If the rumours are true than Shinra has enough dirty affairs going on to put an American Soap Opera to shame. Makes more money too. It's a wonder with all that shagging on. They must have to wipe the desks down at least three times a day. More money spent on cleaning products than the entire weapon's division. Or it's all untrue and there are some serious PR issues within Shinra.

Of course when one of the criterias for the top jobs seems to be to look like you were sculpted by Michelangelo it doesn't help matters. Of course when you have that many well built, powerful and not to mention wealthy men gathered in one place on public display there are bound to be hordes of admirers. And where there are lots of admirers there will be fans. And where there are fans there's... a certain demand. Which means cash, and lots of it.

Not that I like to broadcast what I do, damn embarrassing. It's not full time even. I didn't start out on the job this way. I just got blinded by the gil signs. And now I'm stuck doing what I have to admit is quite a dangerous job considering most of my targets are sometimes armed and always dangerous. I've had to turn down more than one overly crazed fan's request. They are to be blunt, disgusting. And they're not even the minority.

There are times at night when some of the scenes I've chanced upon have left me lying sleepless, and not in the good way. I bet my retinas have more scars than that mad geezer Hojo's code of ethics. I've got enough money, I should just quit. Take up something safer like Great White hunting. But there's a certain satisfaction to be had from knowing where all the skeletons are buried in the world's most powerful cooperation.

Briar's right, I am insane.

I have as much chance reaching a ripe elderly age than I do of learning to fly. Which may just be they way I end up considering the strange and unusual deaths experienced by people who pissed off Shinra. Did I say Death? I meant physical displacement, like off a high rise.

Of course to kill me they'd have to know about me first.

I don't think they do.

But considering the intelligence they have they might.

Which means they could get me at anytime.

But if they knew they would have done the deed already.

So they don't.

But maybe they're just waiting for the perfect moment, an unfortunate accident?

Ah, shit.

And thus you are given a little taste of my daily paranoia dance. Currently showing every hour, on the hour, 24/7.

At least Great Whites would have the decency to maul your face off and be done with it.

Anyway, I've decided to start up a chronicle. You know, since I can't really keep an accounts ledger etc etc. If I write down all my 'encounters' and rate them in a degree of extremeness aka screwed upness, I might be able to get a decent commission system worked out. You know, how much they pay for what sort of scene I mange to capture with this here little camera here.

And should I die, before I wake, then the world shall see my take. Or something, dum de dum de dum.

Mission One: The Cake is a lie

Subjects: Shirtless Mr Sepulchre

Grade: One

This here little one was relatively painless, well after I got the porcupine needles out my butt it was.

There is a division in Shin-Ra which does not exist. The men that work there do not exist. Its products do not exist. The experiments that happened there do not exist. There are no strange screams, no strange dents in strange wall, no strange pools of strange liquids, no strange smells after feeding time which was strange.

Naturally that meant everyone knew it about it. Particularly the smells (which did not exist) since on a hot day could be smelled (even though, I repeat, there was nothing to be smelt) as far as five floors up.

It was into this department that Sephiroth went (even though I cannot stress enough how it did not exist). He was a regular visitor for obvious reasons.

The reason for this particular visit to the place (which did not exist) could be found in a brightly coloured crumbled card clenched tightly in his fist. Every so often his eyes would flick down to it with an almost disbelieving hope in their steel grey depths.

He opened the glass doors into the department (which did not exist) and passed into the foyer (which did not exist) and coolly greeted the receptionist (who was actually in Wutui working as a deep sea diver) and was buzzed through into the main area (I think you're beginning to get the idea).

There was a good deal of squalling going on today. Clearly a new subject had just been delivered. It was a particularly spiky specimen, needles shooting off at every angle, bristling in defence, not so much an animal as a moving, screeching pin cushion. The handlers were having trouble dealing with it since it seemed to lack an obvious end on which to put a leash.

Sephiroth ignored this and continued on. His goal was located at a different end of the floor (which did not exist). This end was comfortably situated behind sound proof walls, for reasons which the pin-cushion was making pretty clear. He looked in through the glass door at a man who according to paperwork was actually a specialist window cleaner they got into to get the really gritty bits off. His animated words were just audible through the crack in the door.

'We can't file the Nuclear Waste Disposal budget under 'Christmas Party' again. People will start to talk.'

Hojo looked up when Sephiroth tapped politely on the door. His brow which always looked like someone had taken a cheese grater to it, furrowed dangerously. 'Yes, yes. Come in.'

He immediately turned back to his phone. 'There are is only so much alcohol that can be drunk, even if we claim it's the entire company. File it under something more reasonable.'

He gestured furiously at the chair in front of his desk (neither of which existed), and Sephiroth obediently sat. As he did so a little fleck of glitter fell of the card, which if you stared at intently could just make out the beginnings of 'Happy' under one thumb.

'I don't care. File it under Sexual Harassment Law Suits or something. No one will bat an eyelid at that. Now next time you have a problem and need to ring, don't.' He slammed the phone (which did not exist) down irately before turning to glare at Sephiroth.

'That time of the month again? Haven't you just had you're shots?' He eyed him crookedly. It was funny how his thick glasses made him look like a frustrated old bat.

'No Sir,' Sephiroth began, hand closing around the card even more tightly as if it was in danger of flying away. 'You summoned me.'

'Did I? Why would I do that if you've already had your check ups?'

'Well Sir, I believe it might have something to do with the time of year.' Sephiroth's eyes began to flick with alarming intensity towards his treasure, hope growing just a bit in his eyes.

'Time of year? And what's the matter with you, boy, are you having an epileptic fit?'

'No Sir,' Sephiroth began, his voice taking on an edge of fevered desperation. 'It's just...'

'Just what? Spit it out boy! I haven't got all day. '

Sephiroth just stared at him hopelessly. There was an awkward silence.

'I know!' Hojo suddenly barked, causing Sephiroth to jump a little in his seat. 'It's time for your scan. Why didn't you say so?'

'My apologies, Sir,' Sephiroth answered, the flame of hope vanishing so quickly from his eyes it was if someone had thrown a bucket over it. He gently slid the card almost regretfully in his coat pocket with visible sadness.

'Well come on then. Let's get it done with.'

He was led outside, past the soundproof walls (which I repeat, did not exist) and back into the main lab area (which was actually down on the map as the employee's relaxation area). The struggle with the pin-cushion was still ongoing; the handlers had managed to loop one end of rope around its middle, but were having trouble getting it to move, as it had stapled itself to the floor.

They reached the CAT Scanner both valiantly ignoring the commotion below, through on Hojo's part it may have been because he could no longer hear above a certain decimal thanks to standing too close to too many screaming animals.

Sephiroth knew the procedure, he quietly unbuckled his coat and slipped it off carefully, making sure nothing slid out the pockets before placing it on the side.

'Still going shirtless? I was hoping it was a faze but now I'm starting to give up hope.' Hojo muttered, flicking switches at the control panel. Eventually he managed to hit the right one because the machine shuddered into life with a groan and a clatter.

Sephiroth stood still as the machine ran its course, shining light in a visible beam up and down his muscled torso. It was quick; this was after all, the science division (which I repeat does not exist! It really doesn't! Believe me!)

He stretched a little, the process always left him with pins and needles up his left side. His muscles flexed and his skin, pale from lack of sunlight gleamed in the dim glow of the labs.

He was momentarily startled by a sudden flash of light, after which the pin-cushion, which had been fighting so valiantly against its owners let out an enraged squeal and dived towards the source followed by much screaming and thrashing.

Sephiroth was much too depressed to notice this; he slid his coat back on, leaving the buckles undone and left quickly.