Chapter 2

Lessons

"COME ON, FRIEDA. WE DON'T want to be late for supper," cried the little girl to her cat.

The two were running through a dark alley, the buildings around it large and menacing. Wisps of fog snaked their way through the dark air of the city. A few small lights burned nearby, making the alley path viewable.

The cat mewed in acknowledgement and began to bound its way forward when a gloved hand suddenly snatched it off the ground. A man stepped into the alley from a side passage.

"Hey! Let go of my cat!" protested the little girl, her little brown curls bouncing.

The man with the gloved hands started to stroke the cat's spine. The cat hissed and struggled, but the man kept a tight hold. The man stood alone with no one else around him. His blonde hair slanted to one side of his face and covered his right eye. His visible eye gleamed red and he wore a tight black leather jumpsuit, with several small guns hanging from a belt strapped around his waist. Two long swords draped across his back in an "X" shape and another two daggers were sheathed on his chest.

He began to murmur, "Innocence of youth - what a treasured thing it is. The unknown knowledge of the world's tragedies and the only concern being supper at home. How I long for such a gift, but alas, here I am, caught up in this war, the only thing I know being the cruelties of the world."

He pulled one of his guns out of their holster and the cat began to claw more violently at her captor. The little girl took a step closer and whimpered.

"Life," the man continued, "and death. The two words are tied so closely together, yet they are far from being the same. You can have life one moment and in the next second death is upon you. Or you see life in one of your beloved and watch as death sweeps down and rips away your friend's soul."

The man lapsed in silence again The little girl was about to speak when suddenly the man hurtled the struggling cat high into the air and shot it twice with his gun. The cat crashed to the ground and remained motionless, a small pool of red spreading around it.

"Frieda!" the little girl cried in despair and sat down and began to weep.

"A lesson in the cruelties of the world," Marx whispered as he held the smoking gun in his palm. He turned away and left the crying girl where she lay.

He continued down the alley, taking determined steps. The gun still lay in his hand, still warm from the two shots he had just fired. Three more men slid from the shadows and fell in step behind Marx. They wore identical jumpsuits and wore dark black sunglasses that contoured to their face. They each carried a semi-automatic machine gun in their hands and they also bore several smaller firearms.

Marx smiled at how professional they were. He had trained them, of course, and no one could stop them.

"Are you ready?" he asked quietly, not really asking the men knowing their reply.

"Yes, sir," came the obvious response from each of the men.

"Good," Marx breathed.

They continued down the alley, twisting and winding their way through the confusing streets of Rimgad, the country's capital city. The way became darker as they passed out of the industrial section of the city and into the historical area. No lights lit the way and the men had to rely on their night vision to see.

They came to a large building. It was shaped like a warehouse and it stretched deep into the black of night. It was old and rust crept up its side like a mutated vine. There were a few windows that lined the top of the building and Marx could see a few lights flickering inside. A faded sign that was hanging over the front entrance held up by a single screw read, "SHINRA GENETICS".

"We're here," Mark said to himself.

He motioned to his men and together they slipped up to the front door. One of the men took out a hinge-cutter, but Marx stopped him and said, "Wait, look."

Marx turned the rusty doorknob and pushed. The door opened without a sound; the hinges were new and well-oiled.

"They're here all right," Marx confirmed.

They stealthily entered the building and Marx slid a finger across his throat indicating complete silence. Inside it was pitch black. There were no sources of light anywhere to be seen. Marx and his men pulled out night-vision goggles and put them on. Once the goggles had snuggled into place, Mark realized they were in some kind of lobby. There was a reception desk and a few chairs sitting against the wall. A door stood to the left of the desk and Marx made his way towards it.

Marx cracked the door open and looked inside. It was some sort of hall and at the far end there was another door that lay slightly open. A beam of bright light shot out from it and Marx knew that was where he wanted to go.

He beckoned with his hand and entered the hall. A loud, shrieking, cry made him whip his head around, pulling his gun out. His men had their machine guns raised and they were looking around wildly. Only then did Marx realize that the noise had come from inside the other door.

Stilling his hammering heart, he continued on. He made it to the door and craned his neck inside. The source of the light was a bulb shining above the door and Marx took off his goggles. But there were few other lights in this part of the warehouse. There was a metal railing in front of them and behind that was some sort of laboratory. Marx crept forward and slightly raised his head above the railing to look down at the lab below.

"What in the world?" Marx whispered in quiet shock.

The lab was big. Several large tanks sat along one side of the wall while several more lined the other wall. There was a large computer sitting on the opposite wall from where Marx squatted and lights were blinking on and off. Next to the computer were several smaller clear tubes which contained a black liquid substance. But what caught Marx's attention most were the tables. He was looking at several tables, on top of which lay gruesomely mutated human beings. Long, slimy black tendrils slithered down out of their heads and their skin had turned a dark black. Their naked bodies pulsed and quivered as some sort of current was being fed into them through cables that injected themselves into their bodies.

A few scientists were checking things off on their clipboards, examining the mutated humans, making small adjustments on a computer that all the cables seemed to lead to. One of the mutated humans gave out another loud, piercing shriek as a scientist twisted a knob on the computer. At least twenty other men, who were armed with guns and swords, also sat in the room. They were big and powerful looking and several were spinning their swords in skillful control. They were chatting and paying no attention to the railing where Marx sat concealed.

Those fools, don't they know what they're playing with? Marx thought as he sat back down behind the railing.

Suddenly, one of his men let out the tiniest cough. Instantly the men down below were on their feet and shooting at the railing. The man who had coughed was splattered by a hail of bullets and he tipped and fell over the railing, slamming into an empty tank.

"Go!" Marx shouted at his two remaining men.

They nodded and instantly they started to fire back down at the men with their machine guns. The scientists cried out as they were first to get hit before the men swung their guns on to their mass of men standing by themselves.

Marx himself though, took out a sword, clipped a gun to it and threw himself over the railing, aiming himself at the men who had their attention on the bullets raining down on them.

The first man stood no chance and his gun arm landed with a thud on the floor. He screamed in agony and dropped to the ground, clutching the bloody stump. Marx ripped off several more appendages with his sword before they stared to turn on him. Marx's men stopped firing in fear of hitting Marx. Marx grinned as fifteen heavy-powered guns swung around to face him. Five of the men drew their swords and clipped their own machine guns to them, grinning at Marx wickedly.

Marx's own gunblade seemed awfully weak looking compared to their huge, monstrous gunblades they hefted with ease. Marx didn't mind. He always liked a challenge. Marx gave out a cry and sprang into the air. He turned himself in a somersault and swung down with his gunblade. Two men met their end as the sword swept cleanly through their heads. Marx landed lightly onto a tank and pushed off again, aiming down at the men. With three more easy slashes he had killed another three men and they fell to the ground soundless, hands still clutching guns. Marx let himself fall to the ground and landed with a neat roll. He finished off the rest of the gunmen with a large powerful sweep of his blade.

Finally, the men with the big gunblades moved. The first gave a loud, throaty roar and gripped his sword with both hands. He attacked Marx with a crushing downswing, but before the man even had time to react, Marx was behind him and had stabbed him through his back, the sword ripping out his chest. The man gurgled and slid off Marx's sword. Marx brought his sword up as the four other men charged at once.

Marx parried, slipped, ducked, weaved, stabbed, jumped up, stabbed again, disappeared, and then came back again to finish off the rest of the pathetic swordsmen. As they all fell as one, some heads rolled away and some upper torsos fell away too. The ground was quickly stained red by their blood.

Marx's men came down a concealed staircase and joined him.

"That was incredible, sir," one of them said in astonishment.

"Hardly," Marx replied, "They were barely capable enough to hold a gunblade."

The men didn't press and Marx walked over to the tables that the monsters lay on. The first one he came to had once been female. She looked at him with dark eyes that showed no emotion. Marx looked down her body and saw that she had once been very slim and quite beautiful, but the tendrils that writhed and squirmed down the length of her body and the putrid black of her skin took away any beauty that might have been there before. A foul odor came off of her and Marx felt a rare stab of pity.

"Poor girl," he whispered, "She is in much pain and I doubt there could be anything done to save her.

Marx reluctantly pulled a gun out and said, "This is the best I can do to stop the pain."

He shot the girl in her temple; a spray of black blood spurted out the other side and landed to the floor heavily. Marx went to the other tables and saw these monsters had once been men. They too, had the same look as the girl and he was forced to kill them as well.

As Marx stood there, having shot the last monster, he thought, looking at the still corpse, What lessons have been taught today? What have I learned? What they are doing here confuses me even more. Why do they do this? It is something that must be thought over and pondered.

He turned away and said to his men, "Come, our mission here is complete. We have no more business here. Burn the building when we leave."

"Yes, sir." The men saluted and hurried back up the staircase. Marx followed them and as he stepped outside the entrance he smelled the odor of gasoline wafting to him from inside. As he walked away and back down the alley, he mused.

When he reached the alley where he had shot the cat, Marx saw it lying there still. The girl had disappeared. Then there was a large explosion behind him as the warehouse ignited.