Chapter 1: Hanging by a Thread
Do you remember the legends they told us, back at the orphanage? It was such a long time ago, but I still think of it like it was yesterday. The matrons, they would gather us around once every week, remember? And they would tell us all about the gods—they'd talk about Pulse, the dutiful son; about the trickster Lindzei; Etro, left alone to rule Valhalla, home of the dead; and the absent Bhunivelze, their creator... Their father.
Those were the stories that always stood out to me, you know? They were just three kids without a father really, stuck in this big wide world that was theirs to do as they pleased with. I liked to imagine I was Etro when I was on the beach, making up Valhalla in the sand however I wanted it to be. You'd always come around and say it looked great, that I was a really great goddess... of death. And I said you were a great big goddess of lies, just like Lindzei, and you'd act all offended, and we'd wrestle around...
You were always so careful not to mess up my little Valhalla in the sand though, weren't you? You always wanted everything to be perfect for me. And I always wanted to impress you, and make that little kingdom into something so that when you came by every day, you could be amazed by it, and tell me it was beautiful and mean it, 'cause I knew you'd say it even if it wasn't true.
I miss those days. I guess you can tell, huh? Even with all the fear, even with all the war around us, I can't help but remember back then fondly. I think, in the end, it's because none of that mattered at the time. I could just ignore the war, run away to the beach, and... be happy.
I think it's because you were there with me, and that was all that mattered.
"It's now or never, miss soldier," came a whisper from somewhere in the train car, seeming more akin in volume to a cannon blast in the midst of terrified silence. "Can't imagine the end's too far away now."
There was no response to the man.
The guard had stopped at the door for the eighth time, his shoulders slumped. He must have been sighing. He was tired of this: of walking back and forth down an aisle to make sure none of the terrified families, packed against the sides like livestock, got too rebellious on the trip to what they were sure would be their doom. She would have been tired of it too.
"Miss soldier..." the man hissed, keeping his eyes on the gun hanging loosely to the guard's side as he walked past them once again. The man was getting too impatient, fidgety. She knew she shouldn't have let him in on the plan.
"Wait for the signal," she snapped, almost wincing at the sound of her voice. Whatever outbreaks of hastily stiffened whimpers from around them weren't nearly enough of a cover for their discussion.
"What if the signal ain't coming?" he continued to her great displeasure. "This guy you're working with, you sure he's gonna pull through?"
"Yes," she quickly lied through her teeth in her best attempt to shut him up.
She didn't need this guy here pushing her to leap into action—that was a surefire way to get killed. They had both gotten their cuffs unlocked at this point, and she knew where they had stashed all the weaponry they had confiscated, but they were still outnumbered thirteen-to-two, and the opposition? All armed to the teeth. Nobody was that good. They needed a distraction, one that they were counting on, but one that was long overdue.
More than that, they needed to make sure that when this train crashed, there would still be ground underneath them.
"Stop," she suddenly warned, the man sitting next to her ceasing his anxious fidgeting almost instantly. It was a small mercy, for the guard had stopped in the middle of his walk. His head was turned slightly towards the two of them.
She kept her eyes focused on the long sleeves her arms were hidden in. The clothing for Purge deportees was meant to cover as much of them as possible; hide their humanity from those cheering as they watched their prolonged execution from their comfort of their own home. Those clothes were the only reason their now-freed hands had gone unnoticed.
Just keep walking... It's not worth it, just leave them be, just keep walking... she repeated to herself in her head. The man was right about one thing: they had to be near the end now. The signal was bound to come any minute now. They couldn't get found out at the last second, not when she was so close.
The guard had been standing there for over fifteen seconds now. Surely he would just move on.
He didn't.
The guard turned around and walked up to her, the barrel of a gun now shoved in her face. "You say something?"
"Can't two Purge deportees have a friendly conversation?" the man next to her piped up.
The guard turned his gun to the man. "You sound awfully calm about it."
"Well, I hear Pulse is lovely this time of year," he quipped. "Barely any brimstone."
The guard kept his gaze on the man. She didn't have to see his face to know he was scowling at them from underneath his helmet, but by this point she knew that he was harmless. If he was really concerned about what they were doing, his finger would be on the trigger.
"...Keep it down," he finally told the two of them as he slowly lowered his gun. She knew why. He just wanted to get through all of this without having to deal with a single one of them and keep acting like it was another day on the job.
None of the guards wanted to be here. From a distance, the Purge was sad but absolutely necessary; up close it was a little harder to tell. They might have their orders, but they were still human underneath that armor.
But even so, they were still just an obstacle—standing between her and Serah. All she needed was the long-awaited opportunity and he would be dead at her feet, regardless of who he was, and regardless of whether he believed in the necessity what he was doing or was just following orders. If he stood in her way, he wouldn't be standing for long.
"What?" the guard suddenly spoke, raising his hand to the side of his helmet, obviously receiving some kind of transmission. "What kind of obstruction?" he demanded, his voice leaping an octave. She resisted the urge to give any signal to the man sitting beside her, though she knew they were both thinking the same thing.
"What the hell is a force gate doing out on the middle of the track? The stop isn't for another hundred kilos, at least..." She kept quiet, her eyes firmly locked on her sleeves even as the other deportees around them began to give notice to his words, feverous whispering breaking out among the prisoners. She knew she was the one he was watching.
"Why aren't we slowing? What do you mean, the acceleration's stuck!? We're going full-speed, if that thing's strong enough the whole goddamn train's gonna be derailed!" The guard was panicking now, and the cover of whispering had been thrown out of the window as panic, and a little hope, sewed its way through the deportees.
The guard swore, turning back around to face the two of them once again. "What the hell is going on!?" he screamed at her, pressing the cold steel of the assault rifle against her forehead to the audible gasps of the others.
She didn't even flinch.
"How should I know?" Her tone was sickeningly innocent even to her own ears.
"Don't screw with me! What the hell is a force gate doing on the tracks!? What's the plan, crash the train rather than end up on Pulse? You're going to kill everybody on board! Are you insane!?"
She raised her head then to look up at the man. His whole body was shaking. His finger still wasn't on the trigger. She would regret killing him.
"Evidently."
SCREEEEEEEEEEEEE—
An enormous lurch resounded through the train as they were all thrown to the side, the guard falling into a heap at the ground. He was fast to react, she had to admit. He was already trying to get to his feet, fumbling for the gun that he had just realized was missing from his hands.
He wasn't fast enough.
"Multiple reports of force gates located on tracks carrying Purge trains, along with mechanical failure in the acceleration controls. The strength of the force gates is unknown, so use of the emergency brakes is the only recommended course of action at this time."
"Not bad, Maqui. Not bad at all."
The boy, Maqui, grinned widely at the praise before quickly returning his attention to the radio in front of them, finally spewing out PSICOM dispatch after many hours of his hard work.
"In addition, reports incoming of multiple insurrections by Purge deportees within the Purge trains after the usage of the emergency brakes: assailants are apparently taking advantage of the disorientation brought about by the sudden change in speed. Occurrences appear pre-planned, most likely as part of an attempt to free Purge deportees."
"Insurrections?" the towering man repeated with a chuckle.
"Never thought I'd be part of an insurrection," Maqui mused, looking incredibly pleased with himself as he leaned back against one of the many large crates they had dragged out with them.
"Multiple insurrections," the other man corrected sternly, though a large grin decorated his boyish features.
"Officers on-board Purge trains not yet affected by the previously detailed circumstances are heavily advised to reaffirm deportee bindings. The administration of violent force against deportees showing signs of rebellion is also advised. The use of lethal force is permitted as necessary."
The grins quickly slid off their faces.
"PSICOM and bioweapon forces are en-route to provide reinforcement. Gunships and warmechs are also incoming in order to provide additional support. Available forces are encouraged to cluster around the Pulse Vestige in order to provide cautionary protection against any possible attempts to make contact with the Pulse fal'Cie. Personnel entrance into the Vestige is strictly prohibited."
Maqui let out a shaky breath. "We're really doing this, huh boss?"
The man slowly clambered to his feet and briefly dusted off his long trench coat, his lip set in a firm line as he looked out at the erupting chaos.
"Yeah, we are."
Maqui gave a small nod, eyes set on the large radio but not really seeing it. More and more reports of "insurrections" on the Purge trains were coming in.
"Can we do this?" he finally mumbled as he looked to his idol with desperate eyes.
The man hesitated for a moment before crouching down so that they were eye-level. He placed a hand on the scared boy's shoulder, giving a reassuring squeeze.
He looked Maqui straight in the eye, and marveled for a moment in the difference between how he was now, and the terrified little boy he had stumbled upon one day. Even scared as he was, there was still a light of determination in his eyes that had been sorely missing from before as he met his gaze head-on.
"Yeah, we can," he told him, his voice quiet but laced with a firm undertone.
Maqui seemed to search his face for any signs of doubt, but then gave a small smile as he nodded. "Okay, Snow."
Snow returned the smile, giving his shoulder one final pat as he stood up. "Besides," he continued, schooling his features into the epitome of bravado, confident smirk included. "The good guys always win. Right?"
Maqui grinned up at him, nodding his head fiercely. "Right!"
Snow laughed, ruffling the young blonde's hair against his headphones. "That'a boy. Now c'mon—we gotta get the transport ready for when the trains get freed up."
Maqui nodded again, jumping to his feet and making to follow Snow before an urgent tone out of the radio caused them both to stop.
"Alert! All personnel on-board Train 17 have been eliminated—repeat, all personnel on-board Train 17 have been eliminated. Reports are incoming of two deportee combatants—female, early twenties, and male, late thirties—now exiting the train, en-route to the Pulse Vestige. Manasvin warmech and PSICOM preliminary response team have both been eliminated in their attempts to apprehend the two. Be advised, both appear to have prior combat experience, and are considered armed and highly dangerous. Personnel facing possible engagement are encouraged to exercise extreme caution."
"I repeat, all personnel on-board Train 17 have been eliminated..."
"Seventeen..." Maqui muttered under his breath, racking his brain for who it was that had been assigned to that train. Comprehension dawning on his face, Maqui turned to stare at Snow, who was still gazing at the radio with a look of awe. "Is that her?"
Snow nodded his head slowly. "Yep... that would be her."
Maqui gave out a low whistle, looking back at the radio with newfound respect. More than that, he couldn't stop a tiny sense of hope beginning to bubble up in his stomach. "Serah's got one heck of a sister, huh?" he wondered aloud.
Snow finally turned to look at his young companion, a grin growing on his face. "You got that right."
"Hey, hey, gimme a second, alright!? Hold up!"
"No."
She almost groaned as she heard his heavy footsteps clang against the metal road. Stealth was definitely out of the question so long as she was stuck with him—not that it would be very viable either way, considering that the road was nothing more than a straight, empty line.
Well, it was worse news for them than her. She would have at least been able to give them a quick death that way.
"I get that we can't dawdle, seeing as we're in the middle of a battlefield—"
"Oh, we are? I hadn't noticed."
"—but we need to slow down!" he huffed out between deep breaths of air, finally having caught up to her.
She whipped around to face him then, one hand digging into her own hip and the other firmly wrapped around her gunblade, recovered from the confiscated weaponry depository on the train.
"And why would we need to do that?" she hissed, glaring at the dark-skinned man bent over at the waist in front of her.
She had thought, when she ran into this man in the line for deportation, that he would be able to help—obviously being a former pilot from the medals on his jacket—but he was instead proving himself to be quite a hindrance. A damn good shot, but a hindrance all the same.
"You were Guardian Corps, right?" he questioned, looking up at her with a hint of exasperation.
"Where'd you get that idea? The official GC pauldron I'm wearing at this very moment, me telling you I'm GC back on the train, or the fact that I had to hand in my resignation in front of you to the PSICOM officer just to be Purged?" she rattled off in a huff, turning and beginning to walk again.
"I said, hold up! Damn, lady..." The man dashed around her to cut off her path, holding up his hands appealingly. "All I meant was, when you were doing training runs during your Guardian Corps time, did you ever hear about threat assessment and priority?"
"Of course I did," she snapped, tossing her long pink hair over her shoulder.
"Okay, good. Now," he said, speaking very patiently even against her ever deepening scowl, "where do you think we are on that threat priority list right about now?"
She paused.
And this time she did groan.
"The top," she muttered, sounding as though every word was being dragged out of her.
"Bingo!" the man exclaimed, obviously relieved to see she finally understood. "We've been bulldozing over every damn thing in our way like a Chocobo who got into a whole warehouse full'a Gysahl greens. We might be good, but we're still going up against the army! We attract too much attention, they're gonna send something our way that we cannot handle. So let's just take things easy for a bit, alright miss soldier?"
She seemed to struggle with the idea for a minute, before finally giving a reluctant nod. She sighed, rubbing at her temples as she sheathed her gunblade in the scabbard at the back of her waist.
He gave her an approving look before turning his head about to survey the area. Fights were erupting across most of the tracks, looking like enormous cables hung through the sky. It seemed like most of the other trains had been successfully hijacked as well, in accordance with the plan pinkie (as he had decided to call her) had mentioned before. He couldn't make out much more detail than that due to the lack of light in the area.
The Hanging Edge—that's what this place was called. He always thought it a pretty apt name, considering most of it was indeed precariously hanging over the Abyss (though the part they were now on was thankfully over Lake Bresha rather than... well, a very long drop). It used to be a quite a metropolis, or so the history books said. It would certainly explain all the highroads and railways running across the sky.
Of course, that was all a thousand years ago—before the end of the War of Transgression, and the Calamity. Now the roads were the only remnant of what was once Cocoon's greatest city.
That day marked the beginning of the end for the war. When Pulse got desperate and unleashed a terrifying attack—the Calamity, as it was known as now—and blew a hole in the side of Cocoon. It was the single most devastating attack ever recorded in history. One-twelfth of the shell was erased in an instant, with over fifteen million deaths as a result. It was the only time casualties were ever measured in whole points of percentage for Cocoon's population.
After that, fueled by outrage and grief, the people of Cocoon decided that enough was enough. They threw every available man and woman—and yes, sometimes children—into battle. Forty years later, the 700-year war ended. They won—even if it still felt like a loss.
War had a way of providing a hell of a lot of sob stories.
He squinted out at the dark horizon. Gunships were starting to arrive, and though the majority of them were focused around the Pulse Vestige, a few were going after the trains, opening fire on the escapees as they rushed to the airbikes and transport shuttles that had showed up.
He shook his head. "Gunning 'em down like animals..." he murmured in disgust.
"Pretty sure animals get better treatment than this," the girl commented darkly from behind him.
He conceded with a shrug, running a shaky hand over the top of his afro. A small chirp sounded from within his hair in response.
"What the hell was that?" pinkie demanded, gunblade already back in her hand.
"Hey, take it easy!" he yelped, jumping back and holding both of his hands protectively over his head. She briefly wondered if he really thought she was going to hit him over the head with a sword, but another chirp made her realize it was not himself that he was protecting.
"Kweh!"
"That means you too!" he grumbled, holding his hands out and bopping his head forward, something bright and yellow tumbling out with an indignant chirp.
The girl stared.
"You have a chocobo..." she stated, still staring blankly at the offending ball of bright yellow feathers, "...in your hair."
The man turned his attention away from the small little bird hopping around in his hands to give out a sheepish grin, the fact that they were in the middle of a warzone momentarily lost on both of them.
"Heh... um... Yeah."
"Everybody stay calm!" came the stern yet soothing voice over the loud din. "We're gonna get you all outta here safe and sound, so long as just settle down, and listen to my voice!"
If possible, the noise within the cramped train compartment seemed to grow even louder.
"Everyone just shut up and listen! Panicking isn't going to help anyone!"
She saw a scowl starting to grow across the woman's face, and briefly considered trying to help, but... Well, it wouldn't be good to draw attention to herself.
Still, she could see the woman's face was slowly becoming angrier and angrier as the people around her started bustling about, trying to get to the exit. The woman was going to snap any second now, she was sure. Any second now...
"Goddammit, I said everyone SHUT UP!"
Everyone shut up.
"There! Was that so hard?" The young woman irritably flicked a lock of her black hair out of her face as she stared them all down. "Now if anyone wants to get shot, please feel free to run out there and do us all a favor! Meanwhile, anybody who wants to get out of here alive should go ahead and shut the hell up for the two fu—"
"Lebreau, stop riling up the crowd, will ya?"
"I will kick you in the goddamn face, Gadot!"
The bulky man—Gadot, she supposed his name was—let out a bark of laughter from his position in front of the exit. "Yeah, yeah," he said, dismissing her with a wave of his hand and looking unduly calm considering the look of pure rage on the woman's face.
The woman put a hand up to her temples, obviously counting to ten in her head.
"Alright, so like I said!" she began again, voice decidedly calmer as she looked out at them. "We're gonna stick around in here until we get the go ahead, then we'll get to someplace safer. Got it?"
There was a low murmur of agreement amongst the crowd.
"Good! Now sit your asses back down!"
They all complied, getting back into their seats as the woman—whom she now knew to be called Lebreau—then stalked over to Gadot, looking very much like she was about to give him a piece of her mind. She was almost on him when he flashed her a sympathetic grimace, eyes darting over all those seated, causing her to come to a stop. She appeared to deflate, her shoulders sagging and a small sigh escaping her.
The two held a quickly whispered discussion before she turned and began to walk down the aisle of the train car, stopping and offering words of encouragement to the more nervous-looking individuals.
She watched her from her hood, taking in how every person she talked to seemed to cheer up a little by the time she was done with them. She always seemed to know what to say to each one.
"You doing okay?"
She jumped a little, too caught up in her thoughts to notice that she herself was now the one Lebreau was offering words of encouragement to.
Lebreua didn't appear to be bothered by the reaction though, offering her a comforting smile even as she ducked her head to avoid the woman's gaze. "Hey, it's gonna be okay. We're gonna get you outta here. Don't worry."
She looked up cautiously at Lebreau then. She was still smiling reassuringly, crouched down in front of her.
"We're not going to... to Pulse?" she asked hesitatingly, unsure of whether she wanted the woman's answer or not.
Lebreau shook her head firmly in the negative. "No. We're not going to Pulse."
She lowered her head again, giving a small nod of acknowledgement. Lebreau patted her on the knee before standing up and making her way down the aisle to continue her perfect record of reassurance with the next person in distress.
Well, almost perfect record.
"You know, you never told me your name," the man commented idly as he watched her work a series of levers.
"No, I didn't."
He laughed, shaking his head before turning his attention to the bright yellow bird fluttering around his head.
"Does it have a name?" she asked, jerking her head towards the baby chocobo.
"Does she have a name," he corrected. "And no, she doesn't."
She gave a snort of laughter, not noticing his darkening expression as he watched the bird. "You carry that bird around in your hair, and yet you haven't given her a name?"
He shrugged. "'Fraid she's not my bird."
"You carry around random birds in your hair?" she shot out incredulously.
"No, it's not a random..." He sighed, bringing his hand up to pinch the bridge of his nose. "Just forget about the bird, alright? What's your name?"
"You first."
"Sazh—Sazh Katzroy. Pleased to meet ya," he told her, holding out a hand in greeting.
She ignored him.
He let out another laugh, shaking his head once again in what was quickly becoming his go-to response to the stand-offish soldier.
A few minutes passed in relative silence, only punctured by the sounds of distant battles and her messing about with the complicated-looking controls. They were on a large transport platform, used to carry supplies and people between the many highroads suspended in the sky here. Sazh was leaned back against the side of the control station, glancing over at pinkie every once in a while to see how she was doing, but mostly keeping his attention on the chocobo.
The little bird in question came to land on the stomach of one of the many corpses of PSICOM officers scattered across the deck, this one just in front of Sazh. It hopped about on top of the dead man's armor, pecking at little random spots. Blood leaked out of the helmet from the two bullet holes Sazh had put there.
Sazh frowned, reaching his leg out to give the chocobo a little nudge with his foot. The chocobo seemed to huff indignantly, but Sazh continued nudging it until it jumped off the body and went to patter around the deck.
He sighed, shaking his head at the peculiar little bird. He damn well knew that war was not the place to be carting around a pet, but his hands were tied in this particular case.
"Lightning."
His turned his head to the side to look at the pink-haired girl who had broken the silence. She was now crouched in front of the panel and apparently tinkering with its innards.
"What about it?" he asked, confused.
"No, I mean..." He could scarcely make out a frown on her face from where he stood. "That's my name."
"Your name's Lightning?" he asked, tilting his head to try and get a better look at her.
"Yes, my name's Lightning," she snapped, glaring at him. "There. You happy?"
He paused to examine her scowling face for a moment, seeing her cheeks starting to grow red from embarrassment. He felt the corners of his mouth twitch. She's still just a kid, ain't she?
"Well, nice to meet you, Lightning," was all he finally said, nodding his head at her before looking away.
He thought he might have heard a grumble in response.
Snow looked out at all the people gathered on the road in front of him, most in the middle of casting off the robes that marked them as Purge deportees. There were kids here—a lot of them. Families too, huddled up tightly around each other. Even the ones without anybody still clustered together, trying to get some comfort just from the presence of strangers in the same conditions.
"Those sons of bitches. How could they do this?" Gadot asked from his side, shaking with barely contained anger.
Lebreau and he had lost almost a third of the people from their train just trying to get them to the shuttles so that they could bring them here, their base camp of sorts. One-third of the people they were supposed to save gunned down in front of them.
Gadot was furious. Lebreau was trying her best not to let it affect her. She was now going between the survivors they had all gathered, trying to comfort them while her own nerves were fraying at the ends.
Maqui wasn't taking it any better. As more and more reports of casualties came in, his attention became more and more focused on the PSICOM dispatch. He was trying to block out everything, just as he had done before Snow met him.
Snow could only sigh.
"How are we doing?" he asked of the most recent member of their close-knit group, a young man who joined them a few years back by the name of Yuj.
"So far? We've managed to take over almost all of the trains, but once we try to get the people off of 'em, well..." The blue-haired teenager morosely shook his head. "We need to get them out of this place fast is all I can say. PSICOM's coming down hard on us, and those gunships around the Vestige are beginning to break off and head our way. We don't skedaddle soon, we're screwed."
"I dunno if we got much room for skedaddling, kid," Gadot muttered, casting a worried glance at their quickly dwindling forces trying to stave off the incoming PSICOM soldiers.
Snow frowned, propping his fist underneath his chin as he thought.
There were so many people here. There was no way they could shuttle them all out without PSICOM blowing them out of the sky. They needed to distract PSICOM, hold them off until they could at least get some of refugees to one of their own trains; use them to carry the people away from here. But they only had so many trains...
"Maqui," he called out.
"Yeah, boss?" the blonde-haired boy asked from his position sitting in front of the radio.
"How many guns we got left?"
Maqui actually managed a laugh. "Believe me, boss, of all the things we got to worry about, how many guns we have is not one of them."
Out of the corner of his eye, Snow saw Gadot raise an eyebrow and walk over to one of the crates they had brought up.
"Damn, kid, you weren't kidding," he heard his bronze-skinned friend exclaim as he lifted the top off one of the boxes. "How the hell did you get this much stuff?"
Maqui shrugged. "People find out you're trying to save their wives and kids, they suddenly have a lot to offer. Bodhum is—or was, I guess—a resort town, remember?"
"Yeah, so?"
"Well, that means there were a lot of people caught up in the Purge were just there on trips or whatever, meaning they had friends and family from other places around Cocoon. Most of the time, anyone who knew anyone being deported would be getting Purged alongside 'em. Not the case this time."
"So people just sent you all of these?" Yuj questioned in disbelief, watching Gadot hold up one of the guns to examine it.
"Yep," Maqui confirmed, nodding. "We got supporters from the Guardian Corps, the Cavalry, weapons researchers, and even regular old rich folk. There was this one guy from Palumpolum—"
"So we've got plenty of guns, right?" Snow asked, cutting him off.
Maqui blinked. "Yeah, like I said. We're just low on people to actually use 'em. Why?"
Snow forced himself to look away from Maqui's innocent expression. He let out a deep breath, straightening up to look at the terrified people gathered before them.
He hated this. He hated that he had to do this. But he did have to do it. If they were going to get anybody out of here alive, they were going to need people to help fight off PSICOM. They would need people to distract PSICOM from the shuttles and trains.
They needed a distraction to even have a chance of saving these people.
He needed a distraction to have a chance of saving Serah.
"Snow?" Gadot asked, carefully setting the gun back down in the box. "What are you planning, man?"
"Maqui got us the guns," he explained quietly, his voice a monotone. "I'll get us people to use them."
"What the—"
Sazh was knocked to the ground by the platform's heavy lurch, caught off guard when it was finally spurred into motion after Lightning's prolonged bout with the controls.
"A little warning next time, miss soldier..." he grumbled, getting to his feet. A loud chirp told him that the chocobo agreed.
"I'll keep that in mind the next time that two of us have to jury-rig a platform ferry," she dryly assured.
He waved her remark off, making to lean against the control panel again. "Don't even know why you had to jury-rig the damn—"
"I'd step back from that if I were you," she warned, gesturing her head towards the panel.
His eyebrows knitted together as he took in her serious expression.
"Why? What's it gonna do?"
"I don't know. Either blow up or electrocute you."
"What the hell did you do to that thing?" he cried out, hastily stepping back from the device.
"I needed it to go fast," she explained with a shrug. "But that's not the problem with it."
"Well then, what is the problem with—"
The sharp ping of her gunblade firing off a round into the control panel cut him off, electricity fizzling off the device before the lights decorating its surface dimmed.
"What the hell was that!?" he demanded, spinning on his heel to face her.
"Needed to make sure you wouldn't stop it before you heard what I had to say," she said like it was the most obvious thing in the world.
"What are you even talking about, pinkie?" He let out a low groan, wiping his hands down over his face. "Alright, fine. You have my full attention. But what if I want to stop it after I hear what you have to say?"
She shrugged.
He glowered at her.
"Where are you going with this, miss soldier? What are you doing?"
"I'm getting us into the Pulse Vestige," she stated quietly, crossing her arms in front of her chest and looking out at the large structure in the distance that he just realized they were now hurtling towards.
His jaw dropped open. "The Vestige!? That thing's built like a fortress, and last I checked it had half-a-dozen gunships circling it! How are you gonna even get... in... side..." He trailed off, staring at her in disbelief. "No."
"Yes," she confirmed with a nod, immediately crushing whatever hope he had left for her state of mind. "I'm going to ram it."
"You're going to kill us! You're actually going to kill us!" he yelled, flinging his hands up into the air. "What on Cocoon is in that thing that's worth killing yourself for!?"
She shot him a quelling glare. "Why don't you tell me?"
"What are you—"
"You keep looking at the Vestige as well—don't think I haven't noticed. And I can see it on your face—you want to get in there just as badly as I do; you're just too scared to do anything about it."
He drew back, hastily averting his eyes from her hard stare.
"Not to mention, when I said when we were headed to the Vestige, what might currently be the most dangerous place on all of Cocoon, your first thought wasn't to ask why; you just wanted to know how. So... You first," she coldly stated, staring him down.
The deep buzz of the engine reigned over the platform, both parties silent.
Sazh's gaze kept locked on to his feet. She was right, of course. He should have known she would have noticed. She was a damn fine soldier, and missing something as obvious as his focus on the arrowhead-shaped building as it was dragged through the sky was something she couldn't miss—couldn't afford to when they were putting their lives in each other's hands.
He needed to get into the Vestige—he knew that. But this? This was crazy. Ramming a whole platform into that monolithic structure... Sure, it might puncture the hull and get them inside, but it might also kill them both in the process.
A soft chirp diverted his attention to the baby chocobo questioningly pecking at his pant leg. He felt his gaze soften as it rested upon the little bird, remembering the day he had bought it. It felt like a lifetime ago even now.
This was ludicrous. This was almost certainly doomed to failure, with both of them sinking to the bottom of the lake miles below.
But he needed to get into the Vestige.
"You are insane," he murmured, earning a glance from the soldier. He looked up at Vestige they were rapidly approaching. Clouds of mana curled off of its dark surface like smoke off a fire.
A fire he was headed straight for.
He was going to get burned.
He was going to get burned bad.
"But I guess I'm not in any position to talk," he concluded, hands clenched into fists at his sides.
He turned his head to look at Lightning, this girl he was absolutely sure would be the death of him. The corner of her mouth was turned in a sort of half-smile as she met his gaze.
"Evidently."