Chapter 3
"Inside!"
Bullhorn and his men ushered them into a concrete compound dotted with other vehicles and men armed with automatic rifles. Towers at various points bore floodlights and snipers while massive armory trucks sat in strategic corners around the base. All of the guns looked worn, smelling of smoke and gun oil, but they were solid, as was the body armor most of the men boasted. Expensive for rebels, certainly too nice for the People's Army. That little ragtag group had been nipping at imperial heels for years, dressed in mismatched scraps they pulled from their grandfather's closets.
No, this was well-organized, stocked. Funded.
One of the men made the mistake of trying to grab Sephiroth's arm as they went deeper into one of the larger buildings. He broke his forearm without ever dropping Yanna's hand.
Men and, surprisingly, women, gave trail, shooting baleful looks at them both. These weren't just disgruntled farmers or sanctimonious students that thought they knew what the "real" Wutai was. From the look of the contemptuous look of a nearby guard, these people hated him. Him, personally and not just because of his rank, though his connection to Shinra probably didn't help.
Sephiroth braced for some fool overcome with righteous fury to rush them but nothing happened. Which meant that while they hated him, clearly wished him dead in the most painful way, they believed too strongly in their cause to do something stupid.
How…inconvenient.
"In there." Bullhorn pointed to a cell with a wooden door with a small barred window at the top. The general walked in, pulling Yanna behind him, and the door thudded solidly at their backs.
"No windows," the shaman murmured.
"Smart."
The ten-by-ten cell boasted only one fluorescent bulb set in a ceramic bowl in the ceiling and plastered concrete walls. His head brushed the ceiling and he sat down in the far corner, watching the door.
"What happens now?" Yanna asked. "Are they going to question us?"
"Most likely." He watched her fold her arms and pace, her booted feet scuffing on
the concrete floor. She'd worn a skirt and poncho, traditional Kalani attire for what she surely expected to be an easy trip, but now mud had already started to stain the hem and large dark blotches of something, anything from mud, blood, oil, or any combination of the three, stained her knees.
Despite that, she was still very obviously a woman.
"Shiushan."
"Hmm?" She started running her hands over the walls.
"They brought you to use as leverage," he said. "They have to keep you relatively safe to use against me but that doesn't mean they won't try to hurt you. There are…disturbing accounts of what happens to female prisoners."
Yanna stopped, looked at him in alarm.
"Because they're female?" she asked.
"Yes."
Pursing her lips, the shaman nodded and went back to inspecting the walls.
"I can't promise to bring you through this unharmed," he said. "But I will get you home alive."
She stared at a spot on the wall then took a deep breath and nodded.
"Okay."
Sephiroth raised an eyebrow in surprise. Really? That was it? He just told her she might get raped and tortured, and he may or may not be able to do anything. All he got was an 'okay'? He knew the Kalani was a warrior culture but was violence against women so common as for her to merely shrug and keep going? He hoped, for her sake, that wasn't the case.
"Are they going to use us as hostages?" she asked. "I've heard of that happening when a group wants something but why just you? Why not just take the base?"
"They know they can't stand up to an entire unit of trained Soldiers, no matter their condition. And they can't stand up to me physically. But they can control us other ways and, yes, they may use us as hostages. They certainly have the world's attention, at least. What they use the platform for is…uncertain."
"You have ideas."
"I do."
"Do any of those ideas have them letting us go?"
Observant woman.
"No. We'll have to escape on our own."
Yanna nodded and sat a couple feet away.
"I'm going to nap while I can. Wake me if you need something."
"Shiushan." Sephiroth reached into his boot. "You know how to handle a knife, I assume."
"Of course. I'm Kalani."
He discreetly handed her his kabar and she tucked it under her poncho.
"I'll want it back later."
?
Nothing happened for the next few hours, no doubt on purpose. Then keys jangled in the door. Yanna jerked awake, crouched, and Sephiroth stood as Bullhorn walked in.
"The prince wants to see you," he said.
"Prince." He very highly doubted that. But his hesitation angered Bullhorn and he pointed his gun at Yanna.
"Now!"
Sephiroth glanced sideways at her then obeyed and Bullhorn led him down the hall to a larger room with recording and communications equipment. A young man with messy hair stood behind a metal chair in the middle of the room. His lips pulled in a mirthless smile.
"General Sephiroth," he said.
Gunmen lined the room with automatic rifles, more lined the catwalk above. Red laser lights clustered on his chest and a few of the men approached with guns drawn.
"Take his coat."
Men ripped off his coat, armor, sword, and belt, then cuffed his hands behind his back and forced him to his knees to shackle his ankles. The young man poured a bucketful of water on the floor and picked up a cattle prod, waving it over the puddle.
"Do you know who I am?" he asked, leaning back against one of the communications consoles.
"A spoiled brat playing 'king.'"
The young man punched him in the jaw.
"Such arrogance. This, situations like this, is why you need to die. But first, you are going to tell me the launch sequences for Shinra's nuclear weapons and Sister Ray cannon."
"Pointless. You must know I won't volunteer such information and I am trained to resist every interrogation technique on the planet."
The young man's eyes narrowed in a familiar manner.
"Yes," he said. "Yes, I do know that. I also know you are loyal. Or as loyal as a mongrel can be. But everyone has a breaking point. And we will find yours."
Finally it registered where he had seen this brat before.
"And General Watanabe would approve of this?"
Another punch.
"My father was a brilliant man!" The boy screamed, spittle flying from his mouth. "You have no right to even speak his name!" He had the men haul a trough of water in front of him. "Do it!"
Someone grabbed his hair, forced him down into the water as the boy stuck the cattle prod in the trough. Sephiroth clenched his jaw, jerking under the electricity, even as the boy cackled and crowed.
"Now."
The hand pulled him out of the water.
"Let's try this again."
?
"I don't care how you do it! I want eyes on everything. Every truck, jeep, transport, four-door-sedan and dumpling cart. He's six-four with white hair. He can't have just disappeared!"
Genesis glared at them all, not bothering to hide his temper, and watched as they scrambled to find their missing general. Blaik had radioed the situation three hours ago, before the transport had even left Wutaian airspace. That last unit would arrive by the end of the day but, in the meantime, Shinra was on red alert. Every base from here to Icicle Inn had leapt to arms. They would go to war if they had to. They would march and bust the empire wide open if it came to it, and the base commanders had their hands full keeping the men from doing just that.
The red general grit his teeth, anxiety gnawing at his gut. It wasn't that Sephiroth was a prisoner. It didn't happen often but it wasn't so strange for a soldier to get on the wrong end of a gun. All of their men, both regular army and Soldier—though there wasn't much difference anymore—knew how to conduct themselves in hostile situations until help arrived, and how to act if they knew help wasn't coming. Most of the training curriculum had been written by Sephiroth himself.
No, it wasn't that he'd been caught. It was how he'd been caught. Those bastards knew he would do anything for his men. An ironic idea considering most of the People's Army thought he was a demon from the Ninth Hell but that wasn't the point.
Yanna was the point.
On his own, Sephiroth could break out easily, level whatever fort they thought was strong enough to hold him. He had no trouble breaking their honor code if it meant saving the most amount of lives possible. That's why he was a six-star general. He could make the hard decisions. But with the shaman? They might as well have tied his hands behind his back and pushed him off a cliff. Whatever his reticence about interaction with the woman, he wouldn't risk her life for any advantage. She was a civilian and, more than that, she had been an integral part in breaking the bond with Jenova. He was indebted to her. They all were.
Genesis' phone rang and he flipped it open.
"General Rhapsodos."
"You're gonna want to see this, Gen," Angeal said. "Lazard's office."
"Right." He turned to the spectacled faces at the computer monitors. "I want to know the instant you find something. Is that understood?"
"Sir! Yes, sir!"
Genesis nodded and stalked up to Lazard's office on the next floor. Angeal and the director sat in front of the plasma screen mounted on the wall.
"What did you find?" Genesis asked.
"They sent us a dvd." Lazard clicked his remote and the pale, slanted face of a young man came on the screen. He was dressed in the brown dress uniform of decades past and the flag of his grandfather's Wutai hung behind him. Genesis could just see the outline of gunmen on the edge of the screen.
"Too much make-up," he said.
"Gen."
"Greetings, Shinra."
Not the grating voice of consummate villain. Sadly, the man actually sounded cultured.
"As your base commander has informed you, General Sephiroth is our prisoner. From this moment on, he is considered a prisoner of war. Any action to free him will be met with appropriate ferocity."
"You think he knows what any of those words mean?" Genesis said.
"Are you kidding?" Angeal asked. "He's not even old enough to shave."
"As representative of the People's Army of the One True Empire and rightful heir to the Dragon Throne, I demand retribution on behalf of the Wutaian nation. The war is not over. The war can never be over as long as the colossal threat of Shinra exists.
"Rufus Shinra will surrender all lands and holdings of the Shinra Electric Power Company by midnight, March 25th. The Great Usurper will step down from the Dragon Throne and take his hellspawn with him. Failure to do either will be seen as an act of war and Wutaian patriots all over the world will rise up and take their rightful place in legend. Millions will die. Including your Great General."
Silence reigned for a full minute. Shock mostly, though Genesis knew his stemmed from the sheer audacity of the little snit.
"We don't negotiate with terrorists," Angeal said.
"This isn't terrorism," Lazard said. "This is a civil war. That is Hatohori Watanabe, sixty-third in line for the Wutaian throne."
"I thought he looked familiar." Genesis fought the urge to spit at the television. "Sir, I'll go to Wutai and set up a task force from within the capital. Odds are assassination attempts have already started."
"Go. General Hewley, coordinate defense measures and any evacuation procedures you deem necessary. Call in the bomb squads, the tac teams, everyone. I don't like that 'all over the world' line. General Rhapsodos, I want constant updates on your progress. President Shinra is contacting the Emperor right now. He expects one of you at the capital within the next two days."
"Sir!" The two generals saluted and walked out to their respective assignments.
"He didn't mention Yanna," Angeal said quietly.
Genesis pursed his lips.
"I'll call you when I land."
?
Yanna jerked awake at the sound of loud voices outside their cell. She thought it might have been an hour or so since they took Sephiroth but she couldn't be sure. The sun felt very far away here and the cold chill of spring storms was starting to seep through the concrete.
A key jammed into the lock. She eased into a crouch, bringing the kabar to bear under her poncho. Five men entered, none of them wearing body armor. She stayed low and tried to find their weapons. Two had their rifles. One of those and two others had batons on their hips. The last had nothing but she liked his look the least. He said something in Wutaian, guttural, and she didn't need to understand to know what he meant. The other four just snickered and looked at her, grinning.
As one, they pounced. Yanna slashed one of the gunmen with the knife. He screamed, blood pouring from his stomach, and staggered back. One of the others punched her. Someone grabbed the knife and she was on the ground. Hands grabbed at her limbs, forced her legs apart. She thrashed in panic, got a foot loose and kicked as hard as she could. Her heel connected with something that crunched then someone wrenched her arm. She gasped in pain. Grubby fingers pulled at her skirt. She twisted, gagging at the combined stench of the beasts. One of them yelled and they made to turn her on her stomach. She couldn't see their eyes, didn't dare hunt, but the stench grew stronger as her face came too close to bare flesh.
Snarling, she bit the man. He screamed, punched her. The others grabbed for her and blood poured down her face and neck. At last, one of them kicked her in the stomach and she gasped, just enough for them to slam her to the concrete. More blows rained down and it was all she could do to curl around her ribs.
Then it stopped. She could dimly hear a new, different voice yelling in Wutaian. Boots shuffled on the ground. There were protests, then a sharp slap and more yelling. This time it sounded frantic, that stressed, 'the world was falling apart' tone she heard at weddings where everything went wrong. Yanna held her breath. Someone nudged her leg. She didn't move.
After a few seconds, and a more controlled—if still angry—voice ushered them all out of the cell. The door swung shut with such a welcome thud she almost cried. She tried a breath then really did cry at the agony that pierced her face. Bastards broke her nose! Swallowing, Yanna carefully crawled out of sight of the door and sat up against the wall. Her legs hurt, bone bruises, and she probably had cracked rib or two. She rubbed her forearm, gagging on the blood pouring from her nose. The man had twisted her arm, badly, but it wasn't broken. She sent up quick thanks for that and rubbed the tendons back into place. Just her nose. Wolf, she hadn't broken her nose in years. Not since baby Koda had a tantrum and threw his head back into her face. This was going to hurt.
Carefully, the shaman felt through the gore to where her nose was and where it should be.
One. Two.
She yanked her nose down and over. Black spots swam in her eyes and she vomited a little. Great Wolf, that hurt. Oh. Wow, Genesis owed her so much chocolate for this.
Another breath. It wasn't as bad. Yanna licked her lips and gently, slowly, pulled the flesh and cartilage back together. The effort left her dizzy and she had to stop several times but, after a few, long minutes, it was over. She made to wipe her face with her poncho but grimaced when she saw the gore on the wool. She took it off and instead wiped her face on her skirt.
There. Much better.
Suddenly the light dimmed, buzzing, then brightened again. She frowned. It had done that a lot lately.
Sephiroth.
She settled herself and, with one last prayer, banged on the door. It took a second but the door opened and a bewildered rebel came in. She grabbed the back of his neck and pulled. Dark, gangrenous lines crept up her arm until the man hit his knees and flopped over on his side. Yanna threw up black sludge then quickly searched the man. He had a rifle but she had no idea how to use it, would probably hurt herself trying, so she took his radio and his baton. The lights dimmed again.
Setting her jaw, Yanna turned the volume of the radio down and left the cell.