Author's Note: A short story inspired by an interesting concept that hit me in the gut.

Shadows

If my life ever were a story I doubt anyone would read it. It's not a spectacular one. I didn't grow up carrying the weight of the world on my shoulders or endure some tragic past. I'm not even a pretty boy that inspires vulgar thoughts in the minds of impressionable girls. No, I'm one of the many hopeful dorks that moved to Midgar for its good prospects. If you got the skill, talent, or smarts, you can live the good life here. Of course, me being me, I didn't have the skill, talent, or smarts to become a SOLDIER. So I enlisted in Shinra's infantry instead. I wanted a better life for me and my sweetheart.

No, my sweetheart ain't a gorgeous vixen with a pure heart. She's pretty stubborn, forgets to wash the dishes, and lets out a silent-but-deadly fart whenever she eats anything too spicy. But I love her. Our imperfections make us perfect together. It's why we both got our asses outta Modeoheim years ago to make a new life for ourselves.

I still miss home. I still miss the sharp, cool winds of Modeoheim against my face. And I still miss the countless times my girl and I climbed the mountains as kids. We used to watch the brilliant colors of aurora lights together and think about our future. We wanted to be King and Queen. I promised my girl before we left Modeoheim that I would always protect her. Silly of me, yeah. But I really wanted to act the part of a King.

Here in Midgar, I'm no King. I'm an infantryman. The dorky helmet, alone, has turned many self-respecting men away. One of my boys, Billy, refuses to wear the damn thing since he claims it ruins his chances of getting laid. Like ever. The job pays well though. I got free dental care and health insurance. It's the works. I'll wear the goofy-ass helmet so long as it puts food on the table.

I know lots of boys only enlist to work their way up to SOLDIER. For me? I didn't bat an eye when SOLDIER refused my application. While the world obsesses over the great First-Class elite, I'm too busy breaking up street fights, protecting the citizens from terrorist attacks, and climbing up metal beams to bring down run-away kittens. No, it's not a glamourous life and we popsicle-heads tend to do all the dirty work no one wants to do. But I'm content. I've made a lot of friends in my unit since I joined Shinra. We're practically a family, even if the top brass is run by a bunch of idiots and assholes.

Despite being at the low bracket of the food chain, I feel a great sense of pride at being able to protect the women, men, and children here on the Plate. Even if I can't really be a part of this metropolis world since I lack the social class, education, and Gil, I still feel like I'm making a difference.

Tonight, my team is in charge of guarding the Mako Reactor at Sector 1. It's typical routine business, but Intel warns us that terrorists intend to make a move soon. They've threatened to blow one up. We've been on Code Orange for the past week but tonight feels… different. A Scorpion unit has been dispatched and scheduled to arrive at our reactor in E.T.A. fifteen minutes. Back-up squads are also in route to assist my team and sweep the perimeter. All of these significant changes tonight have made my unit on edge – I know I am. The Scorpion, alone, means bad shit is about to go down.

I should've anticipated this. Over the years, hostile attitudes toward any man wearing a Shinra uniform have increased. I've been spit on, smacked on the head, and threatened at gunpoint on numerous occasions. Many of these civilians claim to be a part of AVALANCHE. These guys proclaim themselves as heroes of the Planet, determined to save it from mankind's sins. Riots have tripled throughout the city since this environmental movement started.

The last mob scene resulted in thirty-one deaths. Ten were civilians; the rest came from our own numbers. Both sides got hit hard but, because the world wants to think of us Shinra popsicle-heads as killing machines bent on world domination, the news focused only on the ten that died. Never mind the fact those ten civilians carried weapons and footage shows them egging us on into a confrontation – nope, none of that mattered. The people wanted someone to blame for their woes and we became their glorified punching bag.

I just… don't understand it myself. It's not like I don't get AVALANCHE's motives. Hell, I'm probably the only dork in my block who remembers to recycle his aluminum cans on Wednesdays. I get it. However, fighting violence with violence won't stitch this world together. The very people demanding the fall of Shinra are also the same people dependent on Shinra's energy sources. The problem comes from within. It's people's attitudes that need to change, not just the circumstances that surround us today. Getting rid of President Shinra will only create an opening for another Shinra down the line. We rely too much on various resources to live our comfortable lives. Pretty soon, we'll be back to square one.

As I stand post at Mako Reactor 1 tonight, I find myself clinging tightly to my rifle. I want to call my wife. The knowledge that AVALANCHE might hit one of the reactors makes me regret getting that small apartment here in Sector 1. It's only a few blocks away. I imagine my girl in our apartment right now, sitting with her swollen feet raised on my incliner with a tub of vanilla Moogle ice cream on standby. There's a tender smile on her freckled face as she rubs her very large and very round belly. She's likely thinking about boy names again.

I'm hoping this whole thing blows over. Either it's a false alarm or an idle threat by AVALANCHE to get Shinra to submit. I occupy my thoughts with all sorts of best-case-scenarios that, when the train arrives with our backup and supplies, I don't immediately react to the sword-wielding figure riding above it.

Details are cloaked in shadow but I see the figure carry a huge sword on his back. It might as well be a freakin' meat cleaver. It's huge and wide and very intimidating-looking. I'm surprised he can even wield it. This initial shock prevents me from calling out to my unit to warn them of the intruder. By the time I open my mouth, though, several more figures leap out from the train as soon as it comes to a stop.

Damn it. None of us expected AVALANCHE to use the train. We had at least twenty strong men in route here. I don't see any of them come out of the train to assist. Did they get taken out by these guys?

Billy, that low-rank smartass who absolutely hates wearing his helmet because he looks silly in it, is the first one to get knocked out. A woman with hair pulled back into a high ponytail shoves a boot straight into his gut. The force of her kick is powerful enough to send him back. Gravity does the rest of the work. Billy, stupid and careless Billy… He hits the pavement hard with the back of his head. Even from where I stand, I can hear the loud thud of the impact. It sounds like a pound of meat being slapped on a pan. Blood leaks out of Billy's ears and nose soon after.

Billy, poor Billy… He should've worn his damn helmet.

My other boys don't fare any better. Travis, a novice cook who planned to use his savings to start his own restaurant, receives an armor-piercing bullet to the heart by a large man carrying a Gatling gun – wait. Scratch that. The Gatling gun is his arm. Sheeit. These AVALANCHE people are more hardcore than I thought.

By the time I return my focus back to the sword-wielding figure, it's too late. He's already on me. I'm surprised to see how young he is. I expected a crazed-eyed old man with a sharp snarl and arms thick with muscle. Instead, he looks to be my age, quiet, lean shaped, and with wild prominent hair that reminds me of a Chocobo's ass. He also has bright blue eyes – wait, is he a SOLDIER?

That First-Class uniform…

There's a hallow expression on the young man's as he dashes toward me: it's the face of a man ready to execute without hesitation. His moves are fast. Swift. Effortless. I can hardly hear the sound of his heavy leather boots against the pavement. Even when I unleash a rain of bullets at him with my rifle, he easily deflects each of them. One of my own bullets grazes the side of my helmet with a loud cling sound.

Shit. There's no stopping this guy. He must be a SOLDIER. Likely a rogue one since he has no business attacking us. He's probably in coups with that Rhapsodos fellow who defected from the company years back, taking with him a shitload of SOLDIERs. They claimed Rhapsodos died but I don't believe it. Men from SOLDIER are unstoppable killing machines. Something about that Mako must really screw with their heads.

During my rookie days, when a horde of intruders infiltrated Shinra's Headquarters and some fruity guy named Lazard was still in charge of SOLDIER, I saw First-Class SOLDIER Sephiroth in action. It was the most terrifying experience in my life. I never realized how ruthless men could be. He didn't flinch at all when he skewered his opponents with his blade. SOLDIER Sephiroth merely slid the bodies out of his ridiculously long sword like a man removing unwanted fat from his dinner fork. He moved along and never looked back.

I know I don't stand a chance against the SOLDIER coming for me now. Finger still on the trigger, I consider surrendering to him when he bounces off more of my bullets. It's a no-win fight. My best option is to throw down my weapon and wait for the opportunity to call for back-up. Knowing what these AVALANCHE members intend to do right now, however, I can't. They already took out the men on the train. And now they've arrived to take out the reactor. Even if I surrendered, I wouldn't reach anyone in time to stop them.

Mental images of my wife and would-be child play in my head. I recall the last day my wife and I watched the aurora lights back at Modeoheim and the promise I made to her. I realize then that I have to make a stand. If these people take out the reactor, my wife and everyone else within the proximity of the reactor's explosion will die. I have to fulfill my promise and protect them all.

But.

It's too late.

The man's sword cuts deep through me. My armor might as well be made out of paper because it gives way too easily. The impact and force of the man's stab literally goes through me like a fire poker, piercing through my skin, bone, and tissue with intense heat. My body can't handle the physical trauma. In fact, it's already given up. I've heard before that pain is the body's way of communicating to the person that something is wrong and must be fixed. But with a wound this large? This severe? There's no fixing what can't be fixed. The nerves automatically shut down. Sensation is lost from below my neck. My body implores me to accept the inevitable by making me feel nothing.

Numb and in shock, I collapse like a ragged doll set loose and join my fallen brothers on the ground. When I try to open my mouth to tell this man not to blow up the reactor, to explain to him that the people in this sector are as worthy to live as the ones he plans to save, only blood comes out. I choke on it and cough several times.

The blond-haired SOLDIER promptly removes his blade from my chest and takes out another one of my men. And another. And another. It's the same thing over and over again. Once the final man from my unit falls, he finally turns away from us and joins his possess. Just like SOLDIER Sephiroth, this man has achieved his objective and is ready to mosey along.

Mission accomplished. Sound the victory music.

Meanwhile, I lie here in a pool of my own blood, feeling weak and pathetic. My eyes grow heavy. The side of my face feels wet. I still can't sense anything below my neck. The low beating of my heart, which had ironically survived the stab, thumps slowly in my ears. It reminds me that I'm still alive. Which is stupid and cruel. I know I won't be here for long. Why even give me a sense of hope? A tear falls down my cheek as I think: I failed her. I failed her.

I doubt they'll write stories about my unit's actions tonight. Hell, I doubt anyone will mourn the loss of anyone in this sector by next week. People will only fixate over the people that matter. They'll fixate over heroes like SOLDIER Sephiroth. They'll fixate over those who committed some major, epic sacrifice for the greater good of mankind. But they won't fixate over some average-Joe idiot who just died trying to protect the people of Sector 1. It's an insignificant matter in their eyes.

That's just how the world works.

Feeling sleepy, my heavy lids close. I'm thankful that I'm already too out of it to react to the alarms that blare minutes later or the artificial female's voice that announces a countdown. Both drown out the slow beating of my weak heart. Again, I think about my childhood sweetheart. I imagine my wife watching MyTube right now, laughing at stupid kitten videos while finishing that tub of Moogle ice cream. Or maybe she's thinking about boy names again. Or maybe she's thinking about the aurora lights. Or maybe she's wishing we never came here in the first place. I don't know. It doesn't matter – does it? I fall to sleep to the image of her smiling at her round belly, completely oblivious the countdown I hear all around me.

No. My story ain't significant. Like I said, I doubt anyone would read it if it was ever written. I'm merely a nameless shadow for someone else's story.