Midgar Story, by JetNoir
3. EVENING FACES
Ladies and Gentlemen…please stand for THE PRESIDENT
Snorting and smirking, President Shinra slowly rolled onto his feet and gazed wordlessly, carelessly at the people gathered below him. His corpulent form shivered slightly, imperceptibly, as he looked with well-hidden contempt at those around him.
He was at a dinner, of some of Midgar's wealthiest citizens – wealthy, and living on the Plate. He didn't want to be here, but then he had very little choice.
Keeping up appearances.
He gestured the audience to sit from their carefully planned standing ovation. It was meant to be perfect. Perfect, for a perfect President. In reality it was just artificial…cold and clinical.
Sighing slightly, he focused his eyes on the paper in front of him, and began to read from it.
--
The speech lasted just five minutes, and again, the same clinical 'perfect' applause.
This had to end. It had to change.
The President realised something wasn't right.
LILIA
It was cold in the metallic city, and Lilia shivered violently as she slowly walked home.
The foul smell of refuse permeated her nose, the endless drizzle draining down her face, dirty water recycled over and over. There was nothing fresh here, nothing new. Only the memory of a time where it wasn't so bad.
The file secured in her bag was a puzzle as well. She was terrified that SOLDIER would arrest her at any moment, for theft of a classified document. She had to get out. She had to leave Midgar!
Min.
He would know what to do. Surely he had been in dangerous situations.
Thirty days.
If this file was right, not a hoax, then that was all that was left before the end of it all.
She looked over her shoulder frantically, hearing quiet footsteps, but it was just an errant cat.
What Lilia didn't see was a tall figure, covered in a large brown cloak that draped from head to foot, watching silently from the rooftops overhead.
MIN
Min burped.
Not what you'd do in polite company, but when out with the 'boys', a belch between friends is nothing serious. The beer was good, but the bar was too hot, damnably hot in fact.
"You've done good work," said the Commander, in his office, earlier that day, "and Shinra are proud of you. But what we need you to do Min…it's dangerous."
"I'm ready," said Min, proudly holding his head high.
"Good," said the Commander, "and that is why we must dispatch you. In three days, you are being posted to Costa Del Sol, to head a battalion to stop these AVALANCHE Insurgents. The mission is expected to last a mere week, so you shouldn't be separated from your ladylove for too long."
Min smiled grimly: "Aye, sir."
"Right!" barked the Commander, "Details in the folder before you. Report here in three days, until that time, you're on leave. Dismissed!"
"Yes sir, thankyou sir," Min muttered.
The Commander looked up briefly: "I said dismissed."
FUREW and EDGE
Furew screamed loudly, in fright of the missile-bearing house that had appeared in front of her. She wanted to run, knew that she should…but couldn't. She was utterly stuck.
"Hold on!" a strange man yelled, pulling what looked like a gun, but Furew didn't care. Maybe he'd safe her from the house.
The gun exploded in the man's hand, and within moments, the house had vanished into a surge of red mist. Then the man was coming towards her.
"Hello," he said, "what's your name?" His voice was friendly, so, still a little scared, Furew replied.
"Furew?" said the man, "Well, that's unusual. Where do you come from…and where are you going?"
"Home," said Furew, "and mister? What's your name?"
The man smiled, something he hadn't done in a long time: "Edge."
The girl frowned slightly, curious.
"Do you want me to take you home Furew?" asked Edge, not knowing why he was doing it…he was wanted for murder, for crying out loud!
The little girl nodded, and Edge nodded in return: "All right, come along."
SHINRA ADMINISTRATIVE DEPARTMENT IN RESEARCH AND DEVELOPMENT (THE TURKS)
Tseng, Vincent, Reno and Rude
The Turks were still at the same bar, chatting and drinking. It wasn't as if they had anything else to do, and Scarlet had been leaving them alone as of late…which was fine with The Turks.
Downing his tenth (or was it eleventh?) beer, Vincent blurted out his vision. He didn't know why he did…only a feeling he must.
"Vision!" snorted Rude, "You feeling okay Valentine. Been drinking a little to much, yeah?" Vincent's face resembled wounded calm.
"I'm fine," he snapped, "but listen damnit, this is important! There's a tree. A Broom Tree…and we have to find it! It's as simple as that!"
Tseng raised a slight eyebrow, but just sighed.
"Alright Vincent," he said quietly and wearily, "get some sleep tonight, and if you think it's still important in the morning, we'll have a look."
"Yep," said Reno, "and it's not as if we've got anything else to do!"
ERICA
"Sorry I'm late!" said Erica, bursting into her Client's room, "I got what you wanted."
"Let me see it!" snapped Erica's Client, in a distinctly female voice, "Give it to me!" It was snatched out of Erica's grasp, the book with PRAYER embossed on the cover.
"Another day in Paradise," muttered Erica as wads of Gil was unceremoniously thrust into her hand, and she was shoved out the door.
"Charming," sighed Erica, quickly hiding (which was not an easy task) the large quantities of Gil in her hands. Many here would kill for even a fraction of what she had…and all for one brief amnesia of morals.
All for a compromise.
ERICA'S CLIENT
The Client stayed utterly still after Erica had left the room, her gloved hands gently caressing the cover of the book.
"Oh, my love," she murmured, "what have they done to you? What have these monsters done to you?"
She started to pace the room, almost frantic, her hood sliding slightly, revealing a long lock of copper hair.
"I will have my revenge. No…you can have you revenge? Could I? Dare I?"
She moved to the window and gazed out onto Midgar.
"That silly little office clerk will have found that file I stole, but should she screw up?"
The woman's gaze hardened: "No, my love. I will have you back. I will save you from these demons. I will pray."
Then softly, more quietly:
"Do I hear a prayer from you?"
THE WITNESS
Anthony.
A dead man holds the key to us all. His rotting corpse, decomposing beneath my feet. I'm powerless. I cannot do anything; indeed, I am as trapped as he is. Was.
What should we do? Pray?
Our gods have deserted us, or perhaps we have deserted them. We built new gods, in machines, and rulers with their lust for power.
I forced my way into the city, breaking the barriers of mako and metal. I walked through the filth and degradation, trying not to despair for the people living in such abject poverty, stuck in a never-ending cycle, descending until they lose all their money…and so it continues.
I am powerless to stop this, and never in my long life have I felt so utterly wretched.
I must find them, there is nothing else, but, if.
If only.
One thing you will find, if you stay long enough – indeed, manage to survive – in Midgar.
The faces we wear in the Evenings, are very different to the ones at any other time of day…
Disclaimer: I do not (sadly) own Square Enix, or Final Fantasy VII. All characters are copyright to Square Enix, apart from the ones I have created. Those, the scenario and story are copyright to me. This story has been written on the understanding that you may read it and print it out; but you may not pass it off as your own, hire it out, or sell it for money. You also may not put it on your own or any other web page without my express written permission. Thankyou!
JetNoir