A/N: I think people are going to hate me for the turn in this story.... But I have to admit that I've been planning it forever...like ALL along.... You might hate me for what happens and consequently hate the story, or you might just hate me for leaving the chapter a cliff hanger. Remember I promised a wretched cliffhanger? This is it. Anyway, either way, hopefully everyone will forgive me, because I promise this isn't the last chapter; there are many more to go...if people don't hate me too badly (grins). Thanks to everybody who took time to review! Those cool people would be: OvenBased, whatevergirl, kiralover44, minoki, Anonymous, KT, NicotineGum, and Risikaa.
I felt terrible for not posting for a day; you guys have me conditioned! I'm Pavlov's freaking dog! And Vincent has worse luck than Harry Potter, just so all of you know. I think he's so cute that he makes me want to be sadistic toward him...like I want to ruin his sweet innocence or something (which I will, eventually...through Sephiroth...). Remember the old bearded dude in purple? He was important....
The SOLDIER looked just a surprised by the drop of his enemy as the other assassin did. They both looked over their shoulders in Vincent's direction, but then quickly turned back to sparring as they realized that the other was distracted. It didn't last long, as the assassin grew paranoid, trying to back away and keep the SOLDIER's body from exposing his own to the shooter, whose whereabouts he wasn't entirely sure of.
Vincent had already prepared himself for another shot. The like-minded SOLDIER seemed to acknowledge this, and purposely kept from moving too abruptly so that Vincent would have a more ample opportunity.
Again, Vincent fired, tensing in anticipation from the recoil and only succeeding in making its aftereffects worse. Vincent winced, even reflexively closing his eyes as the gun went off, but it was hard to miss when shooting the equivalent of a canon.
It literally ripped one of the assassin's legs from his body in an explosion of torn flesh, blood, and bone, which sickeningly spread its gore on the hungry, muddy earth and the wood-slated walls of one of the buildings.
The assassin was left behind with a bloody stump, already having been blown to the ground to lay helplessly on the soaked ground, screaming in agony. The force had sent the limb somewhere into the darkness, where, Vincent wasn't sure, and thankfully his conscience seemed to cut him off from being disgusted such barbaric thoughts, at least for the moment.
The SOLDIER quickly dispatched of his fallen enemy, sending his blade deep into the man's chest with the grotesque sound of squelching flesh and cracking bones. He then looked up, searching the darkness for whoever had just helped him. He squinted for a moment, scanning the nearby buildings, before his eyes found Vincent hiding in the shadows.
The man briskly, but carefully walked over to the Third, sometimes running across the more open spots to keep himself from being an easy target. It was only when the SOLDIER got closer that Vincent finally realized who it was.
"Jack..." Vincent said in a whisper, surprised to see the man, who had always seemed so demure in the time Vincent had spent with him.
It was strange how when duty called for it people could change so drastically....
Vincent hadn't exactly had the time to figure out just who he was trying to save, not to mention that his scope was not designed for night shooting, as the more skilled SOLDIERs who used such weapons were mako enhanced and had no need for night vision optics. All he could see was the highlighted crosshair when he shot.
Jack was one of the Firsts, not particularly well known, but Vincent knew him through Alister, who was best friends with the man.
"Alister was out looking for you; he went back to the hospital," Jack said quietly, pushing the damp blonde hair from his eyes.
He made his way into the shadow Vincent was utilizing, his breathing labored from his recent fight.
"He was?"
"Yeah," Jack said. He was quiet for a few seconds, his eyes on Vincent's cast. "Hey, how did you get out here?" he asked, giving Vincent an incredulous look.
"I walked..." Vincent answered ironically, smiling a little in the darkness.
"In a cast?"
"Why not?" Vincent replied seriously.
Jack shook with silent laughter, leaning into the building next to Vincent. Vincent only waited, partially amused, partially irritated. He supposed it was a little odd, but not that funny.... After Jack seemed to sober a bit, he finally spoke:
"So you want me to help you get somewhere a little safer?" he said with a grin.
"It would be helpful...."
Sephiroth's hair whipped about him from the wind that rushed in through the sides of the helicopter. His coat beat against his bare chest, the buckles clinking together noisily as he stared out into the darkness of the night.
He had "dealt" with Genesis. The argument had more or less wound up being a confrontation that came to physical blows.
It was clear that what Sephiroth had feared had befallen Genesis. Slowly, but surely, Genesis was unconsciously yielding to the overflow of mako in his system. And unlike Sephiroth, he didn't have the insanity of Hojo to experiment on new ways to combat the rampant side-effects the strange chemical caused.
Sephiroth knew that Hollander had finally given into his desire both for recognition and because of the manipulative tendencies of Genesis. Hollander, though a capable scientist, was unlike Hojo in that he easily lost confidence and would crumble under pressure. It was one of the reasons Sephiroth had a strong distaste for the Director of the Science Division; it made Hollander untrustworthy. Not only would Hollander cave in to Genesis's ambition, but any other who had a strong personality. It could cause serious problems.
As for Genesis.... He seemed to have no conscience issues over his actions. He had openly admitted to "practicing" with Private Valentine, and to going harder on him than was necessary or wanted. He seemed completely unaffected by the maliciousness of what he had done, and was actually annoyed by Sephiroth's words of warning to him on the subject.
Genesis wanted to be the best, far better than Sephiroth. It was apparent that Genesis was likely abusing the mako as much as Hojo, if not more. Things would only progressively worsen; mako was not a substance that could be abused without disastrous consequences.
All of the SOLDIERs who received mako treatments were experiments. Mako had barely even been tested on live subjects before Shinra okayed its "safety" for human usage. There was so little known about its side-effects....
What was clear to the General, was that mako broke down inhibition, it broke down doubt, it took all of the human elements and ideals such as morality and crushed them under its influence. In reality, mako was the perfect compound to create a killing machine, while in small amounts, such as those the SOLDIERs received, it made murder not only easier, but took away a lot of the conscience issues that those in the military were prone to. SOLDERs with mako didn't need counciling, didn't experience post-traumatic emotional problems or depression—at least when the mako wasn't overused.
It was one of the main reasons there was such a vast difference in behavior from Third Classes to Second Classes. Seconds were getting regular treatments, though small, they were more than enough to effect emotion and perception. Mako could make the ideal slave, or it could make the ideal monster, it was simply a matter of adjusting the dosage according to expectations.
There would be little hope for Genesis unless he got his emotions under control and acknowledged what the mako was doing to him, both mentally and physically. It would not just make him stronger, but it could severely damage musculature permanently, cause blood clots, and a whole other slue of medical problems that had taken Hojo years to learn how to correct.
There was also one major difference between Sephiroth and Genesis: Sephiroth's body did not have the typical reaction to mako; he did not have to get treatments to maintain his strength, he was self-maintaining. Only small dosages every six months or even every year, were given, more precautionary than anything else, or to help heal extensive damage. To constantly strain the body with an abundance of the toxic substance was the equivalent of overdosing on the most potent steroids.
Little could be done, Sephiroth knew. Genesis would not falter from his course of ego-fulfilment, even if it was inadvertently a means of self destruction.
Sephiroth's focus came back to the helicopter, as the machine swayed uncertainly through the air, hit hard by the rising thermals. Rain was thundering down on the aircraft, making visibility poor for the Turk pilot, who was shouting curses at the bird every couple of seconds while the bald co-pilot sat back trying not to give away his obvious amusement.
Sephiroth knew Reno and Rude well; he often worked alongside the two when he was required to use the company of the Turks, generally for transport alone. He had chosen to have the inexperienced pilot because the redheaded Turk had shown his aptitude to keep an aircraft in the air even while in the most stressful of situations. It was instinct that intrigued Sephiroth, as in the past good instinct proved to be more valuable than anything experience could teach. Instinct could not be learned, and during the most crucial of times, it could take the newest SOLDIER and turn him into a mass-murdering psychopath who outlived even the most seasoned of killers.
Instinct was purely animal. Purely survival.
Vincent had his .50 caliber propped up on a stack of dusty, yellowed tomes, the texts shifting dangerously with each shot the boy fired off.
The tripod proved to be quite useful, though with his leg in a cast, he had been forced to improvise. Laying on his stomach was not an option, as getting up quickly would have been too difficult should it be necessary. Instead he had pulled aside an old desk from one of the walls with Jack's help, then stacked it high with old antique books to get the scope up to eye level and even with the broken window. It had taken four stacks to provide a stable enough base, and although the books were very heavy, he found himself constantly having to readjust them so that everything wouldn't topple off of the desk. It was a matter of balance.
Each shot was slow, calculated. The lighted crosshairs had proved to be very helpful, separating the lines from the bodies he was lining the barrel up with. One problem he had encountered, however, was distinguishing friend from foe. At such a long distance and in such horrible lighting (the dim lights from the buildings did help some, but not much), he had to observe for minutes to ensure he was hitting the right target. That, and when he actually fired off the shot, the tiniest movement, because of the distance, was incredibly magnified. If he moved just slightly he could be two feet off of the target. Thankfully he hadn't been too far off most of the time (which was surprising given his inexperience), and only hit inanimate objects, no actual people.
He tried to think of it as target practice, just much more...dangerous. It appeared that the enemy didn't have snipers, at least none in the town. The base was another thing. Vincent had absolutely no idea what was going on at the base. Jack had given him his cell phone before he had left to use if he needed, but given that there was a war going on, Vincent had not received or made any calls and was pretty out of the way to get any information.
The SOLDERs were not holding up well. The number of enemies had quickly become overwhelming. Even though their skills were far below that of any of the more talented SOLDIERs, in large groups they could do a lot of damage. As precaution, one of the SOLDIERs on the upper floor of the brick building was tossing grenades down into the doorway every few minutes, blasting anyone that dare come up the stairwell without calling first and announcing their presence. Black clad bodies more or less ruptured as they impacted with the grenades, leaving the open doorway looking ominous in all of its blood, bone, and tissue-covered exterior.
Vincent tried not to think of it as murder, but moving things to use to improve his own accuracy. He knew what he was doing on some level, but he was choosing not to deal with it until he had the time and knew how he felt about it. To acknowledge it during the fighting...it could mean withdrawal from what needed to be done. The last thing he needed was to die because he had went and gotten philosophical over killing people who would kill him, given the chance.
Another of the enemies was dropped, just as the flash of his sword was moving toward the back of a SOLDIER. Vincent released the breath he had been holding, his shaky and sweaty adrenaline-filled grip loosening on the rifle.
Vincent realized he'd finished the clip, and pulled the last magazine from his belt. It was another twelve shots (it was a modified weapon), which given how many enemies there were, wasn't all that much. But the bullets were going slowly, as the men in black had become aware that being in front of the brick building or anywhere nearby made them a target to the unseen sniper or the flying grenades.
"Put that clip down."
Vincent visibly flinched. The voice had come from behind him, and in his rush to pull out the old clip and latch in the second, he must have missed the person coming up the stairs, or they had been particularly quiet. Whoever it was must have rounded from behind the building then snuck in through a back entrance where Vincent wasn't able to see them.
He should have been paying closer attention.
"Throw it down on the floor or I'll shoot you in the back!" the intruder threatened.
Vincent sighed internally, the black magazine held in one of his small hands. He could hear whoever it was behind him, stepping closer. It would take too much time to load the gun and get off a shot without ending up with a bullet in his back. His leg wasn't exactly in the greatest condition for spinning around quickly either. Vincent dropped the clip to the floor as instructed, where it landed loudly.
"Turn now!"
Vincent moved around slowly, upon instinct, as he knew being too swift might prompt whoever it was to attack him or shoot. There was a chance that he might be able to get them to talk while he thought of something....
When Vincent looked upon the face, he could feel his entire body stiffen in hatred. Fear, which Vincent had avoided for the most part, flooded into his overloaded system. His grip on the antique desk was tight, as he held his unstable body steady.
"Johns..." Vincent said dangerously.
Something was incredibly wrong. Vincent could tell even in the near darkness that Johns was...different. The veins protruding from his thick neck looked too dark to be healthy, as though they were pumping something through the man's veins that wasn't blood.... His eyes were positively glowing, more so than even mako was capable of causing.
John's whole body was larger than before, burlier. It was like an improved version, but one that upon appearance, seemed to focus only upon strength and nothing else. The flimsy shirt the man wore was soaked from the rain, sticking to a bulging body that was far too muscular to be normal. His skin held a bluish tinge that reminded Vincent of a corpse. In his large hand he held an oversized handgun, which he brandished at Vincent, holding it aimed at the boy's face.
"Hello, Vincent," Johns said cheerfully, the remnants of the rain dripping off of his hair and trailing down his face like misplaced tears.
"What are you doing here?" Vincent asked, sensing the obvious malevolence that was radiating off of the man like heat from a fire.
"I came to kill you. You are, after all, stopping the resistence. Can't have that."
"You're with the resistence?" Vincent said quietly, glad that the man seemed more than willing to talk.
He couldn't take Johns on physically, not with his broken leg, but getting shot up close with a .50 caliber would be more than enough damage to kill Johns, leaving him with a nice, gaping hole.... But the gun was so heavy and awkward that he knew it would be hard to maneuver quickly enough for Johns not to be able to stop him beforehand...and the clip.... If he had just loaded the damned rifle sooner.... Even so, it was likely that Johns would have been able to shoot him first. It was a no win situation for the time being. That somehow placated the part of Vincent that was shrinking away at the thought of dying. At least he would know that it had been virtually inevitable.
"Sure. I was angry about being shipped off like a damned object."
Johns took a few steps closer with a surprising stealth that didn't match his physical appearance in the least. Definitely enhanced, and probably not just with mako....
Vincent did not move from his place, staring Johns down defiantly. The man moved right next to him, holding the gun in warning before roughly grabbing the discarded clip from the floor. He then took a few measured steps backward, his smile triumphant. Vincent's gaze turned steely.
"SOLDIER doesn't appreciate those who only have enough confidence to threaten something weaker than them," Vincent commented cooly, his maroon eyes giving away his anger with their constant glimmer.
Johns laughed, his head lolling back strangely, looking somewhat deformed when examined in cohesion with his over-large body.
"What, you think that fuck Sephiroth fights fairly? Everything is weaker than him. He's as much of a bully as anyone else, yet because he's so damned high and mighty he gets away with it," Johns stated, still laughing.
He said the name "Sephiroth" in such a disrespectful way that Vincent's eyes narrowed angrily.
"The General never kills because he wants to cause pain; he isn't sick like you..." Vincent whispered, his voice calm as he tried to focus on being as unreadable as Sephiroth. "He kills only what he has to, and everyone in his charge is treated fairly, never belittled for their weaknesses. All you do is target anything smaller than you and take joy in hurting it so that you don't have to feel as useless as you are."
"You little shit..." Johns growled, moving even closer with the handgun extended, though again Vincent did not show any visible concern and stayed rooted where he was.
"What, you don't like being told the truth?" Vincent said with a smirk.
"Fuck Sephiroth!" Johns shouted, "and fuck you too!" His hands went behind his back, as though in an attempt to not reach out and strangle Vincent. "Hojo was right..."
Vincent couldn't hide his surprise, but said nothing, hoping Johns would be stupid as he always was and keep talking.
"You're all just slaves doing what you're told. But I'm not a slave! I'm better than all of you!" Johns yelled, coming within inches of Vincent's face.
He was so close that Vincent could smell his putrid breath and turned his face to the side so he wouldn't have to breathe the same sickening air.
"Hojo altered you..." Vincent said, drawing the words into a shaky conclusion.
"Of course he did," Johns answered. "He gave me the power I needed..." Johns clenched one of his fists, watching the bulging veins in his arms with open fascination. "He cares. He wanted to help me when no one else would."
"Hojo cares for no one," Vincent said with certainty. "He was just using you to experiment on. You're nothing but a puppet to someone like him."
Though Vincent knew little of Hojo, he'd seen enough of the broadcasted feeds that had gotten Hojo fired to know that the man was mentally sick. The things he had done...they were so inhumane that Vincent didn't even consider Hojo to be a human being. The man was nothing but a monster. For someone like Johns though, Hojo was probably easy to look up to.
"Don't you dare talk about him like that!" Johns said viciously, swinging the side of the handgun directly into Vincent's face without warning. Vincent had seen it coming, but had not been able to move out of the way fast enough due to his leg.
He was knocked hard into the desk that had been supporting him, his back slamming into the stacked books and toppling the rifle onto its side. He didn't fall, managing to keep on his feet by gripping onto the edge of the wood with his hands. He could taste the coppery blood that filled his mouth from the soft tissue of his inner cheek being cut from hitting against his molars. His cheek throbbed just below his eye, the pain vivid. He refused to whimper or make any noise from the blow. He would not let Johns win.
"Hojo is better than all of you!" Johns asserted, his glowing eyes flashing. "He's a great man...and he was betrayed by Shinra just like I was. You're just too stupid to see, you slave. It's all just like he said...." Johns looked visibly insane, his smile broad and toothy, detached somehow, not quite right.... He was waving the chrome gun around with a flourish.
"Hojo is insane," Vincent said quietly, ignoring the biting pain that made him want to close his eye.
"No, no...Hojo is fucking smart, it's you people that are insane!" Johns answered, his tone filled with venom.
Johns had started to pace, his movements suddenly twitchy, uncontrolled.
"You're insane. Hojo went and poisoned you...."
"No! No, no, no, no, nononononono!!!!!! It was Sephiroth, that twisted fuck! He did it, he did it ALL!" Johns's eyes were changing, their glow going from yellowish to reddish. "He's crazy! That stupid fuck! He thought he could get rid of me, thought that you, a weak little Third was better than me! But I showed him...I fucking showed him...."
Johns was far more unstable than ever, likely a consequence of Hojo's influence and the result of whatever experimentation had turned him into the bulky, veined giant that he was. Vincent could see that the man was getting very upset by the conversation, and that his waning control over his sanity was quite weak to begin with. Nearly non-existent.
"I was smart...I was good.... I waited just like Hojo said! I got you sent here...I changed up the lists so I could get my revenge! They didn't even know! They never even knew I left! HA!" Johns grinned insanely, looking over to Vincent, who only glowered. "They were so blind they never realized I switched sides!"
Vincent said nothing, though his brow furrowed underneath his veil of damp black hair. Johns was clearly losing it, pacing ever faster, making a small circuit as he ranted. Vincent's hand had begun to travel backward across the glossed desk, looking for anything. Vincent kept his eyes on Johns, making sure the man wasn't looking at him closely enough to notice what he was doing.
The aged man could hear the shouting coming from the darkened building, the same one that he guessed that the well-aimed shots had originated. It had taken time to get away from the thick of the fighting, but the SOLDIERs were beginning to feel the strain of so many enemies all at once. Their resistance stood a chance after all.
The bearded man smiled from behind his purple cloak.
They had waited so long. Shinra, the tyrant, taking their lands, raping their women, exploiting all of them. Parading around like Wutai was but a trophy to add to an already immense collection. The company and its SOLDIERs cared nothing for their people, nothing for their ways, which were rooted in hundreds of years of tradition, passed down generation to generation.... Even if the uprising did not succeed, they would leave a permanent mark on Shinra, of that the old warlock was certain. They would settle for nothing less should Wutai have to fall.
The world around him was blacker than ever as he moved between the buildings with a practiced grace. Age did not seem to hinder his movements, but perfect them. His staff was held in his wrinkled, yet firm hand, comforting, deadly. He had learned all he knew from those before him, a knowledge based on patience and inherited skill. Something mere SOLDIERs couldn't possibly understand in their mindless raging murder....
The sniper had taken out quite a few. The firing had stopped for the last few minutes, but it was no bother, as he knew that the person was on the upper floor of the old shop. He could sense another presence as well, but did not concern himself over it; it read like another SOLDIER. He allowed himself another dark smile from behind the hood that shadowed his features.
Everything that had a beginning...had an end.
Johns was still going on as the building shook suddenly, all the glass objects in the room clinking together. The desk Vincent was leaning against even moved, rattling the rifle and everything else. There had been a loud noise as well, like a muffled boom against the wall. Johns ceased his ranting for the moment, looking up at the ceiling and around at the room. His gaze finally went to the window that Vincent had been shooting from earlier. A weird glow had flickered outside for a moment.
Vincent turned to look, simultaneously hobbling a few steps away from the desk. Johns pointed the gun at him, his look threatening. Vincent stopped moving forward, his maroon eyes wide, as he glanced back to the window. Whatever it had been, it couldn't be good....
The building quaked again, but this time the wall came rushing into the room abruptly, blown to bits by the force of whatever had hit it. It was so unexpected and powerful, that Vincent was sent crashing to the floor in a flurry of sawdust and rubble, his hands bracing him from the floor. The pain that shot through him was instantaneous and overwhelming, making him acknowledge that it all was in fact, happening. The rubbish that had landed on him was mostly on his legs, but some had fallen on his back as well.
Though he was covered in bits of wood and siding and he hurt more than words could describe, Vincent instinctively began to advance forward, crawling on his hands and trying to pry himself from underneath all of the debris that had just piled on top of him. It was extremely difficult to move with so much weight bearing down on him, but he struggled with all of the strength he could summon. He would be trapped if he didn't get out of the way.... Someone was blowing the building apart, trying to kill them....
Johns screamed out in rage, moving toward the stairs just as the structure was hit a third time. He never did make it all the way down the staircase.
The ceiling began to cave with a creak, bits of powdery drywall breaking off and raining down on Vincent as the fissure that was created began to move along, splintering off like tributaries. No! He shouted from inside his head. How could this be happening?
Vincent wanted to curse the world for having something inherently against him, for never giving him a chance.
He moved faster, trying to get even a few more feet, just as the cracked roof was hit with another swell of something blindingly bright, and everything came tumbling and crashing down....