the premises and will provide back-up when necessary. Over."
"Affirmative," he repeated, and stood in one fluid motion, walked the length of the roof before jumping the six storeys down into the dark alley below, careful not to put too much force so that the ground remained unbroken with his landing, one leg stretched to the side while the other supported his weight, a gloved hand braced on the ground. He was just in time to see the figure descend the steps leading to the abandoned train station.
Spike swiftly followed, footsteps quiet in the dim cavern. He paused, ears prickling for any sound. On the darkened train tracks he heard the crunch of fast steps heading north. He treaded towards the sound, pulling the twin blades from their sheaths beneath his coat. He was only mildly disappointed at not being allowed to bring the entirety of the Fusion Sword, knowing that in such a mission as this remaining inconspicuous was more important than garnering attention with a huge weapon.
He continued to follow the figure for another hundred yards, deeper down in the darkness of the abandoned underground track. There, the figure stopped as though he finally sensed he was not alone. He swiftly turned, aiming a gun at his pursuer, firing several rounds.
Spike ran towards his target, his blades parrying off the bullets with an inhuman speed, his eyes glowing an eerie green in the darkness. He could sense the panic in the movements of the figure, the sound of gunshots nonstop. He grunted as he felt a few pierce his flesh as he got closer, but the adrenaline and mako pumping through his veins enabled him to withstand the momentary pain. Closer still, one blade embedded itself right through the gun barrel all the way to the wrist of its holder, nearly severing the thumb, and the cry that issued was suddenly silenced by the other blade's swing, decapitating his victim.
He fell to his hands and knees, panting. He could feel the blood trickling from his temple, from his chest and his left leg. Along with the blood, what ever it was that was in his system expelled the bullets, three pieces of metal compressed to more than half their original length by the pressure of the impact on his body.
"Are you alright?" came Viva's gruff voice in the darkness, giving his shoulder a squeeze as he passed by.
Spike nodded, seeing the other man walk to the target despite the lack of light. Viva examined the body, poked at the wound with a golden claw and held the victim's blood up to his nose. "Not quite there yet," he muttered to himself, sighing as he caught sight of the ruined gun. "What a waste." He looked back at Spike, shaking his head. "No spoils for me, huh?"
"He was shooting at me," came an even reply. "Had to get rid of it; nothing to do with you. If I had known, I'd have made an effort to save the gun for you."
Viva waved a hand and scoffed. "Just giving you a hard time." He stood and reached for his phone. "Artie. Mission completed. Spike got shot but the bullets are out so no lasting damage. Victim was clean. Cleaners are not required." He flipped the phone shut and turned to the younger man.
Spike had gotten to his feet during the interim and retrieved the bullets and his blades from the blood-splattered ground. He took a bottle of a mysterious solution from his pocket and poured it over his spilled blood, watching as it bubbled up and dissolved. Likewise, the mission's body was dispersing into the Lifestream.
"Leave no traces behind," said Viva as he began to move.
Spike nodded, and felt the power of fire flare from the materia slotted in one of his blades, incinerating the whole underground cavern as he and Viva walked away from it, not feeling the heat or flames even as it enveloped them.
"I sensed the beast in you," the red-eyed man said in a voice that sounded gruff from long disuse.
His eyes rose, the green that had overtaken his irises during the killing of the crimson creatures receding back to centre around his pupil, leaving only the blue.
"Who are you?" he managed to burst out from his too-dry throat.
The man appeared to think for a moment, his eyes roaming the sky. "Call me 'Viva,'" he said with a curl of his lip, his voice echoing distaste at the name.
He nodded acceptingly, unconcerned about anything except for the one that incessantly pressed at his mind: "Who am I?"
Viva appeared taken aback, examining him with a frown. "Hmm," he mumbled meditatively before uttering with a shake of his head, "I don't know, Spike. I've never met you before in my life." The nickname came out of his mouth almost naturally, eyeing the blond spikes that shot out of his head.
"Huh," the newly christened 'Spike' sighed, searching the emptiness of his mind to no avail; the blackness would not relinquish his name or identity, and glaring at the sword in front of him for any clue was no use. But an unrecognizable voice spoke in his head, sounding rather confident even if Spike could not remember his face. "Listen, I'm gonna become a mercenary, and that's that. Boring stuff, dangerous stuff, anything for money. Mercenaries...that's what you and me are gonna be."
"I'm a...mercenary," he said tentatively, hesitating at the words as they left his lips, as though he himself was unsure of their meaning in relation to him. "I can do anything."
Viva cocked his head to the side. "You don't say. Well then, how would you like a job?"
Spike measured the weight of his words. It wasn't as if he had anything else to do, especially once he reached the city. He had only been filled with the need to arrive at Midgar. He rose, and stroked the handle of the weapon planted in front of him, afraid to be parted from it; it was the only remnant of anything regarding himself. "Do I get to use my sword?"
The corner of Viva's mouth upturned fleetingly and he turned to leave. "If the job calls for it."
"Alright," he responded, and followed the path of Viva's footsteps.
A/N: "Mercenary" speech came from Zack's lines from Final Fantasy VII.
Thanks for reading.
Oct/2009
