To my readers… (is anyone even reading this story?) I offer a summery of sorts. It spans from the fall of JENOVA to the present time, so that way there are a few less gaps. Very flashbacky, and I also am taking pains to introduce the Turks to non FF7 fans. And yes, I know flashbacky isn't a word, but meh.. Kasan Soulblade

Brimstone Tower

A base of blood

Green, it licked across his eyes, and thought others feared it to be poison or the Planet's lifeblood he'd been raised to call it light. The jade and emerald of spring were the unspoken lullaby. The colossal nightlight and the green tinted darkness were not horrible simply because they were unnatural. Perhaps such illumination was beyond the everyday, but it wasn't evil.

But those unlike him, without his vision, claimed that the Shinra tower was sheathed in brimstone.

He dreamt of it though. His days were underscored by an aching absence and his night wanderings were filled with cruel images of what could never be again. The reactors that cast his empire in an emerald phoenix's embrace were dead. Long dead, and long gone. But still he saw viridian pillars reaching for the stars…

Amongst the ashes of his recollection, polished by loving reminisce and made diamond hard due to suppression, was a gleaming image of green challenging the black. Of lifeless steal stained the green of supposed spring.

So it was with a sigh that he opened his eyes and saw a world colored in sickly yellow. Birds, not automobiles, cheered the morning with their brainless song. Their song was bright and chirpy (pun totally intended) and it cut through his sensitive sleep deprived brain like knives in the hands of a mad scientist. Having been acquainted with the mad (both the scientific bent and not) he declared a pardon for himself and banned reality from intervening on his life for at least five more minuets. Since reality, and the birds, weren't listening he settled for rolling over and with a minimal amount of groping found the pillow.

One fabric sheathed lump of fluff later and the sounds still attacked him; luckily for the makers of the racket their voices were now muffled.

A rap at his door banished his prospects of sleep. Some bright brainless melody was being conveyed in Morse code on his door. Not exactly armed to greet the day, he snarled at the offending noise and its maker. The knocker considered his slurred reply, than waited half a minute before knocking again.

"Sir, I know you don't want to be awoken, but Tseng said it was important."

With a loud curse he added his morning contribution to the bird song outside. He graphically detailed a rather vile disease that he hoped would inflict itself upon the Turk who dared intrude on his sleep. Then, to cover all bases, he suggested that the person go do something physically impossible to their mother.

"Sir, you aren't making this easy." The voice growled, not at all phased by his profanity. "I've been given orders to drag you down if you don't come. Don't make me act on them."

And don't make me enjoy acting on them. The woman's tone threatened.

With a sigh that ended in a frustrated growl Rufus Shirna, the man who had owned the world a childhood agone, gave up.

"I'm coming!" He snarled.

"Hurry up then, breakfast is getting cold."

The click of heels snapping against a wooden floor confirmed beyond a doubt who he was dealing with. Out of all the Turks who served with the Shinra Company, only a handful had been women, and only one in his time as president bothered to be feminine.

Only Elena Woodwright could fill that bill. Sole woman of the Turks, one of the last three Turks alive in Edge or anywhere else, she had a figure like a gymnast and the aim of a gun slinger. Newest of the Turks, she had been called Rookie despite years of service and had put up with bullshit from her superiors for years. Finally her patience had snapped. It was shortly after the JENOVA fiasco both Shinra the corporate and Shinra the president had been humbled. Attacks were common, and even the presence of professional killers weren't slowing the people down. Anywhere Rufus had dared to go the masses had lashed out and that had been the final straw for the beleaguered camel.

Never one to take a lack of respect from anyone under her Elena had opened fire despite orders to the contrary. The controversy that one rash action spread had been a pain in the ass to quiet up but for one week at least there hadn't been any paparazzi or protesters dogging his steps. For that, Rufus had smiled, and when Tseng tried to demote Elena for attacking the innocent Rufus put her up for a raise.

"So I'm not a saint." Rufus shrugged, looking into the half Wutai's wide eyes, a wry smile touching his lips. "The world needs to remember that."

"You can not play the role of the redeemer if every action you make is mired in blood."

"I can't even begin to fix one damn thing if I can't walk down the street without getting killed." Rufus had shot back. "It's my choice. I'm the president. She gets a raise, and if you don't want to take the funds out of your account to accommodate her I will."

Tseng had folded, for he could not bear to lose face. For the money to come from Rufus would have meant that the Turk had doubts in his subordinates. And to doubt one of his own was, in the half Wutia's eyes, the same as doubting himself.

Never permitting himself even a moment of perceived weakness Tseng went along with his President's command. For despite what the Continentals believed, the Wutia knew that submission to the strongest was not weakness, merely prudent.

With a grunt, Rufus swung his legs over the side of his bed and numbly awaited the inevitable. One push, and his feet hit the floor (steel, his half asleep mind murmured, it should be made of polished steel). The substance was chill, but not shockingly so. Made of wood, the whole of his quarters was sheathed in a dun brown blur. Though the whorls that marked it as living matter had been worn and polished down to mere cosmetics he never saw them. The fine details made the dull whole rather pretty when the shade was pulled up and sunlight permitted within were lost on him.

Rufus never pulled the shade up. It was always tied down, and to make sure it stayed down he knotted at least three times to keep a stray gust from letting any light in.

"Very… owlish, Sir." Rude had noted upon entering. Hands clasped behind his back, he took a step back and let his head turn to take in the whole of the room. Glasses obscured the Turk's eyes, obliterated easy access to the windows of his soul. Had Rude bothered to set the black glasses aside the man's brown eyes would have seemed as hard as stone.

"I'm glad you approve." Rufus had snapped.

Sheathed in white his voice was little more than a croak. His throat was fast filling with thick mucus as if in rebellion to the flowers outside. The innocent flora slipped their perfume under the drape, and despite his best effort and all his complaints the Shinra couldn't keep the world out. For Tseng had ordered that his President get plenty of fresh air.

Ironic considering how it seemed as if the fresh part of air was smog to him.

The world was poison, the sun's light deadly, sustenance that must be taken was traded for in pain.

His life once filled with power and politics had come to this. Holding off a slow rot from within, and at its end he was to expect delirium and madness.

With a sigh Rufus resigned himself to his fate. He'd live penned up in a dark, light deprived room, for the rest of his short life. Certainly it would only be a few weeks, no more than that. He had waited longer for less important things for his death, this waiting would not be so bad.

Quietly setting the suitcases down Rude allowed his gaze to drift over the stark room, not even the bed was made for comfort. It was a cot nailed to the wall, a thick white drape slung over it so that should the drape be pulled open the occupant would only take a mild blistering from the light. Nothing else was in the room, no television, no computer. Nothing save the bed, two suitcases, and the two men. At last Rude looked to the man he was to guard, to lay his life down to protect, and the Turk let his lip quirk into a half smile.

"No coffin?" Rude asked coolly.

"Just get out." Rufus nearly choked on the words. He spat out a wad of flem, never mind the pristine state of the floor. "I don't want a speech. I'm tired."

"Yes sir. Do you require assistance to the bed, sir?"

"No, I do not." Rufus growled. With a hiss the Shinra began the long walk to the bed. His left leg was numb; it always was now that the black growth had crept up past his ankle. He limped and swore with every step.

Oblivious to his superiors troubles Rude went to the window, stared at the blank black sheet that had been set over it. Light, golden not mako green, formed around it like the vibrant hue that settled around a scab. As Rufus eased himself upon the bed's edge Rude cleared his throat. The heir, not caring, rolled over on his side. He turned his back to the glass plane. There was a rustle of fabric as Rude shucked off his vest and wound it around his arm, then silence.

"The world doesn't end sir, not until you're dead. Locking yourself in this room isn't going to end that. You have responsibilities." Rude noted.

Rufus curled into a ball, making himself a tight mass of limbs and diseased flesh. The stigma sent stabs of agony through his body for the motion, but he could ignore that. Drawing the covers over his head, wound up as tightly as he could be, Rufus snuggled against the un-judging pillows.

There was a sigh of fabric being pushed aside, than a shocking noise that made him shiver. A loud crack sounded, and it was followed by the musical ting-a-link of glass falling. Scared into abandoning his pose of anger fueled strength, Rufus shoved the covers aside, struggled to see.

What awaited him was a wall of burning gold. He recoiled from the light, a croak of pain slipped out of his lips. Dark brown skin highlighted by that light, Rude strolled by, glints of bright yellow hue catching on the edges of his black glasses. Blinking back tears and black pus, the Shinra saw only a blur of pain, heard once again the fall of fabric.

When night fell, and he was able to move once again Rufus would find his sole window a broken ruin. A bloody vest carelessly tossed at the foot of the ruin.

The next day when he dared to creep outside his room wrapped all in white he would find Rude drinking coffee. The Turk's arm was perfect match for his president's form. Both were wrapped in white, both seeped red.

"I should apologize… sir."

"Don't bother." Sitting down, numb and ever aching, Rufus would absently take the place besides his Turk. Smiling for the first time since his diagnosis the Shinra even managed a laugh. "Don't bother."

X

A craggy, smoke roughened voice met his demand, and did so unflinchingly.

"They've agreed to let up on the bans. Mako fueled lights, searchlight, even fueled by good ol' fashioned combustion 'ill light the city."

"Very good, Mr. Highwind." Nodding the Turk leaned back into the chair he'd barrowed from the President. It was not some smoke wreathed relic from the Shinra building, rather a rolling chair used by the casual computer gamer. Not that he, a Wutia half son would know about that since he never bothered to play…

"The whole place will be lit up, Reeve's gunna hold the ground with his boys, and some of your SOLDIERS last I heard."

Edge, not Midgar, would be illuminated. That had been agreed. Why bother lighting the ruins of a forgotten dynasty?

"It's the people, Tseng, the people that matter now."

How much like a child he'd sounded when the president had told him that. How hopeful and naive…

"You think walls of solid illumination will keep them out?" He asked.

He was all business, from the missions start to finish he was always business.

Especially when dealing with the enemy and despite what ideals the world held, the Turks and AVALANGE would always be enemies.

He'd not so fast forget the dead of Shinra that lay at the interloper's feet.

"Hell if I know." Came the rasped reply.

Them, was the black, writhing darkness… They had no name, and though only a handful remembered their presence as glowing eyes the prudent recalled the piles of clothing left behind. There were marks, save those of flight. No memories either… Faintly he recalled a city to the north, a place with a name that bespoke of soothing water and utter stillness.

The name though was forgotten, like the people who lived there. And only the fact that Reeve had deliberately sent people out to this forgotten place and left a note out in plain sight told them that there had been search parties sent at all…

No one had returned. The few videos gained only showed darkness with yellow eyes.

Letting out a sigh, the slant eyes Turk ran a hand though his black hair.

"Well we shall hope for the best, as always." Tseng offered.

A pale hope for the gullible, it was so little as to be nothing.

And like a fool this man of AVALANGE took it up.

"Hope, hell, we'll win!" Cid snarled. "No hope about it!"

Tseng didn't even bother to reply.