-Empty Passage-
Outside, the storm continued fiercely with no foreseeable end. My bike was parked a quarter mile away in a twenty four hour indoor garage, so I would have to walk through the rain, which I truly detested because it reminded me of––well, nevermind. I swore I would forget, so I will forget.
Remaining close to building sides and stopping under intermittent alcoves as frequency permitted, I made my way slowly along the top tiered portion of the city, the ocean to my left in the distance, lost in a spray of rain thick as fog. This older part of the city remained its most popular and since the demilitarization, it had become a trendy tourist spot. The tiers overlooking the ocean became prime real estate while the rest of the city continued to degrade. Slums expanded outward into the surrounding land. That was where I lived. But unlike most of the others who reside there, it was my choice.
The parking garage was deserted, and my bike sat immaculate in a corner of cracking cement next to a faded red convertible, which I was sure someone wisely stowed due to the storm. Salt spray from the ocean probably isn't good for paint.
Unfortunately, I had no choice but to drive home in that same salt spray. I unsheathed the katana and sat on my bike, activating the storage system with my thumb. The front sides of the bike slid open and six thin slits stared hollowly up at me. Tenderly I slid the katana into the top right space, locking it into place with a tiny click of metal on metal. The other five spots remained vacant, hungry. I'm not sure why I never had those modifications removed.
With a twist of burnt rubber on concrete, I was gone. Back on the streets, the rain stung my face like tiny needles, but my only thoughts were on returning home. Pavement and steel sided buildings gave away to dirt and crumbling wooden facades until at last the edge of the city was in sight. Short dilapidated rows of apartments appeared through the tearing rain and wind like ghosts.
Parking my bike in the thin alleyway between my building and the next, allowing it reasonable protection from the storm, I climbed the stairs to my sanctuary. Wiping rain from my face, I fumbled a bit for the right key before entering the main foyer. The immediate dry air was a relieving contrast to the water coating my clothes and skin. The door slammed shut behind me, and the roar of the wind outside shook the panes of the small dusty window next to the row of mailboxes along the wall. Seven other tenants lived in this building besides me, each allocated an identical single bedroom apartment.
Trudging up the bowing stairs, I removed one of the tiny cylindrical pills from my pocket, admiring the faint greenish hue in my palm. The dead man's pills. They called it 'mako'. It began appearing on the streets shortly after Meteor, but the societal effects took a while to permeate the mainstream. The addictive properties of the drug were severe enough to drive the wealthy into ruin and give power to the suppliers, who could subtly control whole neighborhoods through manipulating distribution of a good that suddenly everyone wanted. Just when things were starting to pull themselves together...
Of course, it wasn't really Mako, just an interesting nickname because it was supposed to make one feel powerful, invincible - both common misconceptions perpetuated by those who didn't truly know what pure Mako feels like. Real Mako, I can say with certainty, is not the overwhelming euphoria coupled with delusions of grandeur that any good dealer nowadays would have you believe. It is hell. Painful, gripping hell. Being poisoned by it twice has done nothing to convince me otherwise.
But this pill...
Truthfully, I had no idea what it was. Some narcotic cooked up by ex-ShinRa employees, no doubt searching for another means of controlling the populace. But the name 'mako' stuck because one side-effect of the drug was that trademark dim glow in the eyes of someone who's been using it. It was temporary, but unfortunately mirrored the same permanent feature I carried.
Reaching the door to my apartment, I quickly cupped my open palm against my mouth, swallowing the pill before turning the knob and entering.
The pills never made me feel the same anymore. It was just out of curiosity at first, from the name. I had to know if it contained even a trace of actual Mako. Sure, one felt stronger and faster and smarter temporarily, but it wasn't authentic. No contest against the increased strength and resilience from the real Mako drenching my own cells. No, I had known immediately it wasn't Mako, though it did bring a feeling of unsettling happiness. A carefree wind over the mind, lifting away fears and regrets. No wonder it was so popular with those that had lost the most.
But, like all good things, the effects decreased gradually until I found myself swept up in the desire for more. The natural Mako in my body granted some immunity against the harsher side-effects, but a strange pattern of increasing tolerance emerged. That's why I never felt the same elation again. I no longer took it to feel better; I took it to avoid feeling worse.
I never meant for things to be this way, but I suppose that's how life is. Nobody ever really means for anything to turn out the way it does. I'm sure if my mother had known I would later be solely responsible for allowing a madman to summon Meteor, thereby destroying the largest city on the planet and killing thousands, she would have smothered me with a pillow as a newborn. A mistake.
Humans are allowed to make mistakes.
No matter what, I would never become like those junkies on the streets that you hear about on the news, stabbing each other just for another pill. Senseless. Pathetic. Inhuman.
I locked the door tightly and yawned, walking into the kitchen. The left-over restaurant food from the target's house earlier was not enough to suffice for dinner, so I decided to cook something more substantial.
A slight stirring noise brought me to a pause. Shifting my weight slightly, I listened carefully, alerted. I was not alone.
"Is that you, Cloudie?" a faltering female voice called from the bedroom.
Candace. A young woman with rapturous long blonde hair that I had met a few nights ago and didn't exactly have the heart to explicitly kick out. I had expected her to be gone by now, but...
She was one of those hopefuls whose dream was crushed in Meteor when she lost everything. Cheated of her livelihood, angry at the world, she resorted to prostitution in Junon to make ends meet. For whatever reason, she burst into tears the moment I took her home and divulged her sad tale.
She told me her name was Candi.
I told her my name was Cloud.
We mutually agreed the other couldn't possibly be truly named something that ridiculous.
She later disclosed her real name was indeed Candace and told me to stop using the name of "that famous guy from Midgar". How fitting that we should both be telling the truth, yet suspecting the other of fraud. Good thing she didn't know what "that famous guy from Midgar" looked like and I didn't want to correct her regarding my birthplace. Nibelheim, not Midgar. Ah, it doesn't matter.
All I was to her was a mako user who happened to own an apartment and hold a job. The details of my work I chose to leave unspecified. But, she confessed the night I met her, she felt drawn to the constant sense of danger that hung around me like an unseen monster. Danger, she explained, excites her because the shroud of safety is always false.
"There is no such thing as safety. Danger is truth," she had cried into my arms, "It keeps us alive. Keeps us running."
I didn't agree, but I was sympathetic. That was two nights ago. We were just using each other, that much was true. Her long golden hair caught in my mouth when her smooth body surged over mine, head bent down in sad acceptance, an outlet for lust. The world had consumed her. She just wanted mako when I ran out of cash. Fine. I just didn't want her getting any ideas about... us.
"I didn't know you were still here," I called to her, not in an unkind way.
"I was thinking all day," her voice floated back towards me, "And I feel like this is the beginning of something for me. A change. Something ... good."
"And when did you decide that?"
"After meeting you, I felt ... calm. I don't see them in my dreams anymore."
Them. The family and friends she lost.
"Everything's been so out of control since Meteor," she continued, her voice growing more steady, "But now, I think, maybe I can finally get it back together. My life."
I couldn't think of anything to say back to her, so I commenced filling a pot with water from the sink and setting it on the stove to boil.
"And," she announced, her footsteps behind me in the doorway between the kitchen and hallway, "Look, I feel different already. I dyed my hair dark while you were at work!"
This caught my attention. I turned tensely to face her. She stood leaning against the doorframe, wearing nothing but an oversized white shirt, a cigarette hanging from her full red lips. Long dark brown hair fell past her shoulders, and for a second I saw her eyes smolder in a deep burgundy color, vivid against her pale skin. Swallowing hard, I averted my eyes.
"Why dye it? I liked the blonde," I said briskly, staring down at the pot of water.
"It was time for a change. And change is good, right?" her voice edged upward.
"You looked better blonde, is all."
"You don't like it?"
I shook my head, still staring at the water.
"What, you won't even look at me now?" she shouted angrily, "Because of my hair?" A low laugh escaped her mouth in a huff.
"That's ... not it."
"You hate brunettes or something?"
I closed my eyes for just a second, exhaling.
"I think you should leave..." I said softly.
"Oh real typical! Shallow! You know what, fuck you."
Extreme irritability. Frequent mood-swings. Overall unpredictable behavior. The common ugly effects of mako that I was gracefully free of, thanks to the real Mako protecting my body chemistry.
She marched back into the bedroom, and I could hear her rummaging violently through various things. After several minutes, she stuck her head out of the doorway, long brown hair swaying elegantly.
"Do you have any cash?" she asked coldly.
I shook my head.
"...Mako, then?"
I had a feeling she wouldn't leave without it either way. With a sigh I retrieved the other two pills from my pocket and handed them over. A smile split across her face as she hungrily closed her palm around the two tiny objects. She disappeared once more into the bedroom.
The mako I had taken before coming home was beginning to kick in. A delicate shade of subtle calmness fell over me. I could forget it all easier this way. The smell of her hair. The fragile haunting nature of her eyes, following me. The last night with her before everything went to hell. Yes, I would like to forget. As I was sure she already had. Tifa...
Candace reappeared, fully dressed with her bag slung over her shoulder, lighting another cigarette. Her hair was tied back now, and she glared at me viciously.
"So you really want me to go, just like that, huh?" she spat and inhaled a mouthful of smoke.
"I just don't think you should stay here with me."
"Oh, I see. I get it. So you fuck me and now you don't care. No different from any of the others," she laughed sardonically, "Thanks for the mako, and for taking away what little hope I had in humanity. Hah, and I really thought you were different! I really felt something with you!"
Without waiting for my reply, she pushed past me and left, slamming the door behind her. Normally, erratic behavior like that would bother me because I certainly never meant her any harm. I hadn't known her for very long at all, but she clearly had brought too much baggage with her. Nobody could fix that but her. And she was gone.
Just another face. Another consequence of Meteor. I didn't dwell on it long.
Suddenly my phone rang once, indicating a new message. I checked the number it was sent from – my boss.
Flipping open the screen, I examined the new orders. A picture, an address, and a time next to tomorrow's date. Two jobs so close together was a nice rarity. This week's pay was going to be enormous. I smiled.