Chapter Posted: 04/08/2007

Chapter Edited: 06/22/2007


The following takes place between 8am and 9am.
Events occur in real time.


Christine had handed in her report as soon as she had finished working on it roughly five minutes prior. It had taken less time to write it than she'd thought it would; the words had come rather easily to her, despite the difficulty in obtaining such information. Now, they were currently in the conference room, having already given a brief summary of her findings and the room was now buzzing with conversation. She wondered how much longer this entire thing would go on until they finally came to a consensus, eager to leave the office.

Though she had handed in her report, she still had her hardcopy saved onto her computer and had every means to delve deeper into it. Something didn't seem right to her, the prisoner's words roaming around in her mind as she tried to work out what seemed true and what seemed false. She still had her doubts of his innocence, though they seemed much more insignificant now that she had spoken to him.

Finally, when she felt as though the tension in the room couldn't have been cut through by a knife, she rose to her feet once again, gaining everyone's attention almost immediately with the action. Clearing her throat, she adjusted her glasses and spoke firmly and concisely. "In conclusion to my report, I would like to offer to you my opinion on the matter."

"Nonsense!" Schipner exclaimed from where he sat. Christine merely chose to stare ahead of her as he continued with his argument. "She's already biased her judgement by speaking to the prisoner before trial; her opinion could be contaminated, and would contaminate that of everyone else in this room should we hear it."

"I will allow it." Jared stated and Schipner let out an outraged squawk. "She is a psychiatrist; should there be anything detrimental about the prisoner that would make him ineligible to stand trial, then we must hear it."

Christine nodded and began with what she wanted to say. "From what I have read from his file, Squall Leonhart is a greatly disturbed young man. Orphaned at a young age and then trained to fight inside of a Garden, withdrawing himself from other people and the list goes on. It is of my opinion that as a child, he should never have been placed inside of a military building as he was.

"Throughout his adolescence, all he did was train in the Garden, and though he graduated only recently he was forced to take on the responsibility of leading a war against a Sorceress. One would think the person I am talking about has had many battle experiences to be able to lead a military force into a war, but he was only seventeen at the time."

"Your point?" Schipner asked, appearing bored.

Christine paid him no mind. "I'm saying that the Garden might have had a hand in any unstable mechanisms – offensive or defensive – that led to the attack; that is if he was the murderer in the first place."

"But is he capable of standing trial for his crimes?" Schipner asked. "Are you trying to tell us, in your own method, that he is so unstable due to his childhood and treatment in Garden that he cannot own up to his crimes."

Christine blanched slightly, surprised by the sudden question. "Well… no, that's not what I'm saying. From speaking to him today, I find that he is more than capable of being tried in a court of law, but…"

"Good." Schipner said before turning to look at Jared. "Then I motion that we make a decision."

Jared nodded in agreement before turning to look at Christine. "I'm sorry, but I'm going to have to ask you to step outside while we converse."

Christine frowned before Schipner spoke up once more. "This is what you get for making this kind of decision. You should have known of the consequences in the beginning."

Nodding solemnly, Christine headed out of the room, damning Schipner as the door closed shut. She had just been in the midst of asking for more time to analyze him, but the elder man had cut her observations short. There was something odd with the way the man had been acting, but until she could find out what it was, she knew that all she could do was wait.

But that didn't mean she couldn't do something about it.

Her mind made up, she headed back to her office, preparing to look further through the file. If Squall Leonhart was an innocent man, she felt it was her obligation to see to it that the real perpetrator was sought out.


Entering the elevator, he pressed one of the buttons, watching as the doors slid shut in front of him. Though their technology was far more advanced than that of the rest of the world, elevators had proven to be a useful commodity – especially since the hover-pods regulated throughout the city was only capable of seating a small number of people at a time.

Sighing, he noted how his mind had turned to such an insignificant subject. He was head of security – his mind should be focussed on the job, not on stupid details like the continued existence of an electronic box.

He was restless – since the attack earlier in the morning James hadn't been able to think as clearly as he would have liked. Though he was still capable of making decisions if the need arose, he found that his focus was shot and that only happened if he was cooped inside for far too long.

Not to mention the actual identity of the suspect. James thought to himself. Even he had to admit that, had it not been for the man they were currently holding prisoner, no one would be around to arrest anyone for a crime.

Aside from Garden, a select few were privileged enough to know the exact occurrence of the Sorceress War and, though James had not been privy to such vital information, he had overheard the mission regardless – uniformed in an Estharian soldier uniform and positioned outside of the doors in the Estharian Residence for security reasons – though not overly experienced in the monster extermination business, he was a hell of a good shot. Sorceress Possession, Adel, Time Compression, it had come together pretty quickly, but knowing that there was a Sorceress in the future who had wanted to destroy time was a bit disturbing and had kept his mind occupied for a good couple of months before he had finally given up on the thought.

That and the foiled kidnapping attempt... he thought to himself, suddenly embittered by the memory, but pushing it aside for the moment. He couldn't afford to lose whatever focus he had left – he had a new job to carry out.

It had almost been his fault that the kidnappers had almost grabbed the President's niece; had he not been preoccupied with conspiracy theories of the previous war, he would have done his job and not allowed the girl to go off by herself (which was always the case; the girl was a notorious for ditching her guards as the President himself). He wouldn't have allowed the attack to happen, and it was a surprise that President Loire and Leonhart – he had been visiting at the time – hadn't blamed him for the screw up. Instead, they had focused on the kidnappers, trying to figure out their motives.

The only reason he'd been able to stop the kidnappers was by the element of surprise. Leonhart had distracted a good number of them while James had rushed off to prevent the kidnappers from getting away. It had worked, but he still felt guilty about it; he shouldn't have had to have been told to do his job; it should have come about instinctively.

Trying with a lot of difficulty to remove his thoughts from that particular incident, James focused more on what he had spoken about with Jared Ashen. Apparently, the Cabinet Director had had Intel that there was to be an attempted break out later in the day, and had asked him to keep an eye on the prisons in case it wasn't just a rumour. Though thoroughly insulted that he was stuck babysitting the inmates, he figured it'd be a good idea to keep an eye on Leonhart. While Christine's doubts were hardly a concern to him, he still had questions floating around in his mind – questions that he wouldn't mind having the answers to, but knowing that he'd never receive.

After all, if he is guilty, then he'd just lie.

Besides; it would serve to keep his mind off his inner musings.

The elevator dinged and he was off, turning a corner and heading to his security office. While he was no prison guard, he had the necessary jurisdiction to oversee just about anything – for security reasons of course. Though it wasn't necessary to check in on the guards, he figured that he owed them that much – they worked there too and it was a lot easier when they were willing to co-operate.

Opening the doors, he watched as two of the guards swivelled around to face him, nearly a hundred monitors positioned along the far wall and curving towards the door. James still thought it ridiculous that only two guards were stationed at one time – there was no way they'd be able to catch anything.

"I'm just letting you know I'll be keeping a watch out in the cellblocks." James said and they nodded in response, not even bothering to ask him what it was about. The Chief of Security had proven over the past few years that if he needed to keep an eye on things, that was simply what he was going to do. "Give me a holler if you note something suspicious."

Another nod and James was on his way towards the cell block.


For once the area around him was relatively quiet.

Riley hadn't spoken much since before he'd left to be questioned by the Psychiatrist. That in itself was a blessing, though Squall wondered if it could also be mused as an omen. Riley had mentioned he liked to talk a lot.

Currently, he was lying with his hands supporting the back of his head as he stared up at the ceiling of his cell, lost in thought. He was still trying to piece together how he had been framed so successfully, though – like before – he wasn't getting anywhere. He guessed it could be that he was thinking inside of the box a bit too much, or it could also be because he was nearly sleep deprived. Either option wasn't helping his situation.

As he closed his eyes – hoping it would help him concentrate – he heard whispering from his right and couldn't help but listen in. Even without his junctions, he had been trained to be able to pinpoint and focus on a specific sound. The skill came in handy, especially if he was under threat of being ambushed.

But he realized almost as soon as he pinpointed the sound that it was people whispering. Inclining his head towards the right while trying to maintain a façade of sleep, he recognized one of the voices as Butch's. He assumed that he was talking to Lenny on the opposite side of the hall. Despite his belief that nothing of their conversation would be of any use to him, he chose to listen in anyway.

"…those pricks won't know what hit 'em." Butch was saying, his friend nodding excitedly. "the whole thing'll work out, and soon we'll be outta here…"

"The motherfuckers'll be standing there," the lanky prisoner bobbed his head up and down. "scratching their heads like a monkey doin' a math problem."

"Wouldn't talk if I were you." Butch snorted, and his friend laughed all the same.

Squall continued to listen with his eyes closed, but he could already guess what they were talking about – a planned break out. Obviously if that were to happen, the guards would be engrossed with re-apprehending all the escaped prisoners. They'd be distracted long enough for any number of situations to occur.

The SeeD had no doubt the guards were going to accomplish that particular objective. They didn't appear to be stupid; more paranoid actually. They'd obviously have some plan of operation in order to make sure no one got off the property. The worst case scenario would be that a few might get out, but they'd probably be back by the end of the day.

For a very brief moment, Squall considered joining in on the break out. If anything, it'd buy him the amount of time he'd need in order to contact the rest of his team, give them the information he'd managed to come up with and come up with some kind of plan. The downside to the plan, however, was that he was already being accused of terrorist activities. If he attempted to break out, all of his efforts to prove his innocence would be for nothing.

Squall frowned even as he came to this conclusion. No, it was better to wait things out and see what happened in the event that a break out did occur before assessing his options. Waiting was definitely not on the list of things he considered his favourite pastime, but it was his only option.

For the moment at least.

"What crawled up your ass and died?" Riley asked from beside him, jarring the SeeD from his thoughts. Squall opened his eyes slowly and turned his head in order to regard the other cell mate. He had known the silence was just too good to be true.

Riley snorted in response. "You're frowning like you got a bad taste in your mouth."

Squall chose to ignore him – he didn't have to explain himself to anyone, especially a man whom he'd only just met. Unfortunately, Riley didn't seem to take a hint as quickly as everyone else. "I think I know what's bugging you."

Squall spared him another look and Riley met the expression with a knowing one, lowering his voice as he did. "You heard 'bout the break out."

Not exactly, Squall thought to himself, but chose to humour the man and nodded. Maybe then he'd leave him alone.

"Yeah, I'd be worried too." Riley nodded. "Been here for a few dozen break outs. You're wondering if you should participate."

How is he able to read me so well? Squall wondered mentally; worry worming its way into his gut. Not even Rinoa could tell what he was thinking about as accurately as this man.

"Had the same questions running around in my head. Eventually, I chose not to. No point. They'd just track you down again and bring you back. And even if you did manage to avoid 'em, you'd have to live the rest of your life looking over your shoulder."

Also a fact, Squall mentally agreed. But not entirely the reason.

"Ah well," Riley said, pulling himself into a sitting position on top of the bed. "Whatever the reason, I'd say it's best to just stay outta it. If you try and stop 'em, things'll get… unpleasant… around here. I seen what they do to snitches…" Riley jumped in when Squall gave him a questioning look. "Nothin' pretty, that's for damn sure."

As if I didn't know that, Squall thought bitterly, but agreed that it would be better to act the part of the wall-flower. He did it well enough, so there shouldn't be a problem, should everything fall into place.

A whistle sounded from nearby, and it almost had Squall springing into an offensive stance. Had he not caught himself, he most certainly would have. When the whistling subsided, he heard a set of footfalls after the opening and closing of the holding cell doors.

"Looks like it's that time again." Riley said, rising to his feet. "We get one hour of exercise a day, everyday. Don't know why they schedule it this early though, since most people are only just waking up. Guess they don't want us to get lazy."

Squall turned to look away from Riley, just as a loud buzzing noise sounded from close by. The teenager pulled himself into a sitting position as the door to his cell automatically opened, one of the prison guards standing just in front of it. "Okay maggots. Get your asses moving, now!"

Everyone did as told, filling out of their cells and standing in a line along the corridor. Squall noticed that the guard addressing them – a man with greying dark hair fashioned into a military cut – seemed to stare at him for a moment before moving on. He wondered what that was about for about a moment before the guard moved on, shackles gripped in both hands.

Squall watched as the guards in the area strapped each and every inmate together by the arms and legs, the shackles placed on both wrists and ankles. When the guards were satisfied, they nodded at one another before the one doing all the talking spoke again. "Move it, maggots! I ain't got all day!"

After a moment, they were walking down the hall, single file with guards walking along side them. Squall noticed that the guard who had been staring at him was walking along side him and wondered briefly if it was a coincidence. The SeeD didn't really believe in them, though they were bound to happen. But by the look of this man, Squall could tell he had something to hide. It was just a matter of figuring out what exactly.

After a few minutes of walking, Squall found that they were passing through an opened door, the light of the day momentarily blinding him before his eyes were able to adjust. He realized – after taking a few moments to blink – that they were standing in a court yard, the walls surrounding them rising to at least twenty feet tall from what he could see. Each wall had a guard post at every corner, probably to patrol in case someone managed to escape into the court yard. Sketched along the concrete ground was a basketball court and positioned along the edges of the courtyard were benches and exercising equipment, probably to keep the inmates entertained. The more distractions they had, the less likely they were to escape after all.

The guards uncuffed the inmates one at a time and as soon as Squall was free, he headed right towards the nearest bench, sitting hunched over with his gaze on the ground. He had some thinking to do.

Riley apparently had other plans; when Squall found a shadow looming over him, he knew he wasn't going to be left alone. "Wanna play some B-Ball?" Riley asked cheerfully.

The man was beginning to remind him of Zell; the other SeeD's persistence, especially when it came to finding someone to spar with him, was a valuable asset, but at the same time it was excruciatingly annoying. Squall chose to ignore Riley's invitation, but after a moment he could feel pressure being added to his left. This told him that Riley had invited himself to sit next to him.

"You still worried about the break out?" Riley asked. When Squall glanced at him – a silent request for him to get lost – Riley simply looked thoughtful. "No… you're more worried about something else, aren't ya?"

I need to figure out how he's doing this... Squall thought to himself. Frowning to himself, he kept his gaze directed at the ground, wondering exactly how long it would take for Riley to finally take a hint.


8:14:43


From his position at the door, he surveyed the courtyard, as though he was really doing his job, but noted that the two targets were sitting together, one of them talking while the other appeared to just be looking at the ground.

While he appeared stony-faced on the outside, he inwardly smiled; it was definitely them.

Tapping the lapel of his collar while making it look like he was scratching his neck, he activated the microphone stashed underneath it and spoke softly. "They're together. Proceed as planned."

Receiving an affirmative, he deactivated the object and watched, waiting for the fireworks to begin.

A man dressed in a guard uniform put out the cigarette he'd just lit with a muttered cursed. It never failed – operations and shit always happened when he went for a smoke. Happened all the time with the hover-pods, and since he'd never been allowed to smoke on them, he'd always had to waste the precious object.

His kid sister always told him he should quit.

Didn't fucking matter anyway; he knew he was gonna beat cancer.

Moving behind one of the pillars, he pulled out a case and opened it, smiling at the disassembled object before reassembling it, putting together each piece as though he were a man possessed and smiling in accomplishment when he held the sniper riffle in hand. He did it quietly, so as not to attract any unwanted attention as he slid each piece into place. Finally, he attached the scope atop the weapon, and he positioned it over the pillar, well aware that the only one who could see him was the man who had contacted him in the first place.

Looking through the scope, he manoeuvred his position, shifting so that he was able to see his target from his position. It wouldn't help matters if he got the wrong guy, after all.


James was wondering through the cellblocks, keeping an eye on the prisoners when he finally arrived at cell block D, and was unpleasantly surprised to see that everyone was gone. Checking his watch, his frown deepened; it was still roughly an hour before cell block D went outside, but he'd be damned if he could figure out where they'd gone.

He'd finally approached a guard after a few minutes of searching for one and he had explained the guard's agreed to let the prisoners out a little earlier that day. James frowned; it was against protocol to change the schedule so suddenly without alerting higher members of staff; and that included him. James was at the top of security and if a change was to be made he had to authorize it first.

Some numbskull apparently believed he knew better than him.

As he ran straight for the courtyard, James couldn't help but wonder if some of the guards were in on the attempt. It would make sense; change to a bunch of convicts who have spent the last decade or so on the same timeline were bound to become confused by the sudden change of events. If the time for the exercise changed, there was bound to be some chaos. However, his radio remained silent – there was nothing out of the ordinary, besides the time change.

James figured that it was simply because no one had any watches. Watches could be used as weapons or, in some cases, a tool for escape. Of course the prisoners traded for items they wanted all the time or just flat out stole them, but the guards made very sure that there was nothing that could be used as a weapon to their disposal.

But if they'd let the prisoners out earlier – specifically this cell block – and there were guards in on the escape attempt, then who was to say the prisoners would stay weaponless?

James broke out into a run from his steady and speedy walk, hoping that the prisoners hadn't taken the opportunity to implement their plan of escape outside.


By the time his target was in his line of fire, he'd realized that one of them was doing all the talking – the other was just sittin' there like some kinda statue. He didn't know much of the details but he recognized the second figure. He had his own orders, of course, but the fact that he was there as well was enough to make any kinda history.

Course, he wasn't stupid – he wasn't his target after all.

Still, if he managed to kill off the man who was responsible for Sorceress Adel's death, he'd go down in history – both famously and infamously. There were two sides to everything after all – with fame comes ill repute, but that didn't matter. The only thing stopping him from slightly changing his target was what the Adelists might do to his sister as a consequence. His life past this point didn't really matter all that much, but he didn't want his sister to have to pay just because he got cocky.

The scope finally pin pointed his target at dead center – the lines crossing over the man's chest as he laughed at something – probably something insignificant and very unimportant; the other guy just sat there and ignored him. The silencer was placed over the nozzle of the weapon, so there wasn't going to be any warning for the target.

The only thing he didn't like about this plan was that he was supposed to miss. Fuck that shit; he'd never missed a target before by accident. This was going to be the last time he ever did this, so why the fuck should he try to miss now?

Just to know he could?

He wasn't ruining his record over some bullshit reason.

Even as the second guy finally tuned into the conversation, his index finger curved over the trigger button, preparing to fire.


8:16:59


Squall looked up for the first time since he'd sat down on the bench and stared at Riley, who cut himself off from telling another one of those jokes he thought was funny but actually wasn't. Ever since meeting this man, Squall'd noticed how easily the man had been able to read him and it wasn't very settling. Even his friends whom, for the most part, had known him since childhood, hell even Rinoa, whom he told everything, couldn't tell what he was actually thinking all the time.

He stared at him for a moment, trying to get a glimpse of what Riley was thinking – see if he could figure him out just as easily, though he had a feeling it wouldn't be so. He was right; all he could see was confusion, but he could also tell it was shrouding something else. Something he couldn't pin point.

He didn't like this at all.

"Tell me something." He finally said and Riley leaned forward in order to listen better. "How is it that—"

Squall cut himself off, leaving Riley hanging to hear more, but it wasn't intentionally done. He'd caught something reflecting light from the distance and he quickly turned his attention towards the source. Though he didn't have his junctions, he scanned the perimeter with his eyes, hoping to catch sight of what it was. Just when he thought he'd only imagined it though, he caught it again, this time from one of the towers.

He remained seated, knowing that if he were to move he'd give away that he knew they were being watched. He looked up slightly, Riley catching his eye and looking up as well. The other man asked what he was looking at, but Squall ignored him in favour of catching something out of the ordinary. He saw guards standing at their positions along the wall that removed the penitentiary from the remainder of the city, and there were more guards along each corner on the ground. One guard was at the door in case he needed to get security, and on the surface it looked pretty secure.

Except Squall noticed that one of the posts was empty.

Not empty actually, as Squall took a better look. He could see the top of someone's head crouching down behind the wall that kept the guards from falling. He could tell it was one of the guards – the person was wearing the same hat. He was crouching far too long to have been doing up a boot-lace, and they were supposed to be standing at all times. He caught something else as well – light reflecting off a metal surface.

Slowly, he rose to his feet, telling Riley to stay where he was and moved closer, hoping to get a better look. He didn't have to move very far though – he recognized the metal that was poking out one of the stone pillars as the nozzle of a weapon. The same kind of weapon Irvine had used when he'd tried to kill Edea in Deling more than four months ago.

He immediately leapt into action, turning around and grabbing Riley by the arm, shouting at them to get down. A moment later, Riley shouted out in pain – his arm had taken a hit and there was blood on the bench from where he'd been sitting previously.

One of the inmates turned around when he heard the noise and, upon seeing the blood on a bench, he shouted that something had happened. That, in turn, had caused and immediate reaction; everyone in the courtyard erupted into an all out panic.

Squall quickly rose into a crouching position and pointed to where he'd seen the sniper riffle. "Up there!" he shouted, more to direct the guards to the sniper's location. When he saw the guards spring into action, Squall inspected Riley's arm, noting that the shot had been and through-and-through. Nothing serious and the wound could be healed easily, but if he even tried to use magic the guards would be on him quickly. He wasn't even supposed to have magic on him; he hadn't let them know he did and he couldn't give that up now.

"You…" Riley started, but Squall cut him off.

"You need to get to the infirmary." He was stating the obvious, but so what? Though the bullet had passed through Riley's arm, he was still losing a lot of blood. He need to keep him coherent – or as coherent as he could. Sighing, he cursed himself, knowing this was a bad idea, but also knowing he couldn't just leave him there to bleed to death.

He moved into a kneeling position, and concentrated on the curative magic he still possessed before closing his eyes and moving his left hand onto Riley's arm. The other inmate gasped in shock as the curative properties of the spell began to slowly sow the wound back into place, but it was a temporary fix. He couldn't heal it all the way – no magic was capable of that unless it was cast by a Sorceress – but it would have to do. At least he wasn't bleeding heavily anymore.

"What did you…?" Riley started but was once again interrupted.

"You're healed for the most part, but it won't stop the bleeding completely. Go to the infirmary and get it looked at. Go now!"

Riley didn't stick around to argue; simply nodding as he rose to his feet and ran back into the building. The rest of the inmates were trying to manoeuvre passed the guards, but they weren't making very much leeway, and the resulting chaos all around told Squall that this had all been planned for some reason.

But the question remained; was the sniper trying to kill him or Riley?

Adding it to the list of unanswered questions in his mind, he knew he couldn't let any of these prisoners escape. Guilty or not, they were considered dangerous and had to be kept where they were, for the safety of the citizens. He wasn't going anywhere – there was the investigation of his innocence to be proven. If he stuck around and something else happened, they couldn't hold him accountable.

But even still, the guards were going to need assistance rounding up everyone who was attempting to escape.

Guess staying out of it is no longer an option, he mused to himself bitterly. Though he wasn't junctioned, that didn't mean he couldn't hold his own against the other prisoners. He had speed on his side at least.

Noting that the guards seemed to have the situation outdoors under control, Squall raced back inside, wondering if the chaos had reached the indoors just yet.


James was just turning the corner that would lead him to the courtyard when his radio came alive again. He pressed the talk button on his sunglasses and responded immediately. "Talk to me."

"There's just been an attempt on one of the prisoner's lives." One of the guards answered. "We're out in the courtyard right now!"

"This wouldn't have happened if you hadn't pushed the time ahead by an hour!" James snapped back but calmed himself. He couldn't afford to lose his temper. "Was the attempt successful?"

"Negative! The injured received a hit to the arm. One of the inmates – the same one who saved his life – looked it over and sent him to the infirmary."

"Was it Leonhart?" James asked.

"Negative. The injured's serial number is 214563 – from what I got from the back of his shirt. According to the records, his name's Riley Donaldson. Was busted for robbery and manslaughter."

"Do you think it's someone with a grudge?" James asked.

"If so, they've got a pretty huge one with him." The guard answered. "Donaldson's been here for the last seven years."

James frowned. It was very unlikely that, even given a grudge, someone would try to kill him now. If the attempt was going to happen, it would have happened a very long time ago. No, it had to be something else.

"What about the second inmate." James asked at length. "The one who helped Donaldson. Who was it?"

If James' suspicions were correct, then that meant Donaldson wasn't the target. It could only be confirmed, however, by knowing who was with Donaldson when he was shot.

"The serial number of that inmate is 592032 – that's the number displayed on his shirt. According to our records, that guy was…" the guard paused, obviously checking it out on the remote computer each guard had to carry in order to identify serial numbers of the prisoners and match them up to the data base. This information was always taken as soon as the prisoner was admitted, so there was always information on any of the inmates, regardless of how soon they'd arrived.

Finally the guard spoke up. "592032 – that's Squall Leonhart's serial number."

James slapped himself in the forehead. He hated it when he was right. "Where is he now?"

"He's not here anymore!" the guard said at great length. He had probably attempted to search him out. "He must have gone back inside – no one could have gotten passed us."

"Leonhart's a SeeD, but you're probably right. Less confusion inside the building rather than outside." James sighed. "I'm already inside the building, so I'll search for him. You continue to look for the sniper."

"Yes sir." The guard responded before James switched to all channels.

"Attention all prison personnel, there has been an attempted murder on one of the prisoners. Shut down the prison and detain any and all prisoners found outside their cell blocks. This is not a drill, repeat, this is not a drill!"

He increased his speed, running passed the courtyard – he didn't need to go there anymore – even as he spoke. "Also, be on the lookout for a prisoner with dark hair and a scar between his eyes. The serial number on the back of his shirt reads 592032 – that's five, nine, two, oh, three, two. If you find him, detain him immediately and report back to me."

He received an affirmative on all open channels and switched the channel to Deilia's frequency. He'd need her to alert the President of the current situation. If Leonhart was the target of this assassination then he'd have to be the first one to find him.

He was not messing up again.


He'd been wondering just exactly how much longer he was going to have to wait when he heard the alarms blaring overhead and the guards announcing a complete lockdown on the prison. He didn't need to be told to know that the first phase of the plan had just started. Whether or not they got their guy didn't matter, so long as he got his.

Well, at least he finally knew why he'd had to be inside before the operation took place instead of just sneaking in during the chaos.

Nothing like this had ever happened when he'd been under lock and key.

Now all he had to do was wait for Jack's killer to be lured to where he was hiding. He just hoped it'd be soon – the longer he stood there the more likely the guards would see him and kick him out. His gut tightened in anticipation for the events that would follow and soon Jack would be able to rest in peace, while his killer rotted in hell.

Bobby smiled. It was almost over.


The klaxons sounded around him and he knew that all of the exits were sealed. After all, there was no way they would allow him to escape with what he had attempted to do. But that was alright – escape wasn't part of the plan anyway.

The only thing he had to curse about this entire incident was the stupid teenager who'd seen what was about to happen just seconds before he'd pulled the trigger and pulled his target to safety. He'd shot him alright, but he hadn't actually killed him.

It ruined his record and he was brilliantly pissed.

But as he had believed before he'd taken the shot, what happened to him afterwards no longer mattered. His scowl twisted into a tight grin, knowing that it wasn't over. The punk might have ruined his shot, but he was gonna get what was coming to him. Of course, it wasn't in the plan for him to be killed just yet, but soon he'd have to hand over his life in exchange for fucking up his shot.

Even if he wasn't slated to die during this time, he'd probably get taken out at some point that day. Or even in the near future when things were set to rights again.

Footsteps were approaching from all sides – there was no getting around them. He never had been good at close range combat; always preferring to take his targets out without them seeing him. Sighing slightly, he knew that he would never get to see his younger sister again, but that she would continue with the Adelist Legacy; all was not lost after all.

Reaching into the breast pocket of his stolen uniform, he pulled out a small rectangular package and pulled one of the cigarettes living inside of it out, tossing the rest of the pack over the edge. He searched his back pockets for a lighter, finding one and lit up, breathing the smoke from the tobacco in and exhaling. He felt refreshed somehow – almost free, knowing that it was so quickly drawing to an end.

Finally, the stupid guards showed up, their weapons raised. At first, they faltered, seeing one of their own in uniform, but upon spying the sniper riffle a mere few inches away, they primed their weapons, preparing to fire.

He didn't give them the chance, stretching his arms up into the air and they stopped, staring at each other in confusion…

…until he shifted his weight backwards and allowed himself to move over the stone pillar blocking off the edge, and entered freefall, the ledge he had been standing on moments before flying higher and higher from view until something solid crashed into his back. Apart from a split second of pain, his vision grew dark and he knew no more.


8:25:34


Deilia frowned as she stood in front of the President of Esthar, mentally cursing James as she finished with her latest report. It had suddenly dawned on her exactly what it was that she had signed up for, and the fact that James hadn't tried to argue her out of it made her feel worse. She just had to keep reminding herself that James was in the vicinity of the attack, so obviously he couldn't just come running to take her place. She'd just have to suck it up and deal with it.

Still, she thought to herself. I can't deny that it sucks to be yelled at.

She was suddenly aware that the Commander in Chief wasn't speaking and that the room was dead silent. Pulling herself away from her thoughts in confusion, she noted how President Loire sat in his chair behind his desk with a dumbstruck and shocked expression on his face. It wasn't worry for national security that had caused such distress on his features though; it was the worry and grief expression that a parent wore whenever they feared the worst for their child.

"Fortunately, he wasn't the one shot," Deilia reiterated, hoping to calm him down. At this stage, Esthar couldn't afford their leader to fall apart. Though she housed some of her own opinions on what had happened within the last twelve hours, she forced herself to remain impartial. "and he managed to prevent the sniper's target from being fatally shot as well, so once we manage to re-establish control over the prisons, we can proceed to question the man who was being targeted; possibly figure out why he was being targeted."

Sarcastically thanking James for catching her up on the facts in her mind, she noted that the President's shoulders sagged slightly out of relief. Unfortunately they weren't out of the woods yet; as he looked up to give her an order, his features still appeared worrisome.

"Sir, with all due respect you need to pull yourself together." Deilia said, interrupting her superior and hoping she wouldn't get in too much trouble for it later. "Your son is a SeeD; he has been in these kind of situations before, right?

Obviously, he knows how to take care of himself; he will be fine. But right now, his country needs you to focus. There is a sniper in the building, and we need to find him to bring order back to the prisons, or else the prisoners locked up will make their way into the city."

President Loire nodded in response after a moment. "You're right. You're absolutely right."

Finally, the worry was gone from his expression. Whether it was still there in hiding, Deilia didn't believe it would matter for the moment. Right now, their President was back, and he was able to make a sound decision. Sorting out his emotions could wait until later; right now, she had a job she needed to do.

"I understand that the prisons have been sectioned off during the crisis?" the President asked.

"Yes sir. Logans ordered the lockdown before contacting me."

"Good." The President shook his head slightly. "I know they're not going to like this, but I have the citizens of Esthar to think about."

Deilia didn't have to ask; she knew who 'they' were.

"Station all the guards in the vicinity of all entrances and exits to those positions and tell them to hold until I give the order." President Loire continued. "I know the prison detail can handle it, but they're going to have their hands full looking for the sniper and his accomplices. I doubt they're working alone."

"Understood sir."

"And I want constant updates on the situation for as long as it takes until it's resolved."

Deilia nodded in affirmation before contacting the necessary personnel. She still had a job to do after all.


Christine had returned to her office shortly after testimony of her findings. She still wasn't very happy with being tossed out, but the cabinet did have a point – she had questioned the prisoner and she had formed some opinions of her own. The fact that she would have to testify in front of a court was also a resulting factor.

She realized then and there that she hadn't thought things as thoroughly as she'd thought.

Sighing she returned her attention to the files set up in front of her. More importantly, the files pertained information to the suspect at hand and her doubts were continuously rising. She didn't believe that he should have become a SeeD after everything she'd discovered, but at the same time she didn't believe that, as of presently, he was capable to killing in cold blood. Someday though – possibly someday very soon – he would cross that line and if that were to happen the whole word would be on edge.

A monster of Garden's creation – the man who'd saved them all when no one else could.

She heard noises coming from outside her office and frowned. She'd never been able to concentrate when people were being noisy outside and she desperately missed her own office in downtown Esthar. She rose to her feet and approached the door, sticking her head outside in order to find out the reason behind the sudden distraction.

There was a troupe of Estharian soldiers moving along the hallway, and from what Christine understood; they were stationed to this area on patrol. Now they looked as though they were all heading to a specific location.

Closing the office door behind her as she left, Christine grabbed a hold of one of the soldiers and, when he fixed her with a glare – she could tell from his body language that he was annoyed at her for stopping him, but she wanted to know what was happening.

So she asked him. He sighed in response. "I'm not permitted to tell you at this time…"

"I'm part of the cabinet, so yes you are permitted." Christine shot back, equally annoyed. No matter how often it happened, she hated it when the soldiers and other workers viewed her as an average citizen when she worked closely with the cabinet. She pulled her wallet out of her pocket and flashed her badge in his face before continuing. "Now, what's going on?"

The soldier sighed again before lowering his voice so that only she could hear. "There's been an attempt on one of the prisoners in the Prison bay."

"Someone was almost killed?" Christine asked. "Was it Leonhart?"

"No, but we are under the assumption that someone wants to use the distraction the sniper attack caused in order to get rid of him." The soldier explained. "Though surprise, surprise, he's managed to disappear."

"Do you think he's escaped?"

"No, everyone is under the assumption that he's still inside the building. Even Logans is inside helping to search for him before the sniper's accomplice's catch him."

Christine's eyes widened. "James is in there?"

"He was asked by the head of the cabinet to investigate a rumour." The soldier said. "Are you sure you're a member of the cabinet? I would have thought you'd have known."

"Believe me," Christine said. She and Jared were going to have words. "So did I."

As the soldier moved to catch up to his squad, Christine returned to her office and closed the door behind her, leaning against the surface as she closed her eyes in thought. If James was still on the inside, then that meant these men and women were serious.

They had to be if they wanted to kill a SeeD.

Christine sighed and looked up at the ceiling, hoping that James would come out of this one alright.


James nearly stumbled head first into the prison infirmary, he was running so fast. Barely stopping to catch his breath, he approached one of the doctors and pushed past him, eying the prisoner lying on a cot, his right arm bandaged up. Upon seeing the gaze, he figured that this had been the man who was shot.

He hadn't located Leonhart yet – possibly because he didn't want to be found – but he'd figured he'd also check in on Donaldson. If they hadn't intended on killing him, then he might know something about these guys, though in James' opinion it was more likely he was just an innocent bystander.

Also, there was another reason why he wanted to talk to Donaldson.

"What happened?" James asked, his tone challenging him to be uncooperative.

"Someone on the ledge tried to kill me!" Donaldson exclaimed. "I was gonna get axed—"

"But someone pulled you out of the way." James interjected, already knowing this part. "Where did he go?"

Donaldson blinked. "What?"

"Where did the other inmate go?" James re-iterated. He didn't know if it was from the shock of being shot, or if Donaldson was normally this stupid, nor did he really care. If he was right, then there was at least one other person inside of the building and he needed to find him before they did. "That sniper might not have been targeting you."

Donaldson's expression turned thoughtful before his jaw flopped open. "That SeeD… the one who pulled me outta the way – you mean they wanted to shoot him?"

"Maybe." James shrugged. "So where did he go?"

"I dunno." Donaldson stated, his expression shifting to one of worry. "He told me to come here and I left him in the court yard. He could be anywhere by now!"

James whirled around and faced a guard that was standing near the bedside table. "Did you apprehend all of the prisoners?"

"I just got radioed about it." The guard, a man with dark greying hair and stubble along his jaw line, answered. "We just managed to contain most of the prisoners' population already, since the alert of a breakout came in. We staged an ambush inside of the prison in case they tried to escape and we caught them that way, but there are a few stragglers still hanging around."

James frowned thoughtfully. That meant that Leonhart could still be out there somewhere, and he definitely needed to find him. If he was right and that sniper had friends, then they weren't finished here, not by a long shot.

Suddenly, the guard standing next to him pulled out his radio and placed the earpiece next to his ear. His expression didn't change, which made James wonder what it was the men on the opposite end was saying before the guard affirmed whatever report he received and returned the radio to the side of his belt. "The sniper is dead."

"What?" James exclaimed and the guard pressed on. "When did this happen?"

"Just a few minutes ago. Our men found his location but when they went to issue an arrest, the guy jumped. When they reached him, he was already dead."

"Who was he?"

"Don't know yet." The guard shrugged. "We're looking into it now."

"Good." James nodded. "I want a full report once you find out who he was and how he managed to get inside the building."

The guard nodded and immediately left the room. James went to follow him, but was grabbed at the arm. When he looked over, he realized Donaldson had managed to grab him and stop him before he could leave.

"Please," Donaldson said. "I've got a very bad feeling about all this. You gotta find him before those people do. I'd feel real crumby if something happened to him, seein' as he saved my life an' all."

James stared at him for a moment and nodded before removing Donaldson's grip on him. "You need to rest. But I will find him."

With that, James left, heading down the corridor as fast as his legs could carry him, praying that he wasn't too late.


8:37:02


It'd been a while since he'd left the courtyard and, so far, he'd been able to knock out and stop the soldiers in his path from escaping or taking over, keeping an eye out for the sniper all the same. The guards had tried to stop him a couple of times, but he'd managed to outrun them, leaving behind a trail of barely conscious prisoners ready to return to their cells.

He couldn't afford to get caught by the guards at the moment – they'd return him to his cell and if that were to happen, he'd be forced to wait it out. He hated waiting – almost as much as he hated thinking. He just couldn't stand still in a crisis; he had to be a part of it.

As he rounded another corner, he caught sight of one of the prisoners he was chasing afterwards. He'd managed to knock down one of the guards – the one who'd come to tend to Lenny after he'd broken his nose – and was preparing to finish him off.

Squall didn't allow him the chance. He clasped both hands together as he balled them into a single fist before slamming them against the back of the inmates head, rendering him unconscious. The guard was too stunned to even move and by the time he was able to do so, Squall was already down the hall and turning left, hoping that the other cell blocks hadn't gotten word of the situation.

That would be just what he needed; an entire prison filled with convicts who he needed to deal with.

It was strange though; the hall he had turned into was empty – desolate of anyone who would have tried to escape. He might have guessed which direction the prisoners would have gone, but recalling that nine times out of ten, anyone faced with a direction always chose the one that corresponded with the hand they used most often. Since most people were right-handed, the obvious answer was to head right.

Squall stopped in order to catch his breath, knowing that he had chosen the left path because of that very reason. He would just have to turn around and continue on down the right path, hoping the guard hadn't caught up to him by then.

Before he could though, he was grabbed from behind. Before he could do anything about it, he was slammed into the wall nearby, his back pounding from the sudden impact. Having had the wind knocked out of him, when he tried to draw in a breath, his attacker gripped his throat tightly with one hand, effectively pinning him to the wall.

After analyzing his attacker, Squall was surprised (and slightly ashamed) to discover he was a civilian. He looked to be late thirties, with dark hair, and didn't appear to be an overly powerful man. He was dressed casually as a civilian, but clutched in his right hand was a knife that made the man's intentions clear:

He was here to kill him.


A kid? He thought to himself incredulously. A punk fucking kid is my brother's killer?

Bobby was seeing red – a deep crimson shade, the blood pounding in his ears as his blood boiled. He had had a mental picture of the guy he'd wanted to take care of; short, probably built like a fucking brick, dark hair and a scar. Most of the description had been accurate, except for the fact that the kid only had a few muscles on him and was, well, a kid. He didn't even know if he believed Dale or that fucking guard about him being a SeeD, but knowing that this fucking punk was the one who gutted his brother had nearly set him off.

The kid was just staring back at him with an impassive expression, eyeing the knife Bobby held in his hand almost apathetically, as if he'd expected it to come to this. Bobby had thought he had caught the little punk by surprise, hauling him up against the way with the knife primed to do some damage, but the only thing that could have even remotely guessed his shock was when they darted towards the knife the first time.

It made him angry; knowing that he wasn't getting the response he had wanted. He wanted the fucker to beg; to plead for his life – to realize that he had made a crucial mistake when he killed Jack, but so far the kid hadn't even said a word.

He was so angry he was shaking, so angry that the knuckles of his fingers were starting to turn white. The killer had no remorse for what he'd done; he was just like those punk Adelists from the past; the ones who had tortured him in the prison – they didn't care about anyone else; they wanted others to feel horrible so they could feel good about themselves.

Unwanted images of prison life threatened to swim into his mind, but he pushed them back almost violently, shaking his head as he did so. He couldn't lose it, not now. He was so close, so close to avenging his brother that he could taste it.

The silence was unbearable; he had to fill it if this bastard wasn't going to beg for his life. "You're probably wondering how you got here." Bobby said, trying his keep his voice tight like he had seen in the movies he'd watched when he was much younger. "Why I'm the one holding your life in my hands."

The kid remained silent. If he was terrified, then he wasn't showing it and it made Bobby feel angrier. Violently, he stabbed the knife into the wall beside the kid's head, and felt him flinch slightly. The fucker probably hadn't expected that, now did he?

"It's because you fucked with the wrong family!" he shouted, pulling the knife back out of the hole he'd made. The kid eyed it wearily, finally understanding that Bobby was serious. "My family, you little prick! A family that was just getting back on its feet; who were finally getting back on track and you murdered a man who had the best bet of making it through this shit life!"

A dull surprised expression flickered across the kid's face, and Bobby was feeling the stirrings of satisfaction for the first time since coming face to face with Jack's killer. He finally understood why he was here; what he had done and that he was going to be paying for it with his life. "You're the one from the photograph."

"Photograph?" Bobby shouted. "You mean you're fucking working for someone?"

Putting the knife as close to the kid's face as he could, he glared at him with a newfound hatred. "Who the fuck hired you to kill my brother? What the fuck did my brother do to deserve getting killed like that?"

He was still silent and just as Bobby was about to thrust the knife and cut him up to force him to talk, he finally spoke, but it was these three words that nearly threw Bobby into a rage he couldn't come out of. "I don't know."


They heard a howl of outrage and knew that they were close. He didn't know how far away Logans' was, but they figured that they were going to need him and soon. It had sounded almost inhuman, and it nearly made him stop in his tracks and reconsider exactly what it was he was running into.

Burton Jay had been a part of security detail for the last five years now. He had long since given up the title of rookie, but as he heard the cry of outrage, he nearly turned tail and ran. After the Lunar Cry, he had thought he had seen it all, but when someone entered the Presidential Residence and killed those people before they could actually do something about it, it had been nerve racking. Burton had been on duty since that night, and had been looking behind his back everywhere he went, in case the murderer came back.

When he had heard who had been identified as the killer, he had nearly fainted from it. Squall Leonhart had been seen as a hero to the citizens of Esthar, having stopped the Sorceress War somehow and helped maintain the Lunar Cry. The fact that he turned around and became homicidal had been hard to swallow at first, but as it began to sink it, it sort of made sense. From what he'd heard of the guy, he was powerful, quiet and didn't get all buddy-buddy with anyone. From what Burton had seen in his life, it was always the quiet guys you should be afraid of.

He still continued the pursuit and once they rounded the corner, they saw what it was that had caused the sound. A man who looked to be in his mid thirties was holding Leonhart up by the throat, a knife placed against his throat. The most astonishing part about it was that Leonhart was just letting the guy do it.

Raising his weapon, he heard the others do the same, pointing it towards the assailant. "Freeze!" he shouted, as he heard one of the others pull out their radio and contact backup. He couldn't help but figure that they were going to need it.

The man's shoulders squared suddenly and he turned slowly to face them, the knife still primed at the SeeD's neck, his left hand still wrapped tightly around his throat, and it nearly caused him to shit himself. The look of anger, disgust and utter hatred was apparent on the guy's features; he looked absolutely nuts! He was breathing deeply, as though trying to keep his calm, but he didn't know exactly how long the assailant was going to be able to keep himself from snapping, if that was what he was trying to prevent.

"You're gonna stop me from killing this killer?" the man shouted. "A punk who, by all rights, should've burned in hell by now? You're gonna accuse me of trying to murder someone who took all those lives! I'm a fucking hero for fucks sakes!"

"Drop your weapon." Burton stated in an even tone. He knew Leonhart had to pay for his crimes, but killing him wouldn't solve anything. "Put your hands behind your head and kneel to the ground facing away from us."

"Fuck you!" the man screamed. "You think your brand of 'justice'll' solve anything? You're fucking dumber than you look! Nothing's gonna happen to him! Nothing! All because his fucking father's the fucking President!"

Burton nearly dropped his weapon, and judging from a surprised gasp from his left and the man on his right's jaw opening and closing repeatedly, he wasn't the only one shocked by the revelation. Leonhart also appeared shocked for a moment; either he hadn't known or no one else was 'sposed to, Burton couldn't tell for sure, but he couldn't let it cloud his judgement. If he was gonna walk for killing all those people, why would he be there in the first place?

"He's here now, isn't he?" Burton asked calmly, trying to keep the guy from flying off the deep end and killing someone. "Why would he walk if he's been locked up?"

"It's just for fucking show!" the guy screamed out, having none of it. "The government'll cover it up; keep the specifics outta the press and when something new comes up, they'll forget all about Jack and the others who're killed! So I have to do something about it!"

The man turned back around, and Burton raised his firearm once again, having lowered it in his shock. "If you move any closer to him, I will shoot you."

"Not before my own justice is done." The guy said over his shoulder. "I'm gonna make sure your fucked up system doesn't let him get away with it, even if I have to gut him myself!"

"Don't make another move!" the man beside Burton spoke.

"I can't fucking believe this!" the man said. "I can't believe you're trying to save a murderer! This is bullshit!"

"If you kill him, he won't pay." Burton said. "If he's really the man who killed those people…"

Burton was cut off when the man laughed outright. "That's what the fucking problem is. If this was any other average jackass who'd committed the crimes, he'd have already been put behind bars by now! The only reason he isn't is because his fucking father is too dip-shit terrified to watch his son go through all of that!"

"I assure you that everything is being done to ensure that justice is served." Burton responded, but he could tell it wasn't working. This guy was just too far into his own belief to listen to reason.

"No!" he shouted, and Burton started a bit. "Jack was killed! Butchered by this bastard and I'm going to see to it that he pays for it."

"I didn't kill your brother." Leonhart managed to say – the guy had tightened his grip around his throat repeatedly since Burton's arrival. "And I don't know who did."

"Lemme guess," the guy sneered. "You're gonna tell me that you were set up; that someone else who looks exactly like you, with the same scar and everything, managed to waltz right through security when no one else could have, killed those people and got the fuck out before anyone could stop him?"

Burton had to admit; it did sound farfetched, and with the Lunar Cry and everything else, he'd thought he'd heard everything. The man spat on the ground. "Hope you don't fucking blame me for not buying it."

"You can believe whatever you want." Leonhart said. "And I'm not trying to talk you out of anything. I didn't kill your brother."

Burton realized that saying that had been a mistake. The man's eyes turned even more livid – if that was even possible – and he gripped the knife so tight he thought it was gonna break – either the handle, the guy's hand or even both. He raised the knife a few inches and even managed to draw blood and Leonhart actually winced from the pain.

The guy pulled back, and Burton and the others primed their weapons, ready to open fire when he heard a gun fire from behind. The next thing he knew, the guy was down and Leonhart was on the ground, gripping at the wound at his throat. The guy cradled his shoulder – where Burton could see blood trailing down onto the ground. His men moved over to check both the assailant and Leonhart, and Burton looked to see who had been the one responsible for firing the weapon.


Having made a dead sprint down the corridor, he heard his radio pick up. When he went to answer it, he had heard talking, and had chosen to listen – from the sounds of it, it was obvious that whoever was relaying this couldn't talk, or his or her cover would be blown.

James hadn't stopped moving even as he'd listened to the conversation between Jay and the assailant. From the sounds of it, Burton's team had found the accomplice first, but the accomplice already found Leonhart. He had known he would have to hurry – he didn't believe that Jay would stall if he knew he could handle it without James' help.

Turning the corner, he'd caught sight of the assailant - he'd looked like an assailant – pinning Leonhart to the wall. The instant he saw the knife, he'd raised his fire arm, knowing that negotiations were pointless at this stage. The man had drawn back after a moment, probably about to finish the job and James had hoped he'd hit the accomplice rather than the prisoner.

James was grateful that he had impeccable aim.

He replaced the weapon into its holster and attempted to at least catch his breath before reporting back to the President. An overwhelming feeling of accomplishment filled him, and he couldn't very well blame himself – after all he'd managed to prevent another murder on Estharian soil. Sure, he'd had to shoot the guy, but a look from the guard inspecting him revealed that the injury wasn't life threatening. Far from it, in fact.

However, he knew that this wasn't over yet. This man and the sniper had been in league and he wanted to know why. Questions began to flood his mind, but he shook them off, even as Christine's theories began to make a little more sense.

He tried to find a reason to negate the theories; that he man was probably grieving for a family member who was killed and had tried to take the law into his own hands. Though James couldn't blame him, he knew that there were better ways to deal with things than breaking the law yourself.

The man – whoever he was – was now being placed into custody, and Leonhart was being seen to, in case he had been injured – James had seen Leonhart grip his throat as he'd slid to the ground. From what he could see himself, it wasn't at all serious, though it might leave a scar. At least that was one good thing he could report.

Finally, the secretary picked up and he requested to speak to the President and, after one moment, he was patched through. "What's the status of the situation?" President Loire asked almost immediately.

"We have it under control." James answered. "The intruder is being detained. The prisoner was injured, but it's minor; nothing that magic and time won't cure."

It suddenly dawned on him that he hadn't known exactly which prisoner it was that had been attacked and he frowned to himself, knowing that by saying what he had, there would be questions that would need answering.

"Someone was attacked?" the President asked. "Who?"

James took a deep breath, mentally asking himself what his foot tasted like. "The sniper attack was all a distraction, in order for the sniper's partner to attack Leonhart. Fortunately my men were able to act accordingly and managed to keep him from killing him."

"Why was he attacked?"

"As it stands I can only speculate sir," James offered as a response, knowing he wouldn't like it. "But my men are looking into it."

The President was silent on his end for a moment and James vaguely wondered what it was he was going to say next. Knowing that your son is a wanted criminal, but also a target for someone else couldn't have been good for him, and he wondered exactly what his next move was going to be.

"I want my son moved to solitary confinement." The President stated, stressing the title. "I don't want anything like what happened now to repeat itself. And I don't want him out of your sight for the time being. You are to keep an eye on him at all times, and if anything out of the ordinary happens, I want you to contact me immediately."

"Understood sir."

The communication was cut off and James frowned outwardly. Despite how serious the situation was as well as the meaning behind the orders, he couldn't believe that, as the Chief of Security, he had been placed on baby-sitting detail. The implications of this order were far greater than most people would give credit to, but he just couldn't believe it. It wasn't that he was insulted by the order, but with what had happened the last time he had been stationed in this position…

James shook his head to clear it, well aware that his mental musings were wasting time that they couldn't afford to have wasted. He looked up in time to watch the assailant escorted away from the premises, probably being placed in interrogation, before approaching Jay to commend him on his efforts. The man had appeared slightly shaken before but upon seeing him coming, his expression changed to that of solid determination. James wondered briefly about the change, but he didn't have to wonder for long.

"That man," Jay said, inclining his head back into the direction the assailant was being dragged to. "he said that Leonhart and the President are related; that President Loire is his father. Is that true?"

James' eyes immediately shot open as he redirected his gaze back towards the man they held in custody. It wasn't possible that he knew that connection; no one in Esthar did, save for himself, the Estharian General, a few of the soldiers, the President, his friends and his niece. Very few others knew; from what he understood, no one save for a small circle in Garden knew, so the fact that this man – seemingly a civilian – had access to this information set him on alert.

"Sir," Jay continued. "it really is true, isn't it? Then what are we supposed to do?"

James turned to look at Jay, knowing full well that he believed deeply in the system, and that knowing such a critical piece of information had shaken him. Keeping his facial expression perfectly neutral, he stared at his subordinate in all seriousness and answered his question as he walked towards the prisoner. "Your job. That's what you're supposed to do."

James then moved away from Jay and approached the secured inmate. From what he could see, Leonhart had been cut, but not severely, and it wasn't bleeding much. The only real thing he had suffered was a lack of oxygen, but it looked as though he was beginning to recover from that.

After telling one of his men to report to interrogation, he turned his attention towards the inmate. Leonhart glanced up when he realized he was being watched. James could tell his expression turned grim; despite the fact he was a prisoner, Leonhart was also a target; to who was the main question and because of the attack, things had just become a whole lot more complicated. "You are to be placed in solitary confinement until we determine the reason for the attack and why they are targeting you. Nevertheless, you are still seen as a suspect for the infiltration and homicide of the five people murdered this morning."

Leonhart didn't need to say anything for James to know he understood; the expression on his face gave it away. It was almost as though he had seen it coming. "Also, you are to remain under my supervision until further notice. Nothing happens unless I say it happens. Do I make myself clear?"

"Crystal." Leonhart stated evenly.

"Good." James nodded curtly. "Then let me just say this. This protection does not come solely because of your father, nor does it mean I believe you are innocent in this whole situation. What it means is that a man just tried to play the part of a vigilante and as the head of Security it is my job to secure the Residence and make sure another attempt does not take place. It is the job of the courts to decide the outcome of a crime; whether someone is found innocent or guilty and, though there are times where no one believes it will work, our only option is to follow the law to the fullest."

Turning towards the remaining security officer, James nodded in his direction and Leonhart was helped to his feet, and escorted to the infirmary, James following closely behind the entire time.


"When did this happen?" Quistis asked.

After learning that Squall had been placed in a holding cell, everyone had headed towards that specific location in the hopes of maybe talking to him. Quistis knew that there was much to be done if they wanted to prove his innocence, but at the same time she also had to face the facts that it would have to wait until someone watched those damned tapes. Because Caraway had them shipped off to Dollet, that wouldn't happen for however long they'd have to wait for a trail.

Then they'd received word that an attack had taken place in the prisons – not at all a coincidence in Quistis' mind and it appeared as though everyone else agreed with her – and they'd been livid to discover they were only just hearing about it at present.

"An attack took place just before 0930 this morning." The poor soldier who was taking the brunt of their frustrations answered. "As a result, the prison sector has been shut down and is currently being investigated."

"But you just said you caught the guy!" Selphie protested. "Doesn't that mean it's safe to go in?"

The soldier shook his head. "I'm afraid that an investigation is still being carried out. Because of the sudden appearance of both the sniper as well as his accomplice, it is being assumed that it was an inside job. Someone must have allowed them entrance into the building so they would be able to cause the attacks. The sniper, unfortunately, killed himself before the guards could detain him, but the accomplice has just been arrested and is being taken to interrogation."

"Then we should have been told about this as soon as it happened." The Headmaster exclaimed. Standing beside her husband, Edea nodded in agreement.

"Sorry, but my orders come from the President or my Commanding officer." The soldier explained. "I received my orders through them, and I was not instructed to search you out in order to inform you of the current situation until just now. You'll have to take it up with them."

The soldier saluted them before heading off, possibly to his next post. Quistis frowned; if an attack had taken place, then it could mean the real assailants weren't too happy with the way Squall was handling the situation. It was possible that they hadn't intended for him to surrender in the first place.

"Well that was helpful." Zell muttered sarcastically. "he didn't even tell us how they caught the guy."

"I guess we'll find out more when we speak to Laguna." Irvine shrugged. "And I think if Squall had been seriously hurt in the attack, he'd have told us."

"And with any luck," Selphie surmised. "we might even be able to check in on him."

"After all that, they'd better." Rinoa said.


Christine sighed in relief, collapsing into a nearby chair as the soldier left her office. James was alright, Leonhart was still alive, and one of the two attackers was in custody. She and James were going to have words about the whole incident; he seemed to be attracting too much trouble for her taste these days.

Still, the knowledge that an attack had taken place was odd in itself, unless of course Leonhart had managed to piss off a few extremists. There were people who wanted the SeeD to pay for the attacks earlier in the morning, even if they didn't know Leonhart was standing as the accused, but Christine wouldn't have put it passed any of them to actually take matters into their own hands.

Though she had to admit, if James had been one of the people murdered – a very likely scenario since he had been there when it had happened – she'd be out for his blood as well.

Still, it didn't make very much sense. From what she'd learned from his file, and from meeting with him face to face, she knew Leonhart wasn't stupid. To try and take on the whole planet by himself was suicide; he'd have to have a group of his own to back him up. It was obvious that those who were closest to him were oblivious to this fact – no one was that good at lying – and if those people were responsible for the attacks, then why not break him out rather than have him killed.

Which brought two possible outcomes to mind; either one, they didn't want to be implicated just yet and wanted to remove all trace evidence of their involvement in the murders or two, Leonhart was innocent and the attackers wanted him to shut up.

Christine had to admit; the first possibility was plausible if you forgot the fact they left one of their own alive. But that might have been a mistake on their part – no one was perfect after all. But suffice it to say, Christine was leaning more towards the second option. If she thought of Leonhart as the murderer everyone was looking for, it seemed a bit too easy for her; like she was reading a story and the beginning chapters concluded a specific character when in actuality he had been innocent all along.

Either way, she wanted answers and she sure as hell was going to get them.


James exhaled the breath he'd been holding after his report had been made. He'd also included that Janice Spelling – a good friend of his as well as an excellent officer herself – would be heading the interrogation on Anderson. He wanted to know exactly how much it was that Anderson knew, and how he came across that kind of Intel.

The President himself looked relieved at the news – who could blame him? – but James still had some added information he needed to bring forth. "Although somehow, I don't think this is the end of it all, even with the failure of these attacks."

"Go on," President Loire said.

"Given the fact that Leonhart was attacked, it could mean he isn't in this alone. It might also mean that his capture jeopardized the plan and the members of this organization were sent in with the specific purpose of keeping him quiet. This is supported by the fact that both the sniper and his accomplice somehow managed to get inside of the prison and carry out their plan of attack before security could stop them."

"But it could also mean he's innocent." The President persevered before stopping. "Sorry; that was my personal impute. Scrap it from the record and continue."

"Already scrapped, sir." James stated, but in all honesty he couldn't blame him. Though he had no children, if it was a family member being accused of a crime, he'd want very much to believe they were innocent as well. "Also, Anderson knew quite a bit of information he shouldn't have been privy to."

"Such as?"

"Your relation to the accused." James concluded. "Somehow he managed to find out that he's your son."

"Do you think we have a mole?" the President asked.

"Sir, I believe that is a very probable possibility. I also suspect that there is more than one mole positioned in Esthar. No one mole could have helped to manipulate today's events as faultlessly as this. And since only a select few personnel in Esthar are even aware of this fact, it narrows down the number a lot."

"Though I don't think they wanted us to apprehend Anderson," Loire added. "No one's perfect. We have to assume at this point in time that Anderson was a loose end they expected would have been killed in the attack. Fortunately that wasn't the case. You're still as good a shot as ever."

James shrugged, though he had to admit he had been very lucky to only shoot Anderson in the shoulder. "Also, in case you wanted to know, Donaldson's injury was not as severe as we first believed. It was a through-and-through – the bullet was located outside, just a few feet away from where he'd been shot."

"That's definitely good news. Do you know if he knows anything?"

"Not at this time, no. Though it's possible he was merely a bystander."

"Well, keep an eye on the situation." Loire said. "We can't have a repeat of what happened down there. I'm already making preparations, but that doesn't mean we can't be lax about this. I want you to double the teams who're presently on duty."

"Yes sir." James said and left the room shortly thereafter.


Harold headed towards the conference room for the umpteenth time that day. He knew his feet were going to be seriously blistered from the days exercise, but that was the least of his concerns. He pulled out his cell phone, attached his scrambler so that the number could not be traced back to him, and dialled a specific number.

The attack had gone almost according to plan; the sniper had missed his target, resulting in chaos, but that punk Anderson somehow managed to survive. He was currently in interrogation and anything he knew the President was going to be made well aware of within the hour.

He couldn't afford to allow that to happen.

Finally, someone managed to pick up the phone. "It's me." He stated. "The pawn was caught, before he could kill Leonhart. The SeeD is still alive, just as you ordered."

"Excellent." The voice on the opposite end stated; a female voice. "Then this means all is going according to plan."

"Not necessarily." Harold remarked. "The pawn wasn't one of ours originally; he was just some run-of-the-mill punk I managed to puppeteer into doing my dirty work. He might point a few fingers at a few of my informants that might just lead back to me."

"Not a problem." The woman assured. "If the next phase of the plan goes accordingly, then you won't have to worry about those fools finding out who you're really working for. But that's hardly the issue here. What do they plan to do now that an attack has taken place?"

"No doubt they'll want to prevent it from happening again." Harold said. "Chances are they'll move him from his present location and relocate in another country."

"Which is exactly what we want them to do. All we have to do is wait for a decision to be made – anywhere they wish to send him is fine after all – and place the ball in our court. We barely even need to lift a finger at this point."

Harold smiled, definitely reassured with the news. "You're right; you're absolutely right. Soon I won't have to lower myself to working with these fools anymore."

"Exactly." The woman said. "But I hear you've been having some difficulties."

"I'm not sure of what you're implying." Harold said, the smile having dropped from his features.

"I'm talking about that bitch, Lockhart. My own sources tell me she's not convinced of Leonhart's guilt. In fact, it's quite the opposite."

Harold had to admit, the woman had a point. Out of everyone else on the cabinet, Christine Lockhart was the closest to discovering his true intentions; what with his constant objections to her snooping about. He knew what this woman was planning however and understood that it wouldn't work out in their favour. "Attacking Lockhart directly is out of the question. She's too resilient and will take it as a personal challenge."

"But what if we killed her?" the woman asked.

"Also out of the question." Harold said. "The entire cabinet would be under scrutiny. I'd be the one at the top of the list of suspects."

"I figured as much," the woman said. "Though there is a way to get to her. I've been watching quite a bit of the surveillance footage from our bugs. She does have one weakness you could easily exploit."

At first, Harold didn't know what she was talking about, but after a second to think about it, he figured it out. It was just so obvious. " Logans was here when the first attacks took place, and when she heard he was in the prisons at the time of the next attack, she was shaken."

"Exactly." The woman said. " Logans is a risk in itself – if given enough time he could hurt our plans, but if something were to happen to him before that could occur, not only would it extinguish a possible nuisance, but the bitch won't be much cause for worry in the long run."

"She'd be far too concerned to think straight." Harold said. "She wouldn't stand a chance."

"Then I'll leave the rest to your capable hands." The woman on the other end stated before the connection was lost.


9:00:00