A/N: No matter what game you play, Sephiroth is a douche. Personally, I've never considered Cloud and his relationship to be anything but a power struggle. So don't be expecting any romance between them in my fanfic. Your reviews are more than welcome, even if it's constructive criticism. I could use the encouragement.
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It was shortly after supper when Steep found Strife in his room checking his equipment. A bowl of half eaten soup was left on the makeshift table. Noting that his presence wasn't exactly welcomed, Strife had opted to remain behind closed doors. Most of the day had been spent acquainting himself with the layout of the base and surrounding areas by maps he'd collected from a briefing room. When Steep entered, it was a welcome relief to the boredom he'd endured all day.
"Not to your liking?" Steep asked, noticing the bowl.
Sheathing his two swords to hang on his hips, Strife shook his head to negate the thought. "Better than anything I've had. I'm just not hungry," he explained.
"When you're on base, you learn to relish every bite. When you're out in the field, MREs are the only things you'll have to eat." Strife hummed in feigned interest. Surely, MREs couldn't be worse than the bland laboratory diet he'd eaten over the past year. "Anyway, I'm here to escort you to General Sephiroth regarding the march on Summit Peaks tomorrow."
That piqued Strife's interests. General Sephiroth had flown in to the base earlier in the morning. As a respected and renowned SOLDIER, the base had been eagerly anticipating arrival. Strife had heard much about it before he shut himself in his room.
As he followed Steep, Strife admitted that he also looked forward to meeting Sephiroth. While most were unaware of the general's origins, Strife had known from his time spent with professor Hojo. Mostly from the numerous comparisons the biologist made between them. Strife's own design was modeled after Sephiroth's. Like a father. Though, professor Hojo reminded him repeatedly that he was not as successful at creating him as he was Sephiroth. The condemnation only drove Strife to work more arduously to prove that he wasn't a failure. He hoped Sephiroth would see his worth. That he would be less hostile considering their common connection.
"He's inside," Steep informed as they approached a meeting room with closed doors. The key card reader beeped and flashed green when he swiped his card across it, opening the doors. Strife paused, nervous. "The rumors aren't true, you know. He doesn't eat death spawn for breakfast, so you have nothing to fear."
Strife glared deliberately before stepping inside and leaving the second lieutenant behind. The room was dim, the overhead lights off and only a lamp on a solid oak desk casting light. There were two people in the room, one seated and the other in a full SOLDIER First uniform whose face was shielded by his helmet. Presumably the seated man was General Sephiroth, though he was not dressed in a military uniform.
"I will discuss your concerns with General Hewley," Sephiroth told the SOLDIER. "You are dismissed." Strife stepped to the side to allow the SOLDIER to pass and nervously came forward. Sephiroth did not immediately address him, instead surveyed the map spread across the desk, seemingly lost in concentration. Strife patiently waited, studying the structure of the general's face scouting for similarities. They had the same pointed chin and jawline, high cheek bones and narrow brows. The shape and color of their eyes were different, but Strife noted the same cat-slit pupils. If his creation was based on Sephiroth, then perhaps he could earn the same respect and admiration as he. You are a clone and nothing more.
"Strife." Promptly, he stood at attention. Sephiroth regarded him nonchalantly. "You were told that we're leaving for Summit Peaks tomorrow?"
"Yes, General," Strife responded.
"Good. You'll be with 1rst platoon Death Dealers under the Ruby Dragon company, who will brief you on the attack strategy." He said nothing more, to Strife's confusion.
"Yes, sir. Will that be all, sir?" Strife felt that this meeting was a wasted effort if all Sephiroth wanted to tell him was which platoon he was assigned.
"What's your name?" He asked, not looking up from the map he continued to mark. Strife shifted, unsure of how the topic changed so suddenly.
"It's Strife," he replied awkwardly, trying to comprehend the meaning behind the question. Sephiroth had known that, had called him by his name when he entered. Strife didn't figured him to forget so suddenly. The man before him marked a large 'X' on the map before he set his marker down with an exasperated sigh.
"That's the name Professor Hojo gave you, yes?" Strife nodded with a small 'yes sir', and Sephiroth gave curious glance over his body. As uncomfortable as this made him, Strife held his stance. He refused to come off as nerveless in the general's presence. "You've never thought to name yourself?" Though Sephiroth's expression was as apathetic as it usually appeared, his voice held a subtle condescending tone.
Strife faltered for a moment, before responding, "No sir." The thought had never crossed his mind. It was the name given to him when he was brought to a wakeful state, and he had never seen a reason to change it.
It was clear that Sephiroth disapproved, however. "Pathetic. Do you ever think for yourself, or do you always let that man decide how you should live?" When Strife didn't respond, the general continued. "You're just the same as all the other bio-weapons he brings out to the field. Weak and brainless, worth nothing when it comes to tactile battle. Only difference between you and them is you're capable of looking somewhat human," Sephiroth deliberately looked to the abnormal extremities protruding from the blonde's back. It was the same look he received from nearly everyone who was unaccustomed to the way he was engineered. Strife shifted slightly, drawing his wings closer to his shoulder blades, uncomfortable under Sephiroth's lingering gaze. With a slight shrug of his shoulders, the general turned back to the map, reviewing what he had marked. "You're assigned under Major General Altamont, but I believe you know that ultimately I command you."
"You are a general of the Shin-ra army," Strife affirmed.
Finally finished analyzing the map, Sephiroth capped the marker and set it down. He leaned forward, elbows resting on the table while he laced his fingers together before his face. "I assume you have the ability to interpret the meaning behind my words." Strife shook his head, confused. Sephiroth snorted derisively. "Of course not. To put it simply, no matter what orders you are given and by who, my own will always supersede them. Despite what the order is, you will obey even if you don't want to." He beckoned him closer with a few waves of his hand.
Hesitantly Strife approached, his eyes never breaking with the general's gaze. Even with the knowledge of several forms of combated implanted in his memories, he was unprepared when Sephiroth suddenly rose and seized his hair, slamming his face forcefully down onto the desk. He heard the crack first, then felt intense pain emanating from his smashed nose. He bucked against him, grasping the edge of the desk with both hands to push himself up, but Sephiroth held him in place, leaning over to whisper in his ear. "I am faster, I am stronger, I am smarter than you. Your very existence is a waste of time, money, and effort, though... not without any purpose. Be assured that I will find use for you, before your dead body is found with the rest of your death spawn brethren." He released his grip then, and Strife lurched backward. Blood seeped from his broken nose and dribbled into his mouth as he gasped for breath. It smeared across his face when he tried to wipe it away. Sephiroth had resumed his seat, leaning back in his chair while he watched Strife struggle to gain composure. "You are dismissed," the general smirked, tilting his head towards the door. "Tell nobody of this."
Dazed and bewildered, Strife stood with his hands clenched at his sides. They were both created and raised by the same man, suffered many of the same pains, yet Sephiroth showed no compassion. He was still indisputably human and therefor oblivious or callous to the misery Strife still suffered. "That means you can go now," quipped Sephiroth to which Strife was more than happy to oblige him.
Steep had not remained to accompany him back to his room, for which he was grateful. The hallways of the building were deserted as he made his way back outside, the bloody wreck of his face twisting angrily. Gingerly, he touched his nose, feeling the swelling around the break. The bone should mend itself by morning with the advanced healing of the mako in his blood, if he were lucky. In all probability, it would take two or more days to heal, and the bruising would remain much longer. He knew questions would be asked, and he'd have to form a plausible lie.
As the sun began to set below the horizon, Strife made his way back to the barracks. He paused on his way, sighting an outcropping that overlooked the base. Nobody would be there to inquire about his injury, nor make any jeering comments. Deciding it would be best for privacy, he made his way there.
