DoC: Bloodlines

Summary: Set five years after the Geostigma Incident: ... I am dying. The cause, unknown... Essentially, I am dying of nothing... Various characters, some OC's.

Note: This is a story thats been going through my mind for a good while, so I decided to write it, after giving it a good amount of thought. Yes, the main character is a OC, but within the boundaries of the universe... Set roughly five years after the Geostigma incident.

Disclaimer: I don't own anything from FFVII and its spawns, it all belongs to SquareEnix.

I never gave much thought to death.

Perhaps I'm too young to think that far a head - untouchable by it's icy grasp, impervious to it's reach, immune to it's looming glare and presense over life.

But the truth of the matter is, I am dying.

I could've come to terms with it, except for the cause - unknown.

Essentially, I am dying of nothing, as far as I know, and up until now I assumed only the old failed prey to that.

I didn't know what to say, what to do. Who would? My one good eye stared sightlessly out the window, hands folded in my lap, shocking myself with my calm, watching the gray clouds rolling above me, swaying the branches delicately in the casaul, normal breezes that wafted these still wastelands.

My uncle, Reeves, kept anxiously peering into the rear-veiw mirror at me... I could hear his hands reflexsively tightening and releasing on the solid colomn of the steering wheel, equally unsure how to adress me. The discomfort hung in the air deeper than the sadness might have.

"Are you alright?" He asked, softly, like speaking to a child, once we reached the twisted hunk of tree and sharp bend in the old dirt street - Halfway back to base.

"I'm fine," I said, almost mechanically.

He made a noise and opened the window, the wind much harsher as it scattered my long hair, its black trendils reaching a head of me. There was a scratch and brief orange glimmer of light as he lit a cigarette. My hands wrung together - I wanted one.

"Take it easy," He said in his overly-protective voice, "I don't want you working too hard, espeically after this."

"You're not my father, don't tell me what to do," I mumbled back, too tired to slip a bit of poison into those words... He just scoffed at me.

"Funny coming from someone who has no parents," Reeves said back, with the same undertone of venom.

I leant my head to the glass.

Five years ago, the geo-stigma had claimed a good deal of lives in Midgar. Rufus had been effectively stripped of his power and exiled from his beloved city, and his Turks had no place but to follow. I'd only been in the organization briefly before it happened... Prior to that, my memories were a jumble.

I knew from others accounts that Reeves had cared for me since I was a infant, left at his doorstep, some orphan that he pitied and took in, but every now and then that is forgotten in my ... episodes.

Reeves calls them seizures, but I've never seen doctors panic so much and strap down other patients during brief lapses of muscle control. I awake only remembering the pain... the amount of time lost before then varies. It could be years, like once when I was twelve, or could be just minutes... Sometimes I hope my entire memory would be wiped clear, that I'll forget who I am entirely.

Not that theres much to remember, so I suppose theres nothing to forget.

I glimpse up, into the rear view mirror angled toward me, Reeves staring straight ahead, and glare at my own reflection. My one good eye is a mixed brown and green, seething toward the middle from botched Mako treatments as a baby, and the other is securely closed away with a single black eyepatch.

My face could be sullen, depending on the lighting, and perhaps pretty enough, if it weren't for the eyepatch of coarse. My hair is just a dull solid black with the occassional wave or two, here and there, and long enough to reach my waist. I didn't wear makeup, like some women did - maybe because Reeves didn't feel like sitting down with a small girl and showing her how to apply makeup, or that Elena always cackled and walked away when I inquired.

One thing I always hated, was that I was thin. Not skeletal, and definately not enough to loose curves. But, thin. Boyish when I was younger. Whenever I tried to eat, my stomach would always give an uncomfortable burn... I couldn't eat much without getting sick. The doctor's attributed that to my "illness"

I looked away when I saw Reeves eyes flicker back toward me, and shrunk down in the seat, grabbing hold of the seatbelt and squeezing it tightly.

"Almost back," He announced.

Almost back to base - to home. It was a retired SOLDIER bunker, deemed useless once a new Power Company rose into power and Midgar found its new mayors. It was overgrown with moss and weeds, the grass was tall, nearly to the windows. The road led toward a small garage that shook violently as the rusted door opened, dangerously slow.

This was the home of the Turks, and our beloved Rufus ShinRa.

Quite a difference from the mansion, and the enormous ShinRa building in Midgar, demolished effectively by Sephiroth, all those years ago...

Three shiny black motorcycles greeted us when we pulled into our spot in the bunker's garage - Wonderful, looked as though everyone were 'home'.

Reeves stayed in the car however, even though its rattling engine had been switched off. He sometimes did this to finish a cigarette, but tension in him was evident when he ran his fingers through his greying hair.

"Rest today, at least," He said, voice sounding distant... "The next doctor appointment is in a week - try not to do much until then, alright?"

"Alright," I said, stepping out of the car, using the door somewhat for support. Reeves was next to me before I knew it, a arm around my thin shoulders, shutting the door for me.

"I'll help you get inside," He said, leading me toward the wide bunker doors.

"How valiant of you," I managed to snarl.

"Hey now," He said, leading me down a path of smaller bunkers, passing one next to mine with heavy metal blairing from inside, "Don't bite the hand that feeds you."

"Whatever," I grumbled, using a attitude reminiscent of my teenage years long pasted... How long ago was that now?"

He opened the door for me, to the smallest bunker on the very end, with a very large and vacant field next to it, perhaps were the troops might've marched years ago. I spotted my bed, and made a straight line directly for it.

"Rest," He repeated, standing there, outlined in the doorway for a short time, before he shut the door gently, once he was assured I was safe in bed.

"Keep it down, Reno!" I heard him yell and strike the side of the sheet metal wall, and the music did drop, just a little bit... Enough for me to doze off.

First chapter, short, but more will come.