A drabble for Halloween.
Ghosts
Genesis, of course, is reading from "Loveless" again. He leans against one of the vertical ladders in the reactor building, the green mako light from the pools below throwing his features into sharp relief. At his side stands Angeal, looking as relaxed as he ever gets, listening tolerantly.
Sephiroth wonders how old Genesis was when his obsession with the play began; how many years Angeal has had to listen to its endless repetition. Was that the price of their friendship? Sephiroth has tried to understand, reading the text himself, Hojo's sneering only making him more determined to find something of value in it for his comrade's sake, but it made no sense to him – seemed pointlessly impenetrable. The theatrical performances, reworked in Midgar every year, seem to him even more worthless – commonplace stories of adventure and romance such as children might enjoy.
"My friend, do you fly away now?" Genesis recites.
Sephiroth wonders whether this obsession is healthy.
"Loveless, Act Three," he says aloud, his own voice startling in the echoing space.
Genesis closes the book carefully and slips it into an inside pocket in that famous red leather coat. "You remembered," he says, and although he's smiling the challenge in his eyes is obvious. He's waiting for Sephiroth to give him the excuse to start the fight.
No - this obsession is not healthy. Sephiroth finds himself replying anyway: "How can I forget?" He draws Masamune, and feels the weight of it in his hand like the weight of grief. He's supposed to add some insult now, but he looks at Angeal instead. "What about you?" he asks. "Were we ever friends?"
This obsession is pointless. Angeal is looking at him, and there is no animosity in his face. "Remember your honour as SOLDIER," he says, inevitably.
Sephiroth turns away.
"You can't be the only hero!" Genesis cries, behind him.
A hero, Sephiroth thinks, should at least know what he's fighting for. A SOLDIER with no reason to fight is nothing more than a puppet. Were either of them ever his friends? He won't do this again.
Pausing at the control panel by the door, Sephiroth turns back and looks at them both. Genesis is eager for the fight, his sword drawn and flaming. Angel is observant but calm, waiting to see what Sephiroth will do now. Pressing the relevant controls, Sephiroth watches the scene vanishing in a cascade of pixels, nothing but falling light: the vast dome of the reactor; the ladders and pipes; the mako pool; the images of the two SOLDIERs he has tried so hard to think of as friends. Everything falls, falls into nothingness, until only Sephiroth is left standing there, alone in the empty training room.