Hojo unlocked the triple bolt on his door and stepped inside his dark, bare house. Dusting snow from his head, he pulled off his trenchcoat and stamped his feet a few times. Snow settled to the floor, coating it with white. Hanging the jacket haphazardly in the closet, Hojo did a hurried walkthrough of all the echoing rooms and hallways in his home.
Finally, he was satisfied that no one had been or was on the premises. He checked to be sure that all of the heavy velvet drapes were closed and flipped the cover of his wall-mounted climate control. Hojo keyed for nineteen degrees and fifty percent humidity. A breath of slightly musty air touched the back of his neck. He snapped the thermostat cover closed and turned around. The concealed door under the stairwell stood open, its dark mouth yawning open like some species of monster born in a child's imagination.
Hojo smiled, pleased with the comparison. Indeed, that was his business - birthing new realities. But monster was such a crude word, fit for the likes of the common rabble. He preferred to think of his creations as theories - things to be thought up, made tangible, and perfected. Hojo stepped forward into the dark stairwell, heading for his underground laboratory. The door swung shut behind him.
The first indication of something gone awry was the smell of smoke. Hojo always kept his laboratory impeccably clean and sterile. As he entered, a slowly smoldering pile of ash greeted him. A little ways behind the cinders sat a ransacked filing cabinet.
Hojo stared in disbelief. What had occurred? Something so far out of his calculations could not possibly happen. He always planned for everything, was never surprised, never let his own work outwit him.
With a sick feeling in his stomach, Hojo reached for the light switch and jammed it up. Harsh blue light poured down on his lab bench. The one where he'd strapped the flailing monstrosity, who had died minutes later. The one that was now empty, the straps hanging shredded and limp off the sides. All that was left was a picture, torn in half. Hojo moved to the bench and picked up one of the halves. Written across it in drying blood were six words:
What have you done to me?
Trembling with fear, the scientist picked up the other half. It had only two words, scrawled underneath those furious crimson eyes.
No mercy.
x-x-x
The moon hung in the sky, dropping ribbons of silver into the artificial canyons between buildings, casting sharp shadows on the crumbling facades of the concrete structures. The city drowsed; only fugitives and the exiles of society were out in the cold of the night.
Vincent was both.
Crouching on a rooftop with his head resting in his hands, he resembled an eagle, tucked within its wings and brooding in the long hours before dawn. A sliver of moonlight lay in front of Vincent, taunting him with its luminosity and reminding him again of what he'd lost.
Slowly, he pivoted on his heels and turned his back on the light. He crept to the edge of the building and slid down the drainpipe, landing softly on the ground. The wind had picked up, blowing clouds across the leering face of the moon and throwing a shroud of darkness on the city. Vincent shivered. The crimson cape he wore billowed in the wind and did nothing to assuage the chill.
Glancing about, he crossed the empty street to the building directly opposite. Vincent crouched down, wedging himself into the corner where the tall wooden doors met the stone walls, and pulled the tatters of his cloak around him.
He did not notice the pink ribbon come sailing in on the wind to alight near his feet.
x-x-x
Four Turks were making their rounds of the ShinRa building when the call came in.
"Find him. At all costs – even his life. Or yours."