This story takes place in the year 1987 – approximately twenty years before Meteorfall.
It was a quiet winter evening, December the 24th in a small town a few miles outside Midgar. Prayers and incense wafted up on the cold winter air toward the heaven and the God they directed their thoughts to this night. The collected congregation knelt before the altar, quietly murmuring a plea for reconciliation. One extra voice joined them, a lone man cleverly hidden in his black suit.
"Most merciful God, we confess that we have sinned against thee, by thought word and deed – by what we have done, and by what we have left undone." Or what we are about to do, the suited man added to himself, glancing to the massive stained glass window above the altar. It was a picture of their saviour, arms extended welcomingly to anyone. You don't wanna welcome me, mate. Not like you have a choice, though.
"We have not loved you with our whole heart; we have not loved our neighbors as yourself. We are truly sorry and we humbly repent." The man in the suit crossed himself, a mockery of the action but a moment of true sincerity regardless as he checked to make sure that the one thing he needed to carry out his plan was still safely in place – which it was. Forgive all of us for what we are about to do.
"For the sake of your son Jesus Christ, have mercy on us and forgive us, that we may delight in your will and walk in your ways, to the glory of your name – Amen." The priest, a nice enough looking man, gave a blessing to the people at large, and then gave the man his cue – though the poor man of the cloth had no idea.
"The peace of the Lord be always with you."
"And also with you," the man mumbled, standing and taking a step away from the pew he'd been sitting in. A glance back to the door and he saw that all was prepared. He made his way to the front of the church, gave the priest a smile and a handshake, and then waiting until no one was watching.
Turning to face the altar, he took the flare gun out from his waistband and pointed it directly up to the large drying-out wreath that hung in the center of the chancel. "Requiescat en pace."
The building was ablaze only moments later. The man in the suit was nowhere to be seen.
"Shit, we're too late." A sleek black car came skidding up to the city borders of Palm Springs, and smoke was already clearly visible on the horizon, blocking out whatever stars could be seen. Five bodies in black suits came scrambling out and immediately took off running.
"Adam, Anna, Seth – go check the perimeter. Catch any Shinra operative and drag them back to the car, dead or alive," the leader barked.
"Fucking shit, Jaren," the one left standing next to the leader hissed. "Sending Turks to clean up Shinra work?"
"Trust me, Tobias," the leader said, red hair flicking back and froth in front of his face in the breeze. "It's not on Shinra orders that we're here. Come on, we have to see if we can get anyone out of here."
The reaction to the Turks was almost immediate. One man, barely breathing from smoke inhalation, came and gave a valiant swing at the leader Jaren's chest. "What the hell are you lot doing here?" he choked out. "Did you start all of this?"
"Start it?" Jaren responded, confused. "How do you mean?"
"Shinra's the one killing the town – Shinra men in black suits, just like the lot of you."
Jaren's eyes just narrowed. "Shit, Jaren," Tobias murmured. "Using our own uniform against us."
"It means Heidegger knew," was Jaren's immediate response. He caught the man by the shoulder. "Quick, tell me – where did the fires start?" The man couldn't speak any longer, but he managed to point them in the direction of the church.
Tobias' eyes grew wide. "Jaren – that's the church Jack Sinclair works at." The two took off like a bolt, running for the church. The entire building was engulfed, and Jaren could only just barely make out the traces of piano wire stretched across the door. His chest felt cold despite the heat of the flames. They had trapped the entire town in the church, and then set it aflame. This was sick, even by Shinra standards. A woman lay at the doorway, desperately clinging to life. Jaren ran to her.
Meanwhile, Tobias had found the priest of the church laying on the ground several yards from the church proper. "Father Sinclair!" Toby fell to his knees next to the man, who was bleeding badly and holding a torn piece of the altar cloth over something. "Father, are you okay?"
The priest shook his head. "No...but am I blessed to see you, Tobias." Even through the pain, the man could manage a smile. "You must do me a favor."
"We have to get you out of here, Jack – we have to get you to a hospital." Toby was already tearing off pieces of his button-up to wrap around the man's cuts.
Jack just waved him off weakly, shaking his head. "You can't worry about me, Tobias. I'm not long for the world." Only then did Toby see the spreading bloodstain on the man's torso. He'd been stabbed – and badly. "I need you to do something for me; it's my dying wish that you do."
"Anything...anything." Toby's voice was soft; he'd never been a religion person, but Jack Sinclair was the one man that could make him believe – he'd been a bit of a father figure, though they were almost close enough in age to be siblings.
"Make sure he gets out of here safe." The priest moved a corner of the altar cloth to reveal the face of a young boy, red hair frighteningly similar to both Jack and Jaren's, no more that four or five years old.
Toby took a sharp breath in. "Your son..."
"I got him safely from the church. He was small enough to miss the piano wire, though I wish I could say the same for his mother." Tobias' eyes flickered to the door of the church, where he could see his superior kneeling. "You must get him safely from this town. I don't know what Shinra thinks we've done, but I can assure you that Nevi had nothing to do with it. Please, Tobias...for me."
"Of course," he said quickly, scooping the nearly-unconscious boy into his arms cloth and all, slipping his cycling goggles – a nearly constant piece of apparel for the Turk – over the boy's eyes to try and shield him from the smoke. "What's his name?"
"Nevada. Nevada Renaldi." The man winced. "Please, Tobias – don't let him be here when I pass. I...I want him to be spared that pain." Tobias just stood and nodded.
"Rest well, Father," he said softly to the man before him. "We'll see each other again."
"Death is but the next veil we pass through, Tobias," the priest responded with a smile. "We shall all be together again on the other side." As Tobias walked away, he could hear the man begin reading himself Last Rites, and he couldn't help the wave of nausea that hit him.
By the time he got to the car, the rest of the team was there, completely empty-handed. Jaren walked up, looking particularly unimpressed. "Nothing?"
"They're all dead or gone, boss," Anna responded. "Looks like a run-or-die to me."
Jaren closed his eyes and took a deep breath before turning to Toby. "And what is this?"
"Not what, you ninny. Who." He brought back the cloth again to show the boy's face. "It's Nevada Sinclair, the priest's son. We have to keep him safe."
"We can take him to an orphanage in Midgar." Jaren moved to get into the car, but stopped when he saw the look on his second's face. "What?"
"What do you mean, what? He's the same age as your son; why don't we just take him back to Midgar and keep him with us? You knew the Sinclairs almost as well as I did – we can't just leave their son to some second-rate orphanage!"
"Then we won't take him to a second-rate orphanage," the leader replied dryly. "Mary asked with her dying breath that her son be taken care of. Staying with the Turks is no way to be raised."
"Don't see you giving up your son anytime soon," Tobias grumbled.
Jaren's eyes flashed as they turned on his second. "My son was meant to live with his mother, if you'd remember, Tobias. Unfortunately, that particular plan did not quite come to pass, now did it?" Toby was silent. "He has one remaining parent – myself. Thus, he lives with me. Nevada has no parents and thus will go to the orphanage. If you insist, you may pick one to your own specifications and then I revoke any rights you would have to complain about it."
The fight lost already, Tobias just slipped into the far back of the car with the boy and stayed silent after directing Jaren to the best orphanage he knew of. It had better be enough, Toby thought.
"Don't worry, Nevada," he said softly, brushing the boy's hair out of his face. "No matter what, I'll always keep an eye on you. I'll find a way to live up to the promise I gave your father. I have to." He snugged the goggles down on the boy and prayed to a god he'd never really believed in to keep the poor boy safe.