It was amusing to Sephiroth how often they forgot the degree to which his senses had been heightened—or rather, they forgot that all of his senses had been enhanced, not just his eyesight. They always remembered about his night-vision, presumably because his luminous eyes provided a reminder, but they frequently forgot that he could detect the identity of someone standing out of sight around a corner purely by scent, and they frequently forgot and held what were clearly meant to be secret meetings where he could hear them, voices floating through the ventilation system.
He also needed considerably less than the normal amount of sleep—and yet they'd built his schedule with six contiguous hours of sleep time. Sometimes he studied in the extra time; more often he lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, listening to the distant play of voices. It was the only time he ever heard anyone communicating in a normal manner; they were careful with words around him, held him at a distance, as though he were a weapon that needed to be properly sheathed and bonded to be safe.
"Is he ready?" Scarlet. Sephiroth wasn't sure whether he could actually hear the tap of her fingernails, or if he could just see her—her look of bored arrogance, her perfect manicure rattling impatiently on the table—so well that he thought he could. (Visualization was an important skill for a tactician, although accurate perception was vital for a warrior. He would have to think about that.)
"He is still quite young," Hojo said, sounding—a little dubious? "But his training ought to be sufficient. And of course he is physically sufficiently durable that he is unlikely to be irreparably damaged even if sent somewhat prematurely."
Heidegger's belly-laugh roared through the duct. "Wanna see what your favorite experiment can do, eh? Eh?"
Distaste cut through Hojo's voice like the taste of vinegar. "Perhaps."
Taptaptap, taptap, and then, slyly, Scarlet said, "But I've heard he's your—"
"Irrelevant," Hojo snapped.
"I almost feel sorry for 'em," Heidegger said. "I've seen the footage of the training battle against that dragon. I hear it took twenty soldiers to bring it in?"
"Twenty-three," Scarlet said.
Much had been made of his ability to dispatch the dragon; Sephiroth didn't really understand why. It was just a matter of focus. Others mentioned 'battle-frenzy,' 'seeing red'—but he had never experienced anything like that. Deep in battle, he entered a cold fugue state, where everything unimportant dropped away, and it felt as though everything other than him was moving in slow-motion. It was easy to kill something, if you could move twice as fast as it could, if you could see every twitch of its muscles presaging its movements.
"But I wouldn't feel sorry," Scarlet continued. "We need this war over, and we need it over now. It constitutes a significant drain on Shinra resources."
Heidegger laughed again. "That'll light a fire under the old man."
Sephiroth could hear the smile in Scarlet's voice. "I believe the words 'by any means necessary' were used."
"Then I'd say Sephiroth damn sure ready," Heidegger said. "Unless you want to exercise your veto, Doctor?"
Sephiroth could hear undercurrents there, some social code that he had not the proper experience to unravel.
"No," Hojo finally said. "No veto. Send him. It will be the first truly challenging test of his skills."
The conversation devolved from there into nuanced interpersonal feints of the kind that Sephiroth could not comprehend. He turned on his side and stared at the wall, and wondered what Wutai was like.
