It usually took Nero an hour or so to recover from an incident without his mask. As acting leader he did not have a lot of time to himself, but Rosso was adamant he rest. It hadn't taken much cajoling to get him to retreat to the dark mako pools hidden miles below even the deepest of Deepground's basements. He'd be fine, but Rosso wanted to make sure he stayed that way.

Whoever had torn off Nero's mask now knew his weakness. It was his only vulnerability. If he couldn't breathe, he couldn't fight. Nero had proven just how strong he truly was in the last few months, but none of that would mean a thing if he died of suffocation. Normally no one could penetrate Nero's shadows to even get close enough to touch him. Nero had spent his life assuming he was an experiment gone so wrong that it had never been repeated. The Restrictors, unsurprisingly, had lied. Shinra had a second shadow mage and Rosso was going to find out who they were.

Marching down to the holding cells, Rosso slapped on the lights. The sudden brightness was accompanied by startled groans from the prisoners.

Veld rose, shading his eyes with one hand. There was no way he was going to face whatever it was lying down.

Squinting a bit, he recognized the red-haired woman in the doorway. "Well, if it isn't Little Miss Muffet. I suppose the Goblin King wants to see me again?"

Rosso wasn't much for either pop culture or sass. Stooping, she seized him by the collar and pinned him against the wall.

"I have one question for you: what's immune to darkness and has my brother's face?" The riddle might have come from the sphynx herself, but Veld was one of very few who might know the answer.

"It stole Shelke," she went on, "and we're reasonably sure it also killed six men and two pets. So." She adjusted her grip somewhat roughly so that she was holding him by the throat, just hard enough to make breathing or talking difficult, but not impossible. "I'm listening."

"And I'd be glad to enlighten you," he said evenly, "except I really couldn't say. I don't mind admitting I've never met anyone like Nero. Are you sure something didn't escape from your own labs?"

"Don't play dumb, it doesn't become you," Rosso told him in a tone of one who expected better. "You've got at least one operative capable of getting in and out of here. I want a name." She paused, considering him, his unshaven chin and rumpled clothes. "You know, it's funny. They took Shelke, but they didn't come looking for you."

"I'm replaceable," he told her. "Been around a long time, as you've so graciously noted. Losing me wouldn't hurt them much."

He reached up with his metal hand and took hold of her wrist, exerting just enough pressure to get his point across. "My dear, this is all very dramatic, but the fact is, I can't give you a name. You'll have to do your own dirty work. I'm sure you're more than capable."

She didn't even flinch. "I don't believe you," she said calmly. "Shinra killed most of its SOLDIERs in the Wutai war, and then Meteorfall. We killed whoever was left. Anyone still standing would be a Third Class or worse. There can't be many of them, and they don't have that level of skill or training."

Perhaps as a concession of sorts, she eased the pressure off his throat and let him slide down the wall until his feet touched the floor. "You know way more than you let on. I'm not asking where your HQ is, or threatening what you love. I'm trying to protect what's important to me. So tell me. What the hell leaves a triple-bullet hole in a wall? And if you say 'a gun' so help me I will break something non-essential but extremely annoying."

Veld thought about that, but not for very long. "Then I guess you'll understand why I have nothing to say. Both sides are trying to protect what they value. You people started this. Why should I help you finish it? I believe you when you say you're going to hurt me. I just don't think it's a very good negotiation technique. If you have nothing else to offer, you might as well begin."

"My people didn't start this," she said quietly, "Shinra did. I know you said Shinra's gone, but again, I don't believe you."

For a long moment she studied him, golden eyes catslit against the fluorescent lights searching his weathered features for an answer to a question she'd not yet asked.

"Okay," she said at last. "I will be the first to admit I don't speak Surface. What do you want?"

It sounded more like a danger sign than a concession. Veld considered his options. "Well, obviously, I want out. I'm no good to anyone in here. I told your CO that I could help him, but all he wants to do is throw shadows around and make things difficult. One thing I did pick up was that you were all seeking freedom. You've got it now. You can go anywhere. Why are you still here?"

"Because my brother is," she said simply. At last, she let him go. "Here's what we want: our family back, and to be left the hell alone. We get Weiss and Shelke back, we'll retreat. You can have your city back, but we keep Midgar."

Leaning back on one leg, she considered him. "You know how to talk, I'll give you that. So talk. How can you help?"

What Elfe and Vincent, not to mention Reeve himself, would say about this was up for debate. If he knew Valentine, he'd want to keep fighting. On the other hand, of all people, Veld had a decent chance of convincing him that it wasn't worth it. Deepground was too powerful. Why not give up Midgar if it meant peace?

"I can act as a go-between for you. I can find out where Weiss and Shelke are being held, and give my people your request to be left alone. Not sure what they'll say about Midgar - there've been times I was ready to sell it to the highest bidder myself. But we might have a basis for an understanding here. They'll listen to me before they'll listen to you. Here's the thing: Most Surface people refuse to negotiate with terrorists...even to save hostages. You're not making a good case by holding prisoners."

"Terrorists?" she seemed amused at the idea. "So you'll let your own people rot and die just because you don't deal with savages?" She gave a short bark of a laugh. "And you think we're cold-blooded!"

"I didn't say that." Veld looked her straight in the eyes, although it meant he had to crane his neck a bit. "I said we don't negotiate. There are other ways. Please give my condolences to the families of those six men, won't you?"

"I can't. They're dead." She looked at him again, golden eyes trying to stare through to his skeleton. "Alright. I'll talk to Nero. If he agrees that we might need a translator, you'll see me again. We might have a job for you."

"Something to look forward to." He gave her a slight, ironic smile. "Any chance of leaving the lights on?"

Rosso shrugged and left, closing the door behind her. The lights did not go out.


The next day Veld found himself once more frog marched out of his cell and down a dark corridor. He suppressed the urge to grumble; he'd been expecting it, though not so soon. In the last few hours, he'd mapped out a plan to escape, involving the materia in his arm, the portal through which his food was delivered, and an inattentive guard. The scheme was insurance against the off-chance that Nero wouldn't take him up on his offer to act as go-between.

He'd be stupid not to, but any man who could slaughter the Restrictors- whatever they were-, unite the varied denizens of Deepground, and lead them to victory in unfamiliar terrain definitely wasn't stupid. Thirty years of managing the Turks had taught Veld to see beneath the masks most people wore. Now he was about to learn if he'd read Nero as well as he thought he had.

The shadow-mage stood in the same cafeteria as before, his arms crossed over his chest. Tall, lean, black-haired, radiating dark energy, he could have passed for Valentine if not for the golden eyes and the mask covering half of his face. Same build, same fluid grace, same efficiency of movement…damn, but Veld was going to have some questions for his old partner, assuming he got out of this alive.

Rosso, of course, stood next to Nero again, but not so far away that she couldn't stop Veld in the event he did anything regrettable. Veld nodded, acknowledging her. She stared back, silent, a predatory gleam in her eyes.

"Rosso told me you offered to help us," the mage began. "I want to hear it from you directly."

"I offered to act as go-between," Veld clarified. "You let me go, I'll talk to my people about what you want. You said you want your family returned. That still the top priority?"

"Of course." Nero's eyes flickered, as though he'd been about to roll them hard enough to hurt. Veld revised his estimate of the man's age downward by at least a decade.

"Also, going by what you've said before: You want to be free, you want to be left alone, and you want Midgar. Is that true?"

"It is."

"Okay then," Veld went on. "Obviously we want you gone; personally I'd kiss Midgar goodbye in a second, but it's not entirely my decision. I can argue in favor of it, though. I can't guarantee the outcome, but I can swear to present your demands, wait for an answer, and bring that answer back to you. They'll probably want to meet with you in person, on neutral ground. But I can get things started."

Nero said nothing at first. He looked at Rosso, and she looked at him; some communication seemed to flow between them, two pairs of golden eyes sparking in argument, or agreement, Veld couldn't tell which. He waited, aware of the guards at his back, the creeping shadows that looked much too alive. He wondered what day it was, what hour, and if he'd see another.

"I don't trust you," said Nero, taking a step toward Veld. "How do I know you'll come back? You could disappear - rejoin your people or just run away, and we'll be right where we left off."

"I'll swear on anything you like," said Veld, though what this odd creature would hold sacred, he couldn't guess. "I want this over with as much as you do."

"No," said Nero. "Words don't mean much. I have to be sure you'll keep your promise. I'm going to let you out, but there's a condition."

He motioned to the guards, who took hold of Veld's arms again, their grip tight enough to hurt.

"Do you know how the Restrictors kept us from leaving?" Nero asked. His hand strayed to the back of his neck. "We all had microchips implanted. They were used for punishment, and to prevent escape. There was a limit to how far you could go. If anyone stepped over the line-literally-they would explode and kill you."

Veld opened his mouth to speak, but Nero kept on. "We never trashed the labs, and we didn't kill all of the medical technicians. You're going to get a chip. It will be programmed to allow you to go back to Edge-but if I were you, I wouldn't go past the city limits."

Was that a smirk, behind that breathing mask? Certainly there was one on Rosso's face. Veld stayed still, waiting for the surge of adrenaline to fade before it could spike the materia in his arm. He could not win a fight here and now. Sighing, he allowed himself a moment to close his eyes and take a long, slow breath.

"Fine," he said. "Let's get it over with."

It wasn't, after all, the worst thing that could happen.