Okay, I know I said that this chapter was going to be back to the normal length I'm used to putting out for this story, but I just couldn't extend it any further than this. Hopefully you guys will enjoy it all the same.

Also, there are a couple of words in German near the end of the chapter. They're supposed to be racial slurs and, whild I am against Racism, I know it's bound to crop up whever you go. Also, it's because I'm having the Adelist's speak German, remeniscent to the Nazi's, but it doesn't mean I don't like the language or the country. Though I'm not a native speaker, and have never been to the country, I'm part German myself. The reason I chose the language was simply because I kind of envisioned it myself. Feel free to give me your own opinions.

The Following takes place between 12 p.m. and 1 p.m.

As she was being checked out of the visitors section of the holding station, Christine couldn't help but look back, somehow expecting a barrage of soldiers to appear; a prison break having been orchestrated by none other than the SeeD she had just been speaking with. Instead, she was greeted by a rather normal sight; the guards stationed just outside of the exit doors were at attention and one of them nodded to her in silent farewell. Sighing and mentally chastising herself, she turned back around and continued on her way, back towards her office.

It wasn't that she didn't believe him; in fact, many times during their talk, he had nearly convinced her of his innocence. But it was the way he had answered all of her questions – no expression ever passed across his features that would give away what he was thinking; his voice devoid of anything that would give himself or his motives away. It had felt as though she had been talking to a computer; a program that had been designed specifically for eluding and evading psychological questions. Each and every time she had tried to analyze him mentally, he would put up some kind of a mental barrier and steer the conversation back to the topic at hand.

She had analyzed many patients before; both willing and unwilling to cooperate, but never had she had this much trouble.

She recalled the ending of their conversation; just when she had managed to scrap together information that would serve both purposes of her visit. He had turned to her and told her that she was the kind of person who wanted to gage reactions and responses in order to perceive their personal views; to see things in their perspective, but that she also wanted to accomplish her goals and tasks set to her through simple textbook examples. In her shock, he had followed up, telling her that her profession did not approve of relating to a patient, of which they say as a logistical error. He had then told her point blank that even in life she could concentrate on one or the other in order to get by.

Throughout the meeting, not only was he keeping himself closed off while answering questions pertaining to the statement, but he was analyzing me as well. Christine though in her daze as she rounded the corner. Not even the best profilers could possibly do it that well.

Even so, from what little she received from her psychological analyzes, she was almost certain that he was innocent; that he hadn't come all the way to Esthar in any kind of vehicle, kill the workers in the Presidential Residence and return to Deling in order to orchestrate a mission of importance to the Galbadian Government. However, she was also very certain that he should never have been eligible to train as a SeeD, no matter how good at the job he was.

Actually, the fact that he's this good at what he does is a bit disconcerting. Christine amended.

Adding her current findings to what she had gathered from his childhood, Christine was confident that turning such a troubled and withdrawn child into a mercenary for hire was just asking for trouble. Though true that he had protected the world from a Sorceress hell-bent on destroying it, it was a fact that, eventually, he would eventually melt down and fall victim to any of the corresponding mental disturbances she had ever run into; that is if he hadn't already.

Getting her mind back on track, she thought over the information she had received through the questioning and found that a lot of it did make sense. First, there was the distance between Galbadia and Esthar; not even an Estharian aircraft would have been capable of flying him around the world in less than an hour. He would have had to have possessed gravitational temporal power in order to get from point A to point B within the timeframe.

There was also the speculation of the late-night guard's identifying the suspect. According to security reports, Mack Daniels had been one-hundred percent positive that the man he had allowed through the front gate had been Squall Leonhart, and that the guard had believed the SeeD to be there on business with the President. From what she knew, Squall was slightly shorter than average height, but he had a specific build about himself – probably from training at the Garden – so it would be difficult for someone to impersonate him. Adding the relativity of the night, as well as the info-red goggles the soldiers wore, and it was possible that the ID could have been mistaken – after all, the goggles only shaded the figure into a green blur.

But there was also the voice of the user – the initial cause of the ID. Everyone's voices are controlled by the vibrations that are caused by the vocal cords in a person's throat. Though the effect is the same, the range, tone and sound of the voice are always different, making that person's voice unique. Though true that a voice synthesiser of Esthar's make could mask the user's true voice, and that it was easily obtainable, it could never mask it with one-hundred percent accuracy and their real voice would leak out as a mechanic undertone.

Shaking her head, she chose to debate those thoughts while she wrote her report, allowing her mind to travel towards everything she had learned when studying Psychology. People possessing narcotic tendencies were able to act as though they were normal like the rest of society, allowing them to blend in and making it very difficult to find them. The thought of the eighteen-year-old of whom she had just finished speaking with being able to lie to her as casually and easily as he might have made her skin crawl. The fact that there were actually people out there had made her want to become a psychiatrist in the first place.

His file does indicate pathological tendencies, so it is possible that he could have just made the story up. Christine thought as she entered the elevator that would take her to the floor she wanted. I need to think on both sides; I can't afford to be partial here.

It was a feasible concept –Leonhart could have arrived in Esthar early enough; committed the murder and headed back to Deling City in order to cover his tracks. He could have convinced his comrades that he had been there the entire night, or even to lie about his whereabouts – making then accessories – but the Estharians could have caught up to him before he could turn out the rest of his plan. After all, the SeeD did run at first.

But then why would he have returned to the Estharians after making the effort to run away? She questioned, trying to get into a defence attorney's head. Because he wanted to make it look as though he were innocent; that he had absolutely nothing to do with the attacks. He knew his comrades would tell the authorities that he had been with them during the time of the murder; and if it were recorded that he cooperated with the Estharian authorities, it would make it harder for a jury to want to convict.

The elevator dinged and she left the mechanical box, on her way to her office, even as she continued the jargon in her head. Not to mention it would make the original escape seem invalid – he hadn't known why he was being arrested and felt as though he were being attacked.

Then again, it was all hearsay. She would have to testify, of course, which meant leaving for Dollet and staying there for the duration, which also meant having to tell her clients that she would be away. Even though she had to be impartial as a member of the Estharian Cabinet, that didn't mean she would have to act according to that fact while being cross-examined. She would, after all, be under oath to tell the truth, and her true opinion was inching closer and closer to believing that Squall Leonhart was innocent.

This is getting me thinking too much… she thought to herself. Just concentrate on returning to your office and getting that report done.

Douglas O'Ryan was just heading towards the front desk, preparing to sign himself in. He was tall and well built, keeping in shape for his occupation, and possessed greying dark hair fashioned into a crew cut. He hadn't shaved that morning, afraid that he would have been late for work, so stubble marked his features. It itched like hell, but he couldn't be bothered to really care at that moment.

His features always set into a darkened frown, most of the guards who passed him by did so very quickly, aware of his fragile temper. O'Ryan had been a member of the Estharian Prison Unit for a total of forty years now; his time occurring both before and after the Sorceress War twenty years prior. Before Adel was thrown from power, had anyone asked him about his job, there would have been nothing but good things for him to say and there would have been no hesitation in his response.

And now look at me, he thought to himself bitterly. I'm stuck babysitting a bunch of holding-cell rejects.

Before the end of Adel's reign, O'Ryan had been the Warden of the Highest Security Level Prison in the Country, but when she was booted out and a new President had been elected into office, people were suddenly being shuffled out of their jobs – all for some of the tiniest violations of the twisted new regulations set in place. Most of the people who were either demoted or were forcibly retired had been people O'Ryan had worked along side of for years and had even respected and it wasn't soon afterwards when he too joined the long line of demotes.

The President's too much of a softy for his own Hyne-Damned good. His eyes narrowed as his thoughts began to turn dark. He didn't believe than any of the morons who had ended up behind these bars had any rights whatsoever – hell, the forfeited them when they broke the law – but now that it was illegal to beat on a prisoner, he couldn't vent his frustrations towards them, and they had begun to get way mouthier over the last two decades. What pissed him off the most was the fact that the prisoners who were serving their time during Adel's reign had been set free almost immediately afterwards for lack of evidence towards their crimes. The ones who had died before that time were suddenly being honoured as heroes for their cause.

In O'Ryan's very pointed opinion, the system had failed when the Resistance had messed everything up. Now the remaining believing members of the old regime were reduced to meeting in private, undisclosed locations – the damned Estharians couldn't arrest them for worshiping the true leader of Esthar, but most of Adel's loyal followers had already been put away for conspiring against the current President – not like he didn't deserve it for what he'd done to Esthar already.

"Stupid blow heart," he found himself muttering. "Esthar, the strongest and most powerful country in the world with an army that could take out millions of its enemies, reduced to hiding from our Galbadian enemies for the last seventeen years."

The Adelists had taken it as a personal blow to their already dampened pride when their Intel reported on the President's plan to suddenly disappear, but when they discovered that the Government had hired SeeD to finish off Esthar's real leader while she was merely recovering from being in stasis for so damned long, they had become rightfully angry. The fact that they had succeeded only made them angrier.

But even as he was sinking ever deeper into his hate-filled thoughts, his cellular phone rang. Picking it up out of habit, he checked the number, figuring that it was probably just his wife checking in on him – nowadays she was always complaining about their lack of time together – but even as he was moving to ignore it, he recognized the number as a close friend of his. Choosing to answer immediately, he flipped the phone open and placed the earpiece to his ear. "Yes?" he asked simply.

There was silence as he continued towards the front desk, and O'Ryan's voice filled it up once again after a few seconds. "Of course I'll let him in. For a new inmate, you said? Okay. I'll personally escort him into the building myself. Of course it'll be discreet. I'll call you when he's arrived."

O'Ryan hung up the phone in slightly better spirits than before. There was even a little spring to his step as he made his way towards the front desk. So some punk had gotten himself arrested and was going to be taken out by a friend of a friend? The thought that he would be involved made it seem even more surreal. Nevertheless, he was willing to do something in order to help his comrades. Hell, if it struck a cord with the President, it would make him even happier.

Quickly grabbing his punch-card, he shoved it into the mechanical machine before turning to look at the man at the front desk, his small smile fading slightly. Robbie Higgins was one of the morons that had been chosen to be hired – one of the happy-go-lucky chumps he was forced to work with. He was one of the scrawnier chumps he had to work with; short dark hair combed back to look professional and his uniform immaculate and tidy. He looked like a fucking reporter for fuck sakes.

Given any day of the week, he would have punched his fucking teeth down his throat if his actions weren't under threat of him being fired and charged with assault – but it sure would make him feel better.

Instead, he plastered a fake smile to his face, knowing he had to play nice with the chumps. One demotion was bad enough after all.

"So what's new, Robbie?" he asked in a sickeningly sweet tone of voice. Made him want to gag – thinking on what he was doing now.

"You don't watch the news, do you?" Higgins asked, looking up at him with trust in his eyes. In O'Ryan's opinion, trust was for people who were willing to throw their lives to the wolves. "There's a new inmate coming into this cellblock. He's here for holding till preparations for his trial in Dollet are set up."

"'Course I watch the news." O'Ryan said. "And that sounds an awful like the killer that got those guys in the Residence this morning."

"You guessed it." Higgins said, nodding. "Apparently, it's one of the SeeDs who took out Adel and the Sorceress in the future."

This bit of news caught O'Ryan off guard and he stopped in his tracks, even as Robbie continued. "He's been questioned and everything. All we have to do is hold him here till the officials in Dollet are ready for him to be sent there."

Swivelling back around, O'Ryan moved back over to the desk, wondering if his birthday had come early this year. "Which one is it?" He asked. He already knew it was a boy, and according to rumours, there had been three of them on the team, and out of them, only two of them were SeeD.

"Think it was Leonhart. The one who led the charge."

O'Ryan's grin widened and he didn't even bother to thank Higgins' for making his day. He made his way immediately towards the change rooms in order to get changed for work. The person being let in – he was there in order to take the little punk out – the one responsible for Adel's death – the one who fucked up every contingency plan the Adelists had ever thought up in the event that Adel was to return to them.

The fact that he was part of it no longer seemed surreal. It was like a dream come true.

Opening his cell phone, he dialled a specific number. He had a role to play in this now – one that was worth more than what that soft Government was paying him – and he wanted to do it right.

12:16:03

The employee's cafeteria, though not nearly as extravagant as many of the dinning establishments in Esthar, was fancier than anywhere else in the planet. There was an ovular ceiling overhead, as well as a second and third floor seating level where anyone was allowed to be seated, with just as many levels of service stations. Many of the occupants who were currently indulging on their food while continuing work for something due by the end of the day were talking amidst co-workers, hoping that their formulas, calculations and speeches were all in order. But for one group sectioned off and away to the side of all the commotion, routine couldn't have been any further from their minds.

The President had suggested that they wait in the cafeteria rather than outside of his office in a crowd, while he figured out what he was going to do about their current situation. No one was really in the mood for any food, though Zell had managed to wolf down about half a dozen hotdogs already and was in the process of making that number higher. Quistis still couldn't believe Esthar actually sold them there.

The former Instructor thought about the present situation while the others were rambling on about the injustice of the circumstances. During a mission in Deling City, Squall was wrongfully accused of and arrested for the murder of five Estharian citizens in the midst of working inside of the Presidential Residence. She was fairly certain that he hadn't even known the reason for his arrest until after arriving in the technologically advanced city, but now preparations were being made for a trail in Dollet – one that, by all rights, should not even be taking place.

She had thought about this ever since she had learned what had happened, and thought about it more thoroughly each and every time they were presented with updates. From what she could tell so far, very little of the whole thing made any sense whatsoever. The Estharians weren't stupid; they should have realized by now that for Squall to make it from one end of the world to the other in less than an hour's time was ludicrous, and that the only logical explanation for it all was that he had been framed from the beginning.

Of course they'd have realized it by now if they hadn't held him up like some kind of superhero. Quistis thought bitterly.

Ever since the end of the Ultimecia War, everyone who had participated in Ultimecia's assassination had been held up on some sort of golden pedestal – Squall especially, since he had led the charge. Since he was socially dysfunctional as it was (the only reason he had ever gone to the Graduation party at Garden was because he was ordered to), it was the worst kind of fate the teenager could have possibly received.

"Those fuckers better not try anything." Zell was saying, in-between shovelling hotdogs into his mouth. Quistis idly wondered if he actually knew what they were made of as she tuned back into the conversation at hand. "Squall's only co-operating with them 'cuz he doesn't wanna be the cause of a war."

"But it still sucks." Irvine agreed. "Here they are, pulling all the stops to get 'im convicted, and Squall can't do a damned thing about it without looking like he's got something ta hide."

"Can't they realize he's being framed?" Selphie piped up. "Obviously, he couldn't have been in two places at once; not without having a twin he hasn't told us about."

"Two Squalls…" Irvine trailed off, his expression shifting into a thoughtful one before shaking his head. "Nope. Can't see it."

"The Estharians are going to see this situation the way they want to see it, no matter what we think." Quistis finally chose to interject. "Even if he's innocent, the Estharians don't want to admit that they're wrong. They want someone to blame. The murderer was able to sneak past security undetected, kill those people and then escape while the Estharians simply looked like they were sitting on their hands the entire time and they're furious about it. They want the salvage their reputation by pointing the finger at SeeD, basically saying that we're the only ones capable of getting in and out of the building that effectively. Unfortunately, Squall was chosen to be their scapegoat and there isn't anything we can do to stop them from making him appear guilty enough to convict."

Sighing, Quistis frowned thoughtfully, knowing that her words had done nothing but make them feel worse. "It still doesn't help that he's let them arrest him and treat him this way."

"We can talk to him about that when we go visit him."

Everyone swivelled around in heir seats and noticed both Cid and Edea approaching them from the entrance to the cafeteria. When they were merely a few feet away, Quistis, Selphie and Zell rose to their feet and saluted the headmaster, while Irvine simply tipped his hat forward in silent greeting.

Cid shook his head and chuckled. "There's no real need for formalities here, under the circumstances."

His previous words suddenly came running back into Quistis' mind, but before she could string a sentence together, Rinoa, who had been silent up until this point, beat her to it. "What did you just say?"

Cid chuckled once again, and Edea smiled as she answered for him. "Laguna was able to pull some strings. We will be able to see and speak to Squall once the Director of the Cabinet receives a report from the questioning process."

"Well," Cid interjected. "That's putting it lightly. In reality, Laguna threatened to have the Cabinet disbanded and reordered if they didn't allow him this request."

Selphie giggled. "That's actually not so hard to imagine."

'How long will we have to wait?" Rinoa asked, steering the conversation back on track.

"They have already gathered the necessary information in order to write the report, so we probably do not have much more time to wait."

"Though I did overhear something about a psychiatrist doing the questioning." Cid continued when his wife stopped. "Laguna wasn't overly pleased to hear that."

Zell choked on the hotdog he had just taken a bite out of and began to cough violently. Selphie slapped him on the back a couple of times, and he was able to swallow the article of food before speaking again. "You're kidding, right? Someone attempted to actually get into Squall's head?" he slammed his fist onto the table and laughed. "Five gil says they failed. Miserably."

"No way." Irvine shook his head, though he too was grinning. "I'm not falling for that trap, Zell."

"Either way, I betcha he's not too happy about it." Selphie commented before her face suddenly brightened dramatically. "Hey…maybe we can plan something to cheer him up!"

"Nothing short of being cleared will cheer him up, Selphie." Zell snorted.

"And the Estharians aren't exactly in the mood to listen to us." Quistis added.

"And busting him out'll only piss him off." Irvine stated when Selphie was about to say something. "He's determined to wait 'til he's been cleared; he pretty much said so to Rinoa."

Zell snorted again, and the others turned to look at him. "And even if we tried, he'd be all like 'Put that wall back where it was before; I'm not leaving', or something like that."

"And if any of us argued?" Selphie asked enthusiastically, already knowing the answer.

Quistis couldn't help herself; her friends' good mood was beginning to get to her. "Simple…"

It was at this point that everyone sitting at the table joined in nearly the exact same time as she continued with her response.

"Whatever."

Immediately afterwards, everyone erupted into fits of laughter. Zell nearly fell out of his chair, holding onto his stomach and Selphie allowed her body to collapse onto the table, her eyes clenched shut as she giggled insanely.

"That's not very nice, you guys." Rinoa sputtered, even as she struggled to regain her composure. This made everyone laugh even louder, considering she too had joined in.

"I'm glad to see you all in better spirits." Cid commented through the laughter. "Despite the circumstances, I don't think Squall would want you to be feeling sorry for him."

"Though he does not like to be teased, he would find some comfort in knowing you are not suffering through his decision." Edea said. "Though I will be speaking to him about his choice of actions. Really, and I thought I had raised him better than that."

"Don't forget," Cid remarked with a grin. "he still has to be punished for disobeying an order."

"I don't know which one's worse," Selphie laughed as they watched Edea and Cid leaving the cafeteria. "Being in jail for a crime you didn't commit, or having to face Matron for something you did do."

"Gimme a sec…" Zell said, clutching his head in mock agony. "That's a tough one!"

Having parked the hoverbike in the parking lot, Bobby made his way through the entrance of the holding area, thinking back to when he had been there during his youth. He remembered the layout fairly well; the lot where the prisoners were allowed one hour of outdoor activity a day was sectioned off to the east of where he presently was, and the cellblocks were further west of the lot; the guards afraid that they would attempt to escape via the yard in the middle of the night. Bobby always thought it hilarious that they'd forget the simple fact that there were twenty feet tall walls barring them from the outside world, not to mention the dozen or so guards regularly patrolling the area in case something happened.

Looks like nothin's changed since I was last here, he thought to himself as he continued down the halls. He couldn't be sure whether or not the design to this specific area had changed or not, since he had never once been a visitor to the prisons.

Look at me now, waltzing in here like a man with a clean record.

Bobby found it especially ironic that he was freely entering the prison establishment. Anytime prior to the present he had always been wearing a set of handcuffs on his wrists, but no one even spared him a glance as he made his way deeper into the station.

He shook his head, willing the thoughts of his past out of his mind. The only thing that mattered to him was taking out his brother's killer, and allowing the man to rest in peace. He summoned his brother's image to the forefront of his mind, but the surprise of his being there wasn't so easily abated.

"That stuff's in the past now," Bobby reminded himself under his breath – somehow hoping that hearing the words rather than thinking them would make them sink in. "All that matters is letting Jack's memory rest."

"Anderson, right?

Jumping slightly at the sudden sound, Bobby stopped in his tracks, whirling around to face the direction the voice had come from, his eyes narrowing when he recognized the uniform of a standard prison guard. He had no love for the uniform or the memories that came with it; back during the Adelist regime, he'd get beaten and spat on just 'cuz the fuckers felt like it. He still had the scars from that kind of torture, mostly emotional but the physical ones were only finally just starting to disappear.

From the looks of the man who'd called him by his last name (who's this fucker and how'd he know my name, Bobby wondered mentally), he could've easily been Jack's age, if not a little older. He had a crew cut like the army guys he'd seen in movies and TV, greying dark hair and his uniform was neat and tidy – just like Jack's dress uniforms for work.

A moment passed between the pair before Bobby finally said something. "Who wants to know?"

"Dale sent you, right?" The guard asked and Bobby felt a tremor run through him, just at the sound of the crazy fucker's name. "I'm here to help you get your justice."

Regaining his composure, Bobby removed any impression of his surprise and trepidation from his facial expression. It was a trait he'd learned to perfect in high school, and it'd helped him lie his way out of trouble, for the most part. "Colour-coat it all you want," he snapped. "But I got no illusions of what I'm doing. It's called revenge."

The guard's grin widened, apparently pleased with what he had heard. "Alright then. You're the boss. I take it that Dale to you what was up?"

Bobby recalled the conversation and nodded in response. "Yeah. Said to come here and you'd fill me in on the finer details. Also said something 'bout a distraction."

"Great." The guard nodded to himself. "Then let's not beat around the bush." He gestured for Bobby to start walking and they continued to travel deeper into the prison establishment. "This prison's got about five different cellblocks. Block A, B, C –"

"Been here before." Bobby said. "I know the layout. Just get to the point."

If the guard'd been surprised by the admission, he sure as hell wasn't showing it. "Each cell block receives on hour of outdoor activity throughout the day. First it's A, then B, then so on and so on."

Bobby was beginning to grow impatient. He knew all of this already, but the shitter was acting as though he hadn't heard him say anything. Still, he chose not to interrupt this time and hoped the bastard got to the part of the plan he actually wanted to hear about. "The guy you're lookin' for is in cell block D, meaning he'll be going outside with the rest of 'em real soon. During that time, one of our guys – he's got a sniper scope located at the Northern-East wall of the yard – he's been filled in on what he has to do."

Bobby's frown deepened. "I thought I was gonna be the one to take him out."

"Relax, I'm not done yet." The guard said, appearing not to really care that he had been interrupted once again. "The target isn't your brother's killer; it's another worm we gotta shut up. We can off him anytime though; not like he's going anywhere anytime soon.

"Anyway, our guy's gonna take a shot and try to clip him. Not kill him, but hurt him pretty bad. One shot's all it's gonna take; the prisoners'll hear the shot and assume the guards'll be busy trying to catch the sniper. They'll try to escape. When that happens, we send you to where we know your target is headed and you get to do whatever the hell you want to him. It's your call."

He thought about it for only a second before nodding his consent. It sounded simple enough, but not so simple that it seemed half-baked: more like it'd work without a hitch, so long as everyone played their part. Then again, even if it'd sounded like garbage he wouldn't done it; anything to get back at the fucker. "I'm in. When does this thing go down?"

"Half-passed one this afternoon." The guard said. "That's when D-Block gets their time outside." He took a moment to check his watch before speaking again. "It's about twenty-five to one now, meaning plenty of time to get prepared. Though I gotta warn you 'bout somethin'."

The guard stopped walking, and looked both ways as though to make sure no one was listening in. Bobby stopped walking to and folded his arms across his chest, wondering what it was the guard needed to warn him about. When the guard was satisfied, he turned back to look at Bobby. "The guy you're after's a crafty sonovabitch. He'll try to talk his way outta you shooting him. Tell you he's been framed; someone set him up. You know, that sorta thing."

"I'm not gonna fall for that piece of shit story." Bobby stated, annoyed that he'd be seen as so gullible. "Ain't stupid enough to fall for that. He pays and he pays now. What's he look like?"

"Short dark hair, blue-grey eyes." The guard said without missing a beat. "Not very tall either; just taller than five and a half feet. He'll be wearing the same uniform as everyone else."

"Sounds like every fucker I've run into." Bobby started, but the guard raised a hand, signalling that he wasn't finished yet.

"Though the most telling sign that it's him," he said, pointing an index finger at the left side of his own forehead. "is the scar that runs from here," he traced an invisible line to just underneath his right eye. "to here. You can't possibly miss it; kinda stands out."

Bobby wondered for a second what kind of knife fight the punk'd gotten himself into before all this before mentally shrugging it off. He didn't give a rat's ass about what the fucker did before he'd killed Jack. The only thing he cared about was that he'd murdered his straight-arrow brother, and now he was going to pay.

"Just do your part right," The guard was saying. "and revenge'll be all yours."

You don't have to worry about me, Bobby thought to himself, but offered the guard a curt nod anyway. Jack had done everything he could to help Bobby when he had been in trouble, and it was high-time Bobby paid him back with interest.

12:39:45

She leaned back in her chair, her left arm folded with her right hand resting over her mouth, the index finger tapping thoughtfully onto the side of her face. Positioned directly in front of her was a computer monitor, the screen riddled with Estharian scrawl; the basis of her written report.

Scowling at his own monitor, the man watching turned away before glancing back at another picture screen; this of the halls of the Estharian Residence. He had had his informants add a sort of spy-camera – an experimental micro lens that could take in every single detail of the room it was photographing even better than the spherical security cameras the Estharians currently used. Though it was still experimental, one wouldn't have thought so as they watched the multitude of surveillance data that this man did.

Seems as though Cobatchi has done it again … the man thought to himself.

Three months of hard work and Cobatchi had proven to be a great asset to the cause. It had been his selection of the team Deft-Strike, and because of their utter success it had been worked out that the man was brilliant – a genius actually. So far it was proving beneficial, but all the same he wanted to keep an eye on the man, lest he become too ambitious. All that mattered was the cause, and if your own subordinates weren't loyal to you than there really was no point in taking any action, unless to ensure it yourself.

Still, Deft-Strike had proven to have been a complete success and for that he was grateful. Because of the operation that had taken place two months prior, they held the keys to pretty much any kind of Intel, be it so little or so huge. With this, he was able to keep tabs on the men and women responsible for the destruction of the Adelists reign, and plan accordingly.

Though the little addition to the plan nearly cost us a major set back…

Frowning thoughtfully, he pressed the button located on the dashboard positioned atop a fine-oak desk and the holographic image of a young woman with red hair – half of it obscuring her vision – saluting him. He nodded and she was set to ease. "Progress report." He stated simply. Though it wasn't a necessity since he, after all, possessed a front row seat to everything that had happened thus far, he found it better to allow his subordinates fall into the same procedures as they had previously been in. After all, he surmised. T'is better to be safe than to be sorry.

"Sir," the woman stated evenly, removing herself from her attentive stance. "Anderson has made it to the prison holding sector of the Presidential Residence. They plan to initiate operation Code-Strike at approximately thirteen thirty. One of the Prison guards – O'Ryan – has briefed him of the minor details, sir."
"Not too much I hope." He said and the woman shook her head.

"Negative. Everything is moving according to plan."

"Excellent. See to it that it continues that way."

Before the woman could respond, however, another holographic image moved her icon more towards the left, the visual of a guard looking mildly panicked… or was that exasperation. "What is it, Cromell?"

"Sir, the prisoner has managed to escape again." He said, trying to keep his annoyance out of his voice, but failing, even as the woman's image disappeared from view – her report already given.

The man in likeness to his soldier sighed. Ever since Deft-Strike, their prisoner was choosing to be more and more resourceful as the days went by. Already she managed to break down two of her chambers, and very nearly rerouted their automated security grid. They'd had to change it so the attempt wouldn't repeat itself, but they'd managed to subdue her anyway.

"How annoying…" he muttered under his breath before finally making a decision. "Subdue her again – this time with tranquilizers, and you know the consequences of harming her in any way."

Nodding solemnly, the soldier saluted before his visual disappeared as he turned his attention towards the monitor, watching the holding cell block where the framed man was sitting inside of a prison cell. He hoped that he wasn't making a mistake with this new addition, but if it was as well thought out and executed as he hoped it would be, then it would prove to add a valuable marker to his team's goals.

Harold made sure that his office door was closed and secure before making his way down the hallway, heading towards the conference chambers. From what he had heard from the Director a mere few minutes before, Lockhart had just finished with her report and was in the process of proof-reading it before presenting it to the council. Scoffing under his breath, he quickened his pace at the mere reminder. Lockhart wasn't stupid – after questioning the SeeD, she'd have probably set a means of proving his innocence, which would be bad for the cause. However, once her mind was made up about something, nothing could sway it without evidence, so there was a slight chance that she didn't believe the boy at all. Even slight chances were better to work with than no chance at all.

Sighing to himself, he reminded himself that his duty was for the cause, and that it was the only thing that mattered now. Life had been so much more easy – so much more comfortable back when Adel was around. Those who were close to her side – forever loyal to her whims and wishes – were rewarded with complete amnesty and wealth, while those forever struggling to change were crushed like the accursed ants they were. If Odine had been as loyal to the regime as he had always claimed to be, then Loire and the useless Resistance wouldn't have ousted the grand ruler and she would still have been alive.

But all of that will change soon enough,Harold thought to himself. The President is already beginning to pay for that, and it won't be very much longer until the followers of the regime take back what was so wrongly stolen from us.

He assured himself that they would first pay through their loved ones before finally paying through their own blood. Had it not been for the uplink one of their men – unfortunate how he died during the Lunar Cry – had set up in the make-shift office the President had been using, they would not have known that the SeeD they were currently framing was a relative to the man who had snatched away their dreams. They had not even realized the man had had such close connections other than the giant silent brute and the lanky Drecksau that always hung around him (he couldn't believe the Schweinehund actually got a high-ranking position in the Residence). That was when Deft-Strike had been put into effect and, for all those who were for the cause, the plan had been successful, but this time around, it didn't look as though things were going according to plan, what with the SeeD's surrender.

Sighing once again as he continued towards the conference room, he hoped that his contacts would make sure that things got back on track.

The Time is now 1 p.m.