The Muse is proud to announce a mini break in her pseudo vacation with an update for ya'll. It's a lot quieter and shorter than most but I think you will enjoy it none-the-less. I hope you all have a happy and safe new year and here's to hoping that the upcoming year will bring lots of new ideas and lots of progress on the fic in a quicker manner than it is now. Enjoy folks.

Chapter Seven - City of Ashes

Somewhere around the thirty second floor, the lights go out. Not the dimmed partial glow of generator supported emergency storm lights kind of out, but the kind of can't see shit three inches in front of you sort.

I place my foot in front of me, feeling around for the next metal step and grasp the corroded iron railing for support. We are fortunate to have made it this far. In those brief few seconds after the door was welded shut by the sheer power of that materia blast, the two of us can only wander down the first of many platforms, struggling to come to grips with the reality that less than three inches of steel separated us from a rejuvenated demonic general whose insanity had destroyed a village in a night and changed so many lives.

Sephiroth.

How is that even possible? The man died at the Nibelheim Reactor. Cloud was the one who supposedly killed him. At least, according to the records and witness accounts which were handled by Verdot and Tseng. Remnants of the battle that was fought there were found along with the distinct proof that someone had indeed been thrown from the catwalk into the boiling mako below. No human or genetic experiment could have survived something like that let alone still been able to maintain even the slightest thought or function afterwards. He would have likely died before he even hit the molten substance in general and if not, immediately upon impact with it.

But they never looked for the body. Quite possibly, our department's greatest screw up in history. We never actually got the chance to confirm that particular man's death. From what I remember, shortly after the incident, I was told by Verdot directly to not only wipe the networks and servers but to also burn any and all paperwork on Nibelheim's town, civilians, reactors - everything. It didn't matter if it was marked urgent, top secret, classified. Everything had to go under penalty of treason and execution. An entire town and everyone in it ceased to exist almost overnight.

Tseng had only allowed me to keep the barebones of my assignment on pursuing Zackary Fair, and even that was to be encrypted so that only my eyes knew it existed from that point onwards. And I destroyed that file when I enlisted with AVALANCHE.

Whatever Hojo was up to had to have been orchestrated with the company's blessing behind closed doors by the President himself. The only question is what in the hell that madman was allowed to get away with in that basement during those four years because that's information we didn't even know about and couldn't be found either. I spent so many long hours trying to figure out just what in the hell happened to Zack and where he vanished to but turned up nothing more than the town itself. So the information either doesn't exist or someone higher up did it through some obscure convoluted series of connections so secret we wouldn't want to be involved because we'd be dead by now if we were.

The fact that Sephiroth may or may not be 'alive' doesn't sit well with me at all right now.

Reno has been quiet since the incident. I don't think he even has words for something like this. None of us do. And when Tseng finds out - like that man doesn't already know - all holy hell is going to break loose. No one is going to believe any of this.

A dead legend, back from the afterlife and equipped for revenge with a bone to pick with anyone and everyone. Fantastic. But how does one even start to go about containing a monstrosity such as Sephiroth and hope to survive long enough to accomplish much of anything?

They don't. They simply don't.

My feet strike solid cement, a welcome change to the rickety steel stairwell we've been navigating for an unknown amount of time. Reno sighs and swings his EMR through the air, the luster of the weapon lost to the stuffy silence of the ground floor. The door shrieks as it opens, unnatural light spilling into the darkness.

A siren wails somewhere to the north and a frigid blast of wind tears through the door. I hug Reno's blazer closer to my body and struggle to keep from shivering. Wintertime in Midgar. I don't recall it being this cold in this sector. This must be his summer blazer.

The ash falls, like gentle snow across the slate gray pavement, broken and littered with glass and fallen stone. Tumultuous gray clouds churn along a screen of dark dust that lingers against their once silver lining, trapped somewhere between Heaven and Hell, but denied access to both. It's not raining in Midgar today, but I wish it was.

A car lies overturned, corroded side facing the fractured corner of the Shinra Building. I don't need to know what force of nature knocked it over. I already know.

Reno grasps my hand and leads me to the west - toward Sector Eight's LOVELESS District, a fact I am most grateful for. Beyond those crumbling buildings to the east lies the ruins of Sector Seven.

I should turn around and look. I know I should. But the watchdog within prevents me from doing so. No. Jessie prevents me from doing so. There are too many memories behind that row of crumbling and burning buildings. Memories I am not prepared to face.

The fountain is broken, shrapnel littering its once pristine and gentle surface in hideous cracks. Tire tracks mar the ground around it, as though someone sped away on a motorcycle and cleaved into its surface with a blade of some sort. Bullet holes riddle the remnants of the foundation where a mixture of ash and water flow together in a dark, oily sludge. There are footprints amid the broken glass. Lots of footprints. And, paw prints? Maybe we don't want to even know.

I hope whoever fled this way got away alive.

Reno glances in the direction of the broken wall of the exhibition room in bewilderment. Tire tracks line the cement stairs and trail somewhere toward the Sector Five Highway. Someone came through this way. Minutes ago from the looks of it.

And Scarlet's people too. Their trail is even clearer by the bodies of innocent bystanders scattered farther along the street, torn asunder by the bullets. Gods. Death is everywhere tonight.

An older woman glances up from what I assume is her fallen husband, tears in her eyes as we pass. I can't even look. It's far too painful. Shinra did this. So many people have died because of what Shinra has allowed to occur within its steel walls.

Reno squeezes my hand in silence. The ash clings to our hair and blankets our blazers in a fine dusting carried by the ever changing winds of the wastelands. He knows what sins we are being judged for by this woman, and everyone we encounter.

It's like we wear our sins on our sleeves for all to see. They don't understand. We hurt just as much as they do over this, if not more so. They see the dark suits of the company we represent. But they don't know that the two of us, once friends, once comrades, are enemies because of the rift known as Shinra driven between us. They were not there on the plate, struggling to decide destiny with as much certainty of the flip of a coin. They did not face one another with pleading desire for the other to turn back and abandon their mission.

They were not forced to choose between obedience and treason. Life and Death. Friendship and Betrayal.

They only see us for what we represent. Not for who we are. And that is a painful wound from which no watchdog of Shinra ever stops bleeding from.

Reno grits his teeth and increases his pace. He's bitter. That fire in his eyes, determination manifested into flesh with the dying flick of the Electro-Mag rod into the off position. I move to follow, not meeting the woman's gaze. Midgar has become a city of ashes from which there is no putting the fires out and we're stuck crossing its center.