Beyond Paradise II
Disclaimer: I do not own Yuffie, Vincent, or anything/anybody else in this fiction, they belong to Square Enix. I also don't own previously established fictitious characters such as Moira, Zeb, or Jethro. They were created by the original fan fic's author, tolerant. This is not an "official" sequel by the original author, more like a tribute by me since the original has been discontinued, unfortunately. I am not affiliated with tolerant in any way, shape, or form (other than being a fan, of course).
[10/20/2013 Update: Can't wait to finish this overhaul. Just FYI: I'm planning to relegate all auxiliary characters — expanded-universe Turks, NMI, Max, Questa, Rakk, and ESPECIALLY Cleon — to significantly more minor roles. The story will be re-written to focus much more on the entirety of AVALANCHE, which includes Barret and Red XIII, plus Reno, Rude, and Elena, and tolerant's Jethro. This is what I should've done from the beginning]
Author's note: Oh god. I don't normally do stuff like what I just did, but I actually stumbled upon this cool little Yuffentine manga which gave me LOADS of inspiration, I'm talking the fabled... "hit-like-a-brick" kind of inspiration that amateur writers like me only dream of. I already got both chapters planned out in mind, this first one being more textually descriptive, while the next one being more focused on developmental dialogue and uh... "Yuffentine yumminess."
All that is, was and will be
Universe, much too big to see
Time and space, never ending
Disturbing thoughts, questions pending
Limitations of human understanding
Too quick to criticize
Obligation to survive
We hunger to be alive
Through the Never
-James Hetfield
- Chapter 14: In Pursuit of Lost Kin
"Please stop fidgeting, Captain Highwind."
"Then stop sticking so many needles in me!"
"Captain, you were only given five medically necessary shots in less than half as many days. That's something I would hardly constitute as sticking you full of needles."
"You're so full of shit, it's no wonder your eyes are brown!"
The nurse almost rolled said eyes, but still didn't engage directly. "If anything, I'm surprised you aren't complaining about your tri-hourly potion schedule. Those new brands with the triangle logos are truly dreadful-tasting concoctions."
"Where's Shera and that doctor? Goddamn it! If I ain't being tormented verbally, I gotta be tormented physically, and if it ain't that, it's something else! Can I get a goddamned break? You're just here to torture me, ain't ya? I bet you're related to a brat named Yuffie!"
"Mr. Highwind, please, no need to raise your voice. I'm more than qualified to take care of you while you recuperate. I am a licensed vocational nurse, after all. You need to stay in bed as much as possible or —"
"You listen here, missy! If I'm well enough to drag my own ass all the way to the bathroom to do my business without anybody's help, you can bet yours that I'm well enough to get out there and give those bastards we're at war with a piece of my ****ing mind!"
"Which is precisely the reason you won't heal as quickly and thoroughly because you won't stay in bed. The best and fastest way to help your friends is to calm down, lay down, and recover as well as you can so you can do what you feel you have to do in the quickest, most efficient and safest way possible."
Cid groaned after trying to sit up, his stomach still wrenching. "I tell you, I'm fine!"
It didn't take much longer for the nurse to finally realize that every retort she could ever offer against such a boisterous patient would just go in one ear and out his other. She eventually took to keeping her mouth shut as much as possible during her short shift. After finally getting Cid to take his injection, she moved to tend to her other two patients, Barret and Nanaki. She ignored the captain's annoying noises of frustration, and just prayed that Shera would wake up soon to relieve her of duty.
All who were within the covered back of the vehicle bobbed occasionally from side to side due to the uneven roads. Cloud, Tifa, and Jethro sat silently on one side of the lead supply truck's cargo hold, their gazes down their noses or watching the ruins of Midgar passing by. The three had nothing to say, nor were they allowed to because of the barrels of several guns pointed at them.
His weapon having been confiscated, Cloud was free to leave his arms crossed. Since embarking on the truck, he had mentally tortured himself for letting his team down. He just couldn't believe he was stupid enough to let this happen, he thought. A part of him had known that this was bound to happen, but still he'd lead the suicidal operation with gusto. On impulse, he had waltzed straight up to the enemy base without a proper plan beforehand, hoping that the fates would've taken pity on their cause. Unsurprisingly, the opposite had happened, and Cloud began to question his leadership skills more than he had ever before. Skills, Cloud then thought sarcastically. At those times when the others looked to him for what to do next, his plans had often been impetuous, and on the spot; nothing much better better than what hundreds of thousands of other men and women on the Planet would've likely come up with in his position. Honestly, Cloud much preferred the other times when AVALANCHE decided things by committee. Sure, everyone just stood or sat around — sometimes for up to an hour on end — seemingly trading five insults for every valid proposal put forward, but it worked. Those brainstorming sessions had may have been a tad annoying, and sometimes even felt unproductive, but they were much more welcome in comparison. Now that he thought about it, they also ended up being executed and completed much closer to their original blueprints than his own self-concocted schemes alone.
Being the chief of field operations was not really something he'd ever specifically asked for. Though, to his credit, Cloud thought, he had at least tried to refuse it. There had been no small amount of reluctance from his part back when, during their months of hunting down Sephiroth, it started to become increasingly clear that the role of leader kept being dropped onto his lap by the others faster than Cloud himself could push off the burdensome weight each time. In whatever case, he wished Barret or Cid were there. Both were far more experienced and better qualified for the job, but it was Barret who held Cloud's utmost, though unsung, regard.
If Cloud Strife was the one who lead the group from the front for all their enemies to behold, it was Barret Wallace who was the brains behind AVALANCHE, despite what his rugged attitude and hooligan exterior might imply otherwise. He had been the original leader of Sector 7's incarnation of AVALANCHE, after all, and for good reason. Sure, Jessie had been the technology expert, and Wedge and Biggs knew far more about engineering, and very basic computer interfaces, than Barret bothered to learn, but there had been someone who organized all those successful missions before Cloud even came into the picture. There had been someone behind all those complex missions who lead such fine minds, and brought them together in the first place. It still slipped his mind more than it should have, but each time the realization returned to him, Cloud couldn't help but still be a little surprised, and impressed, that it was Barret who'd made sure that those missions accomplished what they were meant to, if not having ended up costly in doing so. Barret Wallace was an idealist who did what it took to get things done. It was this very reason for why, back during AVALANCHE's world-spanning Sephiroth hunt, Cloud sometimes called Barret via PHS when their group was split. Those solemn phone calls, which were always out of the others' earshot on both ends of the line, weren't so much to check in with Barret's team as it was to ask the older and wiser man for advice. Thankfully, he'd always sympathetically and patiently — albeit curse-fully — obliged. His invaluable ability to blur the narrow-minded lines of Option A and Option B, coupled with his big brotherly mentorship, ultimately pulled Cloud and whichever team he had been heading that moment through some tough times. The true friend that he was, Barret never mentioned any of such to the others, and was always just a PHS call away. He'd learned so much from him, and was learning still. It was the least Cloud could do to do whatever it took in return to wake him from his coma.
Cloud sighed at the conclusion of his meditative monologue. After that, he glanced at Tifa. She'd been volun-told to sit farthest away from him. Even with an expressionless Jethro staring into nothingness obstructing Cloud's view, he could make out the look on her face. Worry, sorrow, uncertainty, and other things were what he could sense, all just pulling the blonde swordsman deeper into the figurative mud he'd thrown himself in.
Looking on intently was Zeb Mahonney, who sat directly opposite from the trio. He was eerily quiet, much to the discomfort of his old ally, Jethro. Not knowing what to expect from their captors, the three prisoners could do nothing constructive, but wonder. Unbeknownst to these prisoners, the wonder was universal.
"Where should we go, Vincent?" Yuffie asked, panting. They'd both been sprinting nonstop through streets, alleys, rooftops, and balconies for almost twenty minutes straight. In one hand was her Conformer, at the ready, in case of another encounter with anybody, or anything, hostile. That was actually the only reason they'd lost sight of the convoy. They'd been forced into skirmish after skirmish against random patrols of rebels, and even pockets of all the inquisitive monsters that had emerged from their hiding places due to the noise gripping the city. She kept her other hand over her side, suppressing a cramp that had long since developed. It was draining trying to keep up with Vincent. Normally she would be complaining to take a rest, but the lives of her friends may have very well depended on Yuffie and Vincent keeping track of the convoy. Up ahead, she saw him stop by the entrance of the alleyway. He didn't even look tired, she silently complained in her head, whereas she herself had lagged about eight seconds behind him.
Vincent glanced back and forth between the two directions. The first to the left was an extremely long continuation of alleyway. The right showed the street that the convoy should have recently traveled. "This way," he called back to her. He then disappeared leftwards around the corner.
Yuffie practically skidded at the fork, but her body still hit the wall. She pushed off and followed after him. As she tailed him, her eyes focused on the flaps of his cloak. It was her attempt at dulling her attention to exhaustion. "Are you sure we're going the right way?" Yuffie asked, her voice echoing from the acoustics of the alleyway.
"Don't give up, Yuffie!"
She spat at his very Vincent-like attempt at encouragement. "Easy for you, Mister Super-Duper-Experiment-Man-Beast-Demon-Guy!" she shrieked between huffs.
Moments later, he slowed down. He then looked up to the right side at something she couldn't see. Afterwards, he waved his hand once, a gesture for her to pick up the pace, before he disappeared again. She nearly slid to the ground when she arrived in the very same spot he had just left. She was now able to see what he'd been looking at earlier. There was Vincent, already high up a set of wide, though dangerously steep, concrete stairs with wrecked chain-linked fences of either side. Yuffie threw her arms up and let out a loud, frustrated groan before following after him as fast as her taxed body could take her. The stairs only went on for the equivalent of about six building floors, but to Yuffie, they dragged on forever. The steps were also treacherous, what with all the rubble and debris littering it. Parts of some of the steps themselves were even missing, broken off. She lost her footing several times during the ascent, but managed nonetheless. Once at the top, she stopped behind Vincent, body slouched with her hands on her knees.
"Do you see them?" Yuffie asked.
Vincent was leaned over the concrete guard railing to observe the street below. A nod was his answer.
"Wait, we actually caught up with them?" She joined Vincent at the railing and caught sight of the first two trucks of the convoy turning into the very long, surprisingly unobstructed avenue. By the convoy's speed, it looked to be about a minute or so's wait before they'd be in range for whatever they were going to do. The duo surveyed their surroundings, trying to get an inspiration or idea. "Oh, screw this!" said Yuffie. "Let's just jump down there and kick their asses!"
"Too many."
"What? Who cares? Just turn into Hellmasker, or whatever, and tear them all apart! I'll be there to back you up every second, I swear!"
"I'm sorry, Yuffie. My shape-shifting isn't as accessible as your, or the others, Limit abilities."
"Well, then why don't you just do that hopping, ghostly cloak-thing you do? You could jump in and pick up — uh, all three of them — at the same time, and, uh —" She practically crumbled at the deathly glower he was giving her. She then looked down at the cloth wrapped tightly around his thigh. "O-oh, yeah," she said, tittering nervously while rubbing the back of her neck. "It doesn't exactly make you bullet-proof, does it? Plus, I guess, three people would be a little heavy, huh? Hey, you could always just leave Jethro behind!" She forced an innocent grin.
Vincent ignored her as she spoke. Deciding they still had a moment before the convoy was within reach, he hovered his hand over his thigh and cast Cure yet again. He resisted the urge to groan in frustration. It wasn't so much that it hurt. Cure had just always been a lengthy spell. Judging by their situation, he would only have enough time to give his wound a brief patch-up; just enough to temporarily reconnect some torn muscles and stop the worst of the bleeding. In fact, that's what he'd been doing for the last hour during every pause they could spare. These patch-ups were the only things that had allowed him to sprint for so long through the excruciating pain. It was good fortune that there were no bullet fragments in him either. They had just went in one side and right out the other. His heightened healing factor from Professor Hojo's experiments was also a huge help, no doubt, but it couldn't exactly kick in at full throttle since he was constantly on a high of adrenaline.
"They're getting closer," Yuffie said. "God, what I wouldn't do for a Time materia right now. Vincent, what's the plan? Hey, I'm talking to you! We're going to lose them again! Come on, we have to do something!"
Vincent ignored her, using their last seconds to study the area instead of healing his wound or listen to her complain. There was a two-story building opposite them. It was particularly decayed compared to the others, and looked like it could crumble with enough force. He decided against it, though. It would've been better while the convoy was still out of sight. As it were, their enemies would plainly see that a building collapsing seemingly just out of nowhere, conveniently in front of them as they were making their retreat — with two AVALANCHE members still known to be on the loose, no less — would be far from mere coincidence.
Yuffie immediately understood his intention, having had followed his studious gaze at the building parallel. However, she couldn't read minds. With forethought nonexistent, she suddenly stood with gold-glowing fists. Before Vincent could stop her, she unleashed the first ranged spell that had come to her mind: Matra Magic, courtesy of her Enemy Skill materia.
A brilliant storm of yellow, almost rocket-shaped projectiles shot out from the barrier of light around her palms. They screamed through the air into the targeted building. The building exploded more than crumbled, but at least the avenue became blocked enough that the convoy couldn't just maneuver around. The vehicles screeched to a halt just as Vincent and Yuffie ducked down behind the concrete out of sight. It was then that Yuffie gave a feared look to Vincent, who glared back at her in reprimand. Vincent then unslung his Death Penalty from his shoulder, and peered through the cracks of the concrete guard railing. People with automatic rifles poured out of the backs of the trucks, and disembarked from the jeeps. At the command of one of their officers, they scattered to find cover.
"There's so many," Yuffie said. There looked to be no less than forty enemies in total, but nobody had come out from the back of the lead truck where Cloud, Tifa, and Jethro supposedly were. "What do we do?" she asked Vincent.
He continued to kneel silently, thinking. He noticed Yuffie was huffing slightly as she stared at him, waiting for an answer. Her labored breathing combined exhaustion, fright, rage, and desperation. They were unsurprising traits of a teenager. He decided that he would have to attempt to settle her down, so he started to explain their predicament slowly and in more simplified detail so as to reduce the chances of misinterpretations.
"Yuffie, please understand," he said. "The cold, hard truth is that we just can't rescue them by ourselves, not without a severe risk to our own well-being, and theirs. We need help. I know that we don't exactly have a large selection of allies to choose from, but we won't even know who'd such exist unless we take more time to explore every option. We must, as there are far too many odds in the enemy's favor. Much more than we originally thought. There's something much grander in the works here. This operation is too organized and well-equipped to just be some anti-AVALANCHE protest group. Now, they're aware that they're being followed. That's not good. What we should've done was follow them without giving away our presence, then find out where they're going, and finally formulate an intelligent strategy from there. If we just get ourselves killed here, Barret, Nanaki, and Reeve we will never wake up, and Cloud and Tifa will be lost to suffer whatever cruel fate Mahonney has in store. If Cid even manages to survive, well . . . he, Shera, and Cait Sith would have few, if any, places to turn to if and when this protest group decides to become more aggressive than they already are."
Yuffie looked at Vincent intently, slightly shocked at such a speech from the normally quiet gunslinger. Nevertheless, she allowed the words to sink in. Honestly, she believed that if Vincent Valentine spoke more than two sentences at a time, it had to have been something to take seriously.
"You're right, I'm . . . I'm sorry, Vincent."
He nodded.
"But, it's all my fault," she said. "It's because of me that they know we're here now. They know now that the last two people alive able to stop them, us, are trying to stop them."
He cupped her face with his good hand. He then gently turned her to face him, wiping away one of the tears from her cheek with his leather-gloved thumb. "Don't worry," he said. "I have a plan."
She knew the blush in her face was noticeable, but she found herself unable to break from his gaze in order to hide it. The red hue in his eyes was mesmerizing. "W-what are we going to do?" she finally managed to ask.
"We're going to fake our deaths."
Her eyes lit up. "How?"
"Just follow my lead. First thing is first, though. Get ready to fight. We're hitting them with everything we've got."
It was then that they heard the sound of engines starting up. Peeking through the cracks again, they saw that the convoy was backing up to head back in the direction they came from.
"Okay, let's go!" Yuffie said. She stood with Vincent to begin their attack, but were forced to duck down again when bullets ricocheted all around them. Several of the rebels had hidden themselves inside the ruined storefronts below.
"Oh, you think you're so clever, huh?" Yuffie roared.
Vincent tugged at Yuffie. He then led them down the walkway, keeping low behind the concrete. By then, the rest of the guards had disembarked from the trucks and jeeps to join in the attack. Four of them made their way up a flight of steps near Yuffie and Vincent in an attempt to flank them, but were quickly dispatched with quick, well-aimed shots from Vincent's rifle.
Below on the street level, Cloud turned his head towards the back of the truck, same as Tifa and Jethro.
"Yuffie and Vincent," Tifa said, worried.
Cloud saw this as his chance to redeem himself. He figured he could exploit the confusion of the situation to subdue the sentries holding them. He imagined himself simultaneously punching two of them in their crotches, then moving on to kick a third in the crotch, simultaneously punching a fourth in the chin, while taking the third's rifle with his free hand. He would then use said rifle to somehow neutralize the last five without being shot himself. His fantasy of the scenario culminated with a triumphant knockout blow to Zeb Mahonney's face as he begged for mercy. With that, he quickly shot up.
To his credit, Cloud got impressively far. At a brief point, Tifa even stepped in to help to dispatch one before she was hit in the side of her face by the butt of a rifle. For Cloud, the plan was working fine up until the fourth guard. He was half a second away from grabbing the rifle, but he had gotten himself distracted by the unimpressed look the second guard was giving him — Cloud didn't expect that guard to be so, well, female — and then a fifth guard used his own tactic against him. Cloud was shoved back into his seat to groan and hiss, wide-eyed, his hands desperately trying to stop the pair of Pac-men in his pants from dancing the Macarena.
Holding her facial bruise, Tifa stared daggers at the guards before them. How strange, she thought. Despite the ruckus outside, the guards never strayed their watchful gaze over the trio to begin with. They thought their enemies were supposed to be a mishmash of untrained militia, but their professionalism was evidence against it. They had better equipment and even body armor. They looked much more fit, and each even had personal shoulder radios, unlike all the others they'd seen before. Then it hit her. With the way these particular "rebels" carried themselves — the firearms proficiency, the respect for authority, and the staunch dedication in their duties — they had to have had extensive military training. It all started to make a lot of sense.
Cloud managed to come to the same conclusion, despite the weird, unnatural pain pulsating in his grip. His initial presumption of these "inner-circle elite" just being a part of the random jumble of country boys and girls from sleepy little villages was just the tip of the iceberg. Now that he really thought about it, he recognized the patterns and terminologies they used. He had been a part of them, after all, once upon a time. Could it really be possible, however? Millions of former employees had renounced the world-monopolized corporation once it capsized. It was all over the news. But there were always rumors. There had always been whispers in the taverns and bars that too many still were unaccounted for, and that the company was, in the shadows, somehow trying to return from the dead. It certainly could explain what became of some of those grunts and jarheads who didn't turn to other fields of employment, especially the ones not in Midgar during Meteorfall.
"Shinra." The company name fell off his lips in earnest.
"They're over this way!" called out one of the rebels. "Hurry, we can get them cornered!"
Fifteen followed the woman into the alley. They ran all the way down towards the remains of a chain-linked fence ahead. Before reaching the fence, they heard a female scream. It was followed by much rumbling, then a huge crash. Dust rose beyond the fence, just starting to settle once they reached it. They stared down below at a waterless gully which ran down a short way into a tunnel, the entrance of which looked as if it had recently collapsed. The scene they looked upon was hilarious to them.
"Aw," one of the rebels said, sarcastically. She even pouted before bursting into an infectious laughter.
Beneath an enormous pile of collapsed rocks and rubble, a lifeless arm stuck out from the side, still clutching onto the gigantic shuriken weapon that had taken the lives of possibly dozens of their fellow rebels. A few yards beside the limb was a body draped beneath a red cape. They found the irony in this quite humorous, as it reminded them of how one was obliged to drape some sort of shroud over a corpse as a sign of respect.
"Wait," one of them said, cutting their laughter in half. "Look at Valentine."
He was slowly and clumsily rising up, his back towards the rebels. They all changed the magazines of their automatic rifles to filled ones.
An impertinent overkill, they bombarded the area with volley after volley. Bullets ripped into the back of Vincent before he even got to his knees. He spasmed at the attack before laying still, face-down, on the ground. The blood from Vincent's corpse and Yuffie's arm then began to puddle in the gully. At that, the mob turned around and left.
Back in the rear of the prisoner transport, a shoulder radio on one of the guards crackled.
"Shiva Two, this is Shiva Two-Three," said a voice from the radio. "Come in, over."
"Shiva Two-Three, Shiva Two. Give me a sit-rep, over."
"Kisaragi and Valentine have been neutralized. Repeat, Kisaragi and Valentine have been neutralized, over."
Shiva Two smiled at Zeb and the others, who all looked like a weight had been lifted off their chests. "Solid copy, Two-Three," she said. "Good job. Regroup on the convoy, over."
"Copy, Shiva Two. En route. Out."
Cloud couldn't believe what he just heard. His eyes were wide in disbelief, and a part of him held onto the possibility that there was some sort of glorious mistake in the works. Tifa was, morbidly, more accepting. Her words shattered, and a waterfall of tears ran down her face. She buried her head in her palms. Her sobs were the only audible noises in the entire vehicle, save for the heavy breathing of one of the guards. Breaking his stare into oblivion, Cloud finally managed to turn his head to his childhood friend. He hadn't seen Tifa cry like that since Aeris' murder. He wanted to hold her, but once again, Jethro was in the way. He stared at him coldly. Once he understood, Jethro hesitantly looked over to his ex-boss, his ex-friend.
Zeb stared back for what felt like a whole minute before he rolled his eyes. Defiantly, he turned to Cloud and motioned his hand towards Tifa. At that, Cloud and Jethro traded seats in the now-moving vehicle. Cloud then took the wailing woman in his arms. Together, they mourned the passing of the oldest and youngest members of AVALANCHE: Vincent Valentine, and Yuffie Kisaragi.
Cloud still held a feeling deep inside that things were not what they seemed. He held faith that his conception about the superior survival skills of AVALANCHE's two black sheep were correct. Keen for a sign of his hope, he watched the decayed vestiges of Midgar pass by through the back of the truck. It was easy, seeing as how their truck was now at the rear due to the convoy's reverse in direction. It didn't take long for Cloud's anguish to be wiped clean. He struggled to hide his smile, as to not draw attention to the source of his burden's demise. There, in the distance, was a watchful specter returned from the dead; cloak-less at the time, but the same person nonetheless. He knew they were harder to kill than that. Once the specter shrank from sight, Cloud gently kissed the top of Tifa's head.