Yo, Tak here. Basicaly I own all, you..square soft..the world and Zell is
my own personal sex bunny..i dare you to sue..i DARE YOU!
Just a warning, some mild youi Zelly/Seify, I dun know why, the thought that Zell is gay…sniffle..i couldn't handle it. Anywho enjoy or I will hunt you down ^^" luv Takira
chapter 1
"Life's hard, I've learnt all about that. From when I was born in the slums to now, the things I've been through would probably cave all those RG's. The ones in their large houses surrounded by their guards. Eating off their gold plated plates while we eat off pieces of dirty, wet cardboard, if we're lucky. If we're lucky to eat. Just look at them, they make me sick. The designer babies with parents that are rich enough to decide what they look like and then clone them to have the 'perfect' family. What gives them the right to call us inferior? Who gave them the right to be better than us? Well, they're not better than me, I'll make them very aware of that."
Cold, wet, exhausted; the young girl trudged mournfully down the desolate street with her hands in her pockets, staring at the ground. Her flaccid, mousy brown hair swayed from side to side following her limp. Her dirty rags hung on her thin body, a pathetic attempt to keep out the freezing cold. Colliding into someone drew her attention off her intense hunger and an agonising thought that lay at the back of her mind yet at the tip of her tongue. Mumbling an apology, she moved to the side of the tall, solid figure and carried on.
"Hey wait, stop a sec," said a deep, calming voice as smooth as velvet. Presuming, or rather hoping it wasn't for her, she continued. "I said wait," it said again, grabbing onto her arm gently with a strong, leather-clad hand. She looked up at this man, panic suddenly in her eyes.
"I…I'm sorry, I really am! I didn't mean to walk into you, please don't hurt me," she stuttered, cringing away from him. The man smiled kindly from under a fawn, faded cowboy hat and rubbed her arms to get her warm. His long, wavy brown hair spilled out from under his hat and his warm, gloved hands made the goose pimples on her arms disappear. His almost feminine face with slanting, dark brown eyes and rose-petal lips defied his low voice but fitted him perfectly at the same time.
"Forget about that. I'm from the Hope Home and you need my help I can see," he said, flashing a plastic badge, yellowing from age, with HH printed on in green. The colour of the resistance thought the girl, her confidence rising. "You're far to thin," he added, "we need to get some food in you. You're practically skin and bone." Leading her by the arm gently, he took her to a building almost three blocks away. Above the door, a green painted sign read "Hope Home, East District" in childish writing. Inside wasn't much better than outside. It was a little warmer, but it was still a squalid. People in the same situation as her were seated randomly around the "welcome room", sometimes huddled together to keep warm despite not knowing a single person. Most had lost their families in the rising of the RG's reign, this common factor drew them all together and made them trust eachother. The man led her to a ragged old red sofa. Probably infested with lice, she thought, then cursed herself for being so fussy. Seating her down, he moved into a separate part of the room and scooped something into a large mug from a huge pot with a metallic scrape. "Here," he said and smiled warmly at her. Taking it hesitantly, she peered inside. "It's not poison, it's just soup," he said, almost cheerfully, "It's warm too" he added as though it was worth gold for just that. It seemed like forever since she had eaten anything, and even longer since she had had anything that was warm. Right now she didn't care if it was poison or not, it was food, and what did it matter if she died anyway. The luke-warm, slightly runny vegetable soup trickled down her throat. She attempted a laugh as she gave the empty mug back.
"Th…thank you," she stammered. He simply nodded and smiled again, moving to another sofa to comfort a crying boy. Who is this man? She thought in wonder, why did he decide to help me? Looking to the wall, so as not to have to look at anyone, she noticed a message scrawled on the yellowed, flaking flower wallpaper. Squinting to read it, she mouthed the words to herself, "L'Oreal, because they're worth it, not us." Instantly a small lump formed like a marble in her throat. The man looked back at her as though remembering something, and quickly covered up the message with his hand.
"Ignore that sweetie," he said, ripping the piece of wallpaper off. As he moved on, she looked back at where it was. The writing was still indented in the damp wall, a ghost of her thoughts, of every ones thoughts. Suddenly, another, smaller man rushed into the room. His golden blonde hair was gelled upwards, probably with fat off the black market as gel was no longer available, adding three inches to his height, being considerably smaller than the first man she met and almost everyone else. He wore a pair of faded blue trousers that reached just below his knees and which were covered in dirt. A black t-shirt, full of holes, barely protected his pale, thin torso except from nakedness. His wide, flashing, brilliant blue eyes darted around the room in panic. "They're here!" he shouted and hurriedly ushered some of the confused and terrified people toward the back door. The first man turned to her with a serious look on his face that made her shudder.
"Get out of here, I want you to be safe," he hissed. She nodded and rushed to the door, ignorant of what was actually going on. Turning back before being shoved out of the door, she had a brief second to notice two more men come in and help those that were injured to escape whoever 'they' were, her eyes became firmly fixed on the first man. He was finally obscured from her view by the doorway as the panic-stricken people behind her roughly squeezed her through into the alley. Suddenly she was surrounded by swarms of soldiers, their faces hidden by a black and blue, shiny helmet that reflected the screaming faces of those around her. All of them looked the same; muscled bodies could be made out under the blue spandex that made up their royal blue uniform, all were at least 6"6, not an inch divided their height. The last thing she saw was a man towering above her and lifting up his club, bringing it down upon her head with a crack.
Just a warning, some mild youi Zelly/Seify, I dun know why, the thought that Zell is gay…sniffle..i couldn't handle it. Anywho enjoy or I will hunt you down ^^" luv Takira
chapter 1
"Life's hard, I've learnt all about that. From when I was born in the slums to now, the things I've been through would probably cave all those RG's. The ones in their large houses surrounded by their guards. Eating off their gold plated plates while we eat off pieces of dirty, wet cardboard, if we're lucky. If we're lucky to eat. Just look at them, they make me sick. The designer babies with parents that are rich enough to decide what they look like and then clone them to have the 'perfect' family. What gives them the right to call us inferior? Who gave them the right to be better than us? Well, they're not better than me, I'll make them very aware of that."
Cold, wet, exhausted; the young girl trudged mournfully down the desolate street with her hands in her pockets, staring at the ground. Her flaccid, mousy brown hair swayed from side to side following her limp. Her dirty rags hung on her thin body, a pathetic attempt to keep out the freezing cold. Colliding into someone drew her attention off her intense hunger and an agonising thought that lay at the back of her mind yet at the tip of her tongue. Mumbling an apology, she moved to the side of the tall, solid figure and carried on.
"Hey wait, stop a sec," said a deep, calming voice as smooth as velvet. Presuming, or rather hoping it wasn't for her, she continued. "I said wait," it said again, grabbing onto her arm gently with a strong, leather-clad hand. She looked up at this man, panic suddenly in her eyes.
"I…I'm sorry, I really am! I didn't mean to walk into you, please don't hurt me," she stuttered, cringing away from him. The man smiled kindly from under a fawn, faded cowboy hat and rubbed her arms to get her warm. His long, wavy brown hair spilled out from under his hat and his warm, gloved hands made the goose pimples on her arms disappear. His almost feminine face with slanting, dark brown eyes and rose-petal lips defied his low voice but fitted him perfectly at the same time.
"Forget about that. I'm from the Hope Home and you need my help I can see," he said, flashing a plastic badge, yellowing from age, with HH printed on in green. The colour of the resistance thought the girl, her confidence rising. "You're far to thin," he added, "we need to get some food in you. You're practically skin and bone." Leading her by the arm gently, he took her to a building almost three blocks away. Above the door, a green painted sign read "Hope Home, East District" in childish writing. Inside wasn't much better than outside. It was a little warmer, but it was still a squalid. People in the same situation as her were seated randomly around the "welcome room", sometimes huddled together to keep warm despite not knowing a single person. Most had lost their families in the rising of the RG's reign, this common factor drew them all together and made them trust eachother. The man led her to a ragged old red sofa. Probably infested with lice, she thought, then cursed herself for being so fussy. Seating her down, he moved into a separate part of the room and scooped something into a large mug from a huge pot with a metallic scrape. "Here," he said and smiled warmly at her. Taking it hesitantly, she peered inside. "It's not poison, it's just soup," he said, almost cheerfully, "It's warm too" he added as though it was worth gold for just that. It seemed like forever since she had eaten anything, and even longer since she had had anything that was warm. Right now she didn't care if it was poison or not, it was food, and what did it matter if she died anyway. The luke-warm, slightly runny vegetable soup trickled down her throat. She attempted a laugh as she gave the empty mug back.
"Th…thank you," she stammered. He simply nodded and smiled again, moving to another sofa to comfort a crying boy. Who is this man? She thought in wonder, why did he decide to help me? Looking to the wall, so as not to have to look at anyone, she noticed a message scrawled on the yellowed, flaking flower wallpaper. Squinting to read it, she mouthed the words to herself, "L'Oreal, because they're worth it, not us." Instantly a small lump formed like a marble in her throat. The man looked back at her as though remembering something, and quickly covered up the message with his hand.
"Ignore that sweetie," he said, ripping the piece of wallpaper off. As he moved on, she looked back at where it was. The writing was still indented in the damp wall, a ghost of her thoughts, of every ones thoughts. Suddenly, another, smaller man rushed into the room. His golden blonde hair was gelled upwards, probably with fat off the black market as gel was no longer available, adding three inches to his height, being considerably smaller than the first man she met and almost everyone else. He wore a pair of faded blue trousers that reached just below his knees and which were covered in dirt. A black t-shirt, full of holes, barely protected his pale, thin torso except from nakedness. His wide, flashing, brilliant blue eyes darted around the room in panic. "They're here!" he shouted and hurriedly ushered some of the confused and terrified people toward the back door. The first man turned to her with a serious look on his face that made her shudder.
"Get out of here, I want you to be safe," he hissed. She nodded and rushed to the door, ignorant of what was actually going on. Turning back before being shoved out of the door, she had a brief second to notice two more men come in and help those that were injured to escape whoever 'they' were, her eyes became firmly fixed on the first man. He was finally obscured from her view by the doorway as the panic-stricken people behind her roughly squeezed her through into the alley. Suddenly she was surrounded by swarms of soldiers, their faces hidden by a black and blue, shiny helmet that reflected the screaming faces of those around her. All of them looked the same; muscled bodies could be made out under the blue spandex that made up their royal blue uniform, all were at least 6"6, not an inch divided their height. The last thing she saw was a man towering above her and lifting up his club, bringing it down upon her head with a crack.