Prey Drive

The kingdom of Wutai was the only thing in the world that gave Heidegger nightmares. Having slogged through the insect-ridden tropical forest and barren plains of the southern-most continent under the command of General Catalonia Sr. in the first war, he'd grown to hate the very mention of the nation's name. He'd hated it when he was marching through the jungle trying to catch bugs and lizards for protein, he'd hated it when he'd been marooned there as an officer in the occupation, trading rations for local favors, and he hated it now, as the overseer of the whole damned, soggy reconstruction. Why the president hadn't just firebombed the place like he'd suggested and left it to rot was a mystery. That was the trouble with Shinra: it still thought like an electric company. It wanted to sell things to people, and it couldn't do that if its target demographic was picking bullet casings out of smoldering rubble.

Heidegger was feeling particularly sullen that afternoon. No one had heard his loud, dismissive laughter all day, and his face was contracted in a piggish scowl. The soldiers were taking it as an ill omen, and the nervous little lieutenant by his side was staining his collar with sweat. But luckily, the brigadier-general was in a rare and pensive mood; surly, but calm. He had more immersing matters at hand than the bullying of his subordinates.

"What am I looking at, Marks?" The immense man glowered, pointing above a sagging wooden doorpost of an herbal medicine shop.

"It's a bird, sir."

"What kind of bird?"

The lieutenant squinted. "A um, swallow, I think. A yellow swallow."

"Yes, that's what I thought." Heidegger lowered his arm and tucked it behind is back. "Now tell me, why are there yellow swallows painted over every other shop in this district? What do they mean?"

Lieutenant Marks shrugged and scratched his ear. "Traditional folk symbol, I guess. Maybe it's for some local holiday?"

The little split-tailed birds had been seen freshly stenciled in bright saffron above shops, houses, and shrines all over Wutai's capital city. There were headbands adorned with them, and occasionally, flags. Jinhquwan was literally peppered with them, but no one seemed able to answer how they'd gotten there.

"Hunt down a native and ask them, will you?" Heidegger tapped a riding crop against his boot irritably. "I want to know exactly what these pesky little sparrows are about. Break some fingers if you must.

Marks drew back. "Sir? Over a bit of regional graffiti?"

"The squinty scum can sell their paper lanterns with one hand as well as two!" The brigadier general turned his bulk and began to make his way to a waiting military jeep. "We found this symbol painted over the reactor that was sabotaged yesterday night. The man we captured had it stitched onto his armband…" His beard shook and bristled. "If this bird cropping up all over town is just a coincidence, I'll eat my hat!" The jeeps wheels compressed dangerously far to accommodate him as he hauled himself into the passenger's seat like a green-coated walrus. "Take your time about it, Marks. I won't be back to camp for the rest of the evening. That upstart new SOLDIER general and his boy are bringing the whole board of directors to Wutai for a conference. I'll have my hands full."

Lieutenant Marks saluted as the squat vehicle disappeared down the main city road, its path soon obscured by clouds of dust made opaque by the late-afternoon sun filtering in over the shops and crowded tenant housing. Laundry lines and banners stretched between the buildings and hung into the street like colorful bunting. Unlike Midgar, the primary construction materials were wood and stone, and while a few balconies and red-tiled rooftops sported antenna cables and satellite dishes, the technology here was sparse.

It's like living in the romantic past, thought Marks fondly. He looked around him and took in the hand painted signage and carefully maintained old shop fronts. It was so pleasant and rural here; it was hard to imagine the citizens of Jinhgwan as being anything but peace-loving and simple folk, devoted to their quaint traditional arts and preserving family relations.

The houses in this district were tightly cramped one above the other, with little or no fresh air or sewage treatment, and of course, many, many Wutaens were poor; but surely, they weren't like the poor of Midgar. These people were content, and found satisfaction in hard work and perseverance. That's what he was comfortable imagining.

They're just such a virtuous nation… Marks thought, saddened that his colleagues were not as enlightened as himself. Like this woman here, he smiled to himself, spying a native coming down the road. Now there's a mother who makes time for her children and doesn't have to lock the door at night.

Marks saw to his excitement that she was wearing a yellow armband emblazoned with a carefully stitched swallow. How lucky for him! He wouldn't need to go scouting for rebels after all, and there would be none of that awful torture business. Wutaens were so hospitable and friendly when you got to know them! He was ashamed that the director of public safety felt the need to be so harsh with them.

The woman was dressed in plain traditional blouse and trousers, her wide-legged pants much repaired, her ribbon-buttoned shirt all but colorless with age. She looked in her early thirties, but Wutaens were a slow-aging people. Her hair was tied back with a red scarf, typical of the region's farmers. Marks wondered what she was doing in the capital city, so far from the rice fields. As he came closer he saw that she was trying to unlock a door to a business with the same saffron-colored bird above it. She was in the process of knocking when she noticed him, and quickly withdrew her hand.

"Hello there!" He waved and jogged over to the native woman with a smile. To his embarrassment, she flinched and eyed his uniform, looking like she was about to run away.

"Oh no, no, ma'am, wait! I just want to ask you a few questions." He raised his hands in a gesture of amity. "Quest-ee-ons." He enunciated carefully for her benefit. Wutaens had their own language, Taiesan, which was notoriously difficult for Continentals to learn. There had been a time when the Western tongue had been forbidden in the capital, as a sign of its fierce national independence. But now of course, the natives all spoke reasonable Common. They had to, for the tourists, and negotiations with Shinra.

"Yes?" The woman winced, black eyes worried and distrustful. Her accent was thick but she seemed to understand. "What Shinra want to know?"

"Oh, I'm just curious! I just love Wutai so much, you know? It's so marvelous how you people haven't gotten caught up in all that modern…" he swirled his hands, "…complexity."

She stared at him, unblinking, her hand still on the latch of the door, holding it closed.

"Um… but, I'm really sort of new here, and I wanted to know a little bit about the local customs. It seems like there are a lot of these little yellow birds everywhere and I'm just wondering what they mean. Are they for a festival or… protective images, or a superstition or something?" He tried to seem as enthusiastic and open minded as possible.

The woman glanced through the fogged window of the storefront, eyes narrowing. "Shinra want to know about Golden Swallow?"

"Oh yes please, if you don't mind telling me. I understand if it's, you know, sacred or whatever." He wiggled his hands to show he was referring to anything mystical.

Her arms crossed. For a moment, Marks thought she would refuse to tell him, but her sharp eyes finally turned on him and she started speaking in a aggressive, off-tempo patter. "Golden Swallow is very old story, Shinra. When first water god, Great Leviathan is young, he create First Islands with his scales. Everything is very good and is start growing." She glanced cautiously through the window once more before continuing. "Water God is pleased, and so rest from make all First Islands and First People. Great Leviathan keep all powers in giant pearl, to make for safe until he need again. But when he is wake up- the pearl, gone." She made a sudden sharp gesture, which startled Marks. "An Ogre steal it, take it high, high up into scale-mountain, where Great Leviathan cannot reach. Ogre use powers for useless things; to admire and to make him seem strong and kingly like Leviathan, but he is create nothing."

"Oh, fascinating!" Marks listened with a rapt expression, hoping he seemed suitably entranced by the woman's native folklore.

"Quiet, Shinra." She snapped. "Ogre safe at top of mountain from Leviathan; but small Golden Swallow, very clever and quick, he is go to Ogre, dance quickly about head, peck his eyes, make him angry! Ogre swat at swallow, but swallow is fast and small— he miss, and fall down scale-mountain into sea, where Great Leviathan wrap around him five times, and crush head in teeth." The woman gave him a disturbingly satisfied look. "Golden Swallow take pearl off mountain, and all is good and full of sense again." She smiled at Marks, pointing above the doorpost over where they stood. "That Golden Swallow—the one who is return power to Great Leviathan, and First People."

"Oh I see, I see!" Lieutenant Marks exclaimed. "Well, what a pretty fairytale! So full of wonderful images." He shook his head. "I suppose you like to paint it around because of that awful ban on images of the Leviathan…"

The woman opened the door she'd been holding shut slowly. "Yes. Is good story. Since we can no more use pictures of Leviathan, Wutai is paint Swallow instead. Are just pictures. Shinra not understanding difference, so, is safe. Is just small, silly bird, yes? Come, come." She walked into the store, gesturing for him to follow. "Shinra should see more of Wutai culture."

"Oh, is this your store? How charming!" Marks ducked inside the darkened shop, trying not to seem too disparaged by the lack of furnishings or light. Perhaps she couldn't afford the amenities, poor thing. The rates that had been imposed on native Wutaens were absolutely brutal, it had to be said.

"Yes, charming." The woman said, as a wood plank came swinging out of nowhere, colliding with the back of Marks' skull.

Marks crumpled with a yelp, feeling blood run into his eyes. He reached for his weapon, dizzy from pain; but a second pair of hands grabbed his, twisting his arms behind his back as a firm pressure was put on the center of his spine. The room was suddenly flocked with cloth bands, worn by men and women, some teenagers, some even elderly, all marked with tiny, golden-winged birds. Their hands were full of weapons, both traditional and manufactured, guns and pikes. The woman from the street stood at the center, her stance firm, her black eyes full of scorn.

"We are the ones who will return power to the first people."

...

A small forest of thick, open binders encircled President Rufus Shinra, all displaying scrolling lists of figures; input, output, gross profit, marginal losses, the recent history of all of the money and human resources going into, and coming out of, Wutai.

He'd spent the last week getting the numbers combed smoothly into charts and breakdowns, a mathematical trail of breadcrumbs that led to a bear trap.

The glowing projection displayed as much to the board of directors. Palmer was absent, as the defunct Shinra Space Program would not be impacted in the slightest by policy changes in Wutai. As if to balance the disparity, Professor Hojo was in attendance, hunched vulture-like at the end of the conference table. It was apparent that he thought there was something about the scenario that might be beneficial to the Science Department. Rufus knew that in the Wutai Wars, prisoners and disenfranchised citizens had sometimes been used in unscrupulous experiments. The regular infantry had been taught that the Wutaens were subhuman; a backwards, primitive race that Shinra was helping out, bringing up to speed, modernizing, and educating. The fallout of those conflicts was still an ugly stain on Shinra's reputation, a skeleton in the closet that hadn't quite stopped kicking. Maybe the professor was hoping the result of today's meeting would provide him with a fresh source of test subjects; subjects whose absence would not be reported, and whose treatment would not be scrutinized by media watchdogs. Hojo's patient, opportunistic stare became particularly gruesome in this light. Rufus stared back at him icily, resolving to find an excuse to send the professor back to Midgar at the soonest opportunity.

"As you can see above, the continued military presence in Wutai is becoming nothing more than a millstone to the company; the numbers do not add up, no matter how you slice it." Rufus clicked button in his palm, switching the projection image to a new graph. "We can't keep up this occupation, it's as simple as that. Another course of action must be pursued immediately, if Shinra is to salvage operations in the East."

Heidegger slammed a fist onto the table with characteristic audacity. "Impossible!" He shouted, mustache bristling. "Absolutely impossible! How can you even consider pulling troops out of Wutai when just yesterday, our reactor construction was ruthlessly attacked by rebel forces! It's absurd to abandon the front now; it would be to surrender all our resources and erase the progress made in the last five years of conflict!"

Chief Engineer Scarlet looked aggressively bored, her lavish red silk outfit an obvious hint towards activities she'd rather be pursuing. Nevertheless, her loyalties were with Public Safety and Defense, and she lazily raised her manicured hand to show support. "I agree. It'd show weakness in a time when the public needs to see that Shinra is still in control. We've already suffered losses at the hands of Avalanche and traitors within SOLDIER." She cattily darted her eyes over the current commander. "Can we really afford to be so passive?"

"I understand your concerns, but frankly, the benefits of those last five years have been negligible." Rufus put his hands on the table calmly. "It's obvious we're not wanted here, and the costs of maintaining armed forces stationed so far from the Continent are substantial. My concerns about this are more than just financial…" He clicked forward another slide, this one picturing a blurry photograph taken from a high-vantage point. "These are images our satellites have picked up."

"The North Crater." Mumbled Professor Hojo, ominously quiet.

"What's wrong with it?" drawled Scarlet, lowering her cigarette holder.

Rufus shook his head. "No one's sure yet. But it appears that there's some kind of force field over the whole crater. No organic material has managed to pass through it. Our sources seem to agree though…" he paused, trying not to make eye-contact with Treize. "This appears to be the work of Sephiroth, or the 'chosen one', or whatever he's going by since his reappearance."

The present SOLDIER general had so far remained silent and neutral through the presentation, but now a shadow passed over his handsome face.

Professor Hojo adjusted his glasses. "It's a caul." He made the diagnosis with a lilt of appreciation. "A sort of amniotic membrane over the whole mountain top. How interesting… he must be preparing for a metamorphosis of some kind."

"My point is—" Interjected Rufus, clapping a binder shut firmly, "What Shinra can't afford right now isn't the appearance of weakness, but actual tactical disadvantage. We are spread very thin right now, trying to keep the Wutaens under control. In order to use the amount of force necessary to subdue them permanently, we would have damage our assets here along with the resistance. We're fighting a guerilla war on their turf; we have more resources, but they have time and territorial advantage. When High Priestess Izayoi surrendered to Shinra in the last conflict, it was to her benefit, not ours."

Across the table, General Trieze rested thumb and forefinger on his lips, hiding a satisfied grin. Rufus was going over the points they'd discussed with his own brand of ruthless clarity. It was more than gratifying to watch- It was just shy of arousing.

"So, here's my proposal." Rufus continued, clicking to one final screen. "Wutai is to be given total independence. We pull out, leave the reactor, and let them sort out the pieces."

Heidegger bristled and flushed, looking ready to explode with another flurry of objections, but Rufus rushed ahead to his next point. "We're going to allow them a subsidiary branch of Shinra Electric. They'll manage their reactor independently and the power they generate will be theirs to do with as they please."

This caused a wave of murmurings, low-key outrage and doubt bubbling across the room. Rufus rapped on the desk again to regain attention. "Think about it. Wutai is a rural, agricultural nation. They have exactly zero industrial capital except for what we provided them with. Without Shinra's supplies, they'll be dead in the water."

"Won't they just destroy the reactor and go back to their primitive little huts and snake-worshiping?" Heidegger scoffed, clearly skeptical that the president's plan was going to live to see the light of day. "They're a simple, backwards people, Mr. President. They've sat on all this Mako for decades without so much as considering its possible uses; their religion even forbids it!"

Rufus rolled his eyes lazily. "Heidegger, if ever there was a more backwards, outdated viewpoint than the one you just espoused, I've never heard it. Of course they won't destroy the reactor!" he continued levelly; "The only reason the resistance is attacking is because they object to foreign rule. If we gave the reactor to them in good faith, they'd have every reason to use it. The anti-Mako religious fanatics in this country are a minority population; the rest of public has moved on." The president gestured out a window. "Look around—the tourist hotels here come equipped with plasma screen TVs and hot tubs. Even the street vendors have cell phones! The royal family is in a position to ease the lives of their countrymen by a huge margin if they normalize Mako power, and they know it. But since they themselves lack the industrial capital, there's only one thing they can do to get it..."

"Buy it from Shinra." Scarlet mused, lifting an exquisitely penciled eyebrow. "Well, that makes sense." Her mind turned to the possibilities of a new market for her department's developments.

"Exactly." Rufus shut off the projector screen. "We can still make a mint off this island, but only if we put our best foot forward here."

"Pardon me, Mr. President…" The metered voice of SOLDIER interjected. "With respect, these people have suffered enormously over the last decade because of Shinra's excesses. Even with such an accommodating plan, I imagine the Wutaens will be wary to accept it. They may even continue the hostilities, unless you offer them a more substantial token of apology."

Rufus tilted his head with a thin, humoring smile. "Well, I'm glad to hear your opinion on the matter, General Khushrenada. You studied here in Wutai, didn't you? Under Sephiroth?" He left the emphasis hang in the air, awaiting interpretation.

"Indeed I did." Treize said with only a hint of amusement. "He taught me nearly everything I know about subduing aggressive and proud opponents."

The president's eyes narrowed, glittering. "What would you suggest?"

"The people should see those they see as their enemy making a symbolic concession to their new authority, wouldn't you agree?" Treize folded his hands mildly. "Perhaps someone who has, up until now, been seen as a threat and an oppressor could make a public appearance before the royal family, as an act of reconciliation."

The board shifted uncomfortably, wondering who might be appointed to the task. Rufus waited, knowing what was to follow.

"Heidegger, perhaps?" Treize managed to look coy while delivering the sentence.

Both the Director of Public Safety and Defense and his collaborator, Chief Engineer Scarlet bolted upright in alarm. "What?" Heidegger rose so fast his chair fell over backwards. "How dare you-? President Shinra, since when does SOLDIER have any authority over my department?"

Treize did not even spare the director a side-glance.

"Heidegger, control yourself." Rufus said coolly. "General Khushrenada has a point. Someone has to carry the flag to Wutai... someone charismatic and convincing." He turned his eyes to the ceiling, arms crossed. "…Someone familiar with the goals of this small, vibrant nation, someone who is easy to trust..." His pale eyes flickered over Treize. "Why don't you both go?"

If Treize was surprised by this suggestion, he did not allow it to show outside of a slight tensing of his mouth.

Let's see how you handle a curve ball, general. Rufus thought smugly.

...

"You possess a genuine talent for subjugation, sir."

Treize lingered at the threshold of the conference room, arms folded and back propped against the wall, his cape hanging in heavy folds from one shoulder.

Rufus shot him a vulpine grin. "Why thank you, general."

"Allowing local monarchy and custom to continue to exist under the umbrella of empire is a time honored tradition. Granting Wutai independence from your rule will give them a sense of security, and without an obvious military presence to stir up resentment, there's a good chance that they'll even come to love you as their benefactor." He pushed off the wall and made his way towards the table where Rufus was folding his presentation materials. "It's very clever."

Rufus ignored him, smirking silently until a gloved hand intruded into his field of vision to shut a binder closed with a snap.

"Did you plan on sending me from the onset?" Treize was staring at him.

"Well, I couldn't just let you have your whole way without some consequence, could I? It might go to your head." The Shinra heir brushed past him, aloof as a prim white cat. "Hopefully you'll use this as an opportunity to make sure the job gets done correctly."

"If this goes wrong, you want to make it look as though I personally murdered Heidegger. It will give you a convenient alibi later when you want to dispose of me, if the Resistance doesn't do it first."

"Is that a problem, Treize?" Rufus swiveled on his heel, staring the taller man down. "I thought you liked high stakes games? It's your career against mine, and may the best man win."

"My dear president, if you want to bring this to a head now, I'm all yours. But keep in mind that you'll need someone to fill Heidegger's shoes when he is gone."

Rufus snorted. "You're assuming I'm going to let you take the position?"

"Who else is qualified?" Treize said with a note of challenge. "Unless you plan on giving it to Scarlet."

The tension between them seemed audible in the hum of neon lights.

"If you can pull this off without implicating yourself or me, then the job is yours." The Shinra Company president said sharply, breaking the silence. "Get me results, and I'll make it worth your while."

Treize made a slight bow.

...

Sunset splashed over the Dao Chao mountain shrine like a wash of fresh blood. The gods carved on the cliff face loomed grotesque and ostentatious, their round eyes bulging with accusation. The sight made Heidegger's throat dry.

"I don't know what that boy is trying to prove." He growled, returning to the lead car in his transport fleet. Scarlet sauntered around to the far side and undulated into the passenger's seat, arranging her silk-draped curves just so.

"Which 'boy', Rufus or Treize?" She said with obvious scorn. "Because, sweetie, you're kidding yourself if you think they're not both out to get you. The president just wants to intimidate someone, but that SOLDIER upstart… he's out for blood." A smoke ring curled and broke onto the ceiling in an expanding ripple.

"Don't call me sweetie." Heidegger's brow furrowed massively, waving his hand to clear the air. "I'm tired of that smug fairy stepping on my heels… He climbs faster than a capparwire weed, but I'll be damned if I let him get comfortable ordering me around! I wish I could wring his scrawny, boy-scout neck..."

Scarlet purred. "You may have to, honey, if you want to survive. I have some very reliable sources that tell me he wants you out of the picture." She licked her plump red lips. "You know, I like the idea of you putting the pretty Romafellor brat in his place…"

"Gyahahahaa!" Heidegger cackled abruptly. "What exactly are you suggesting, Chief Engineer? Should I bend him over my knee and remind him who's in command?"

"Don't go barking like that, I'm being serious. I'm suggesting you get him before he gets you…" She inclined towards the brigadier-general, keeping her tone confidential. "The SOLDIER general is supposed to support you when you go to make a formal apology and welcoming speech in front of that teenage emperor brat, right?"

"Yes, the president wants me to grovel for dragging the lazy yellow bastards into the modern world. What absolute rubbish." He spat.

"Well, what would happen if he never showed up to the speech? What if, on the eve of Shinra's departure from Wutai, our brave military commander was to be assassinated by rebel insurgents?"

Heidegger's voice lowered to a sultry rumble. "Why, the peace-negotiations would have to be postponed indefinitely… we'd be forced to keep troops in the capital—maybe even increase them."

"And the SOLDIER program…?" Scarlet cooed.

"Would be under new management." Heidegger chuckled, leaning back in his seat. "What a splendid notion, Scarlet! But won't the president suspect foul play?"

The voluptuous executive cracked her knuckles. "Don't worry about it. No one's going to argue if he turns up full of throwing-needles and hanging outside the mako reactor come sunrise. Even if Rufus suspects you, how will he prove it? The Wutaens don't know about the peace negotiations yet, and they have every reason to want to thin our ranks. Besides…if anyone understands the law of the jungle, it's the president."

"Scarlet, you beautiful viper! Where would I be without you?"

She clicked her teeth around her cigarette holder, expelling a plume of perfume-laced smoke. "Six feet under, sugar, and don't you forget it."

...

Wutai nights were never silent; they chirped and rustled, filled with the liquid music of streams and insects in lacquer cages. Small chiming bells hung from doorframes for luck, and the creak of wooden beams and floorboards remained quietly constant.

This city was not like Midgar; it went to bed with the sun. The only lights and activity belonged to attractions that were left to tourists, and men and women of dubious occupation. Shinra had set a curfew on natural citizens of Wutai many years ago that was still more or less strictly enforced, depending on the leniency of the watchmen. Those who did wander the streets at night were generally Continentals who'd had too much to drink and were shuffling back to their lodgings.

One such midnight-reveler was beginning to meander down the main boulevard, softly singing patchy verses of a trendy radio hit as she went. She was blonde, tall, and modestly attractive, with her hair twisted into two plaits that hung around her shoulders. She caught the attention of two Shinra guards on night watch as she stumbled. They exchanged knowing glances before trotting out to intercept the young and obviously intoxicated woman.

"Woaaah, hey where d'you think you're going, shoe? Hahahaha!" She tripped and fumbled with her sandal, amused by her own clumsiness.

"Excuse me, miss? Are you on your way back home?" Asked one guard with polite firmness. "We're encouraging all travelers to get off the road after sundown. There's been an increase in suspicious activity around here."

The woman giggled, unsteady on her feet. "I know, I know- I'm just trying to find my dumb hotel! I can't ever keep track of the street names here. Everything sounds the same in Wutai, like… like monkeys chattering." She slurred. "I wish they'd post the signs in Common, y'know?"

"Can you tell us the name of the hotel you're staying at, ma'am?" The second guard inquired gently. "We can escort you back, if you'd like."

"That'sso sweet! You boyssare great, really but you don't need to bother. It's like… the Radiant Crescent Palace or something." She hiccupped and excused herself. "Oh… damnit I think I lost my keys somewhere." She fumbled in her pockets. "Sorry, you have no idea how drunk I am right now. It's ridiculous."

"I know where that is. That's the one that's booked up for the Shinra conference. Are you sure that's the one?"

The woman wobbled and looked up at the moon. "Oooh! Thatsswhy it was so expensive. They only had the one room left in the—" She hiccupped, "-whole building! The only reason I got it was because I booked it for my vacation over a month ago!"

With her golden haired and flower blue eyes, she looked the antithesis of most native Wutaens. Her guards accompanied her down the main boulevard, catching her when she stumbled and chuckling with her when she laughed at her awkwardness. The plaza that housed the Radiant Crescent Palace and its surrounding entourage of restaurants, stables, garages, bathhouses, and casinos was wide beautifully landscaped. It was obviously designed as a tourist resort.

"My name's Sally, by the way." The young woman smiled kindly. "Thanks so much for getting me this far."

"No trouble, ma'am. We like to help out when we can." The shorter of the two guards grinned, charmed by the woman's infectious good cheer. "Where are you from?"

Sally tossed her head and laughed. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you. Hey- could you do me a favor? Could you buzz the front desk for me so I can get in? I really can't find my keys."

"Ah—you know, we're patrolling here in the morning anyway, so I've got a set here. I'll just let you in."

"Aaww, I really can't believe how nice you're being. Such gentlemen, both of you."

The guards blushed under their helmets and unlocked the back entrance to the hotel without hesitation and held the door for their pretty companion. "There you go miss. Have a nice night!"

The woman propped the door open with one heel and blew a kiss to her admiring escorts. "You too."

In an instant, the blade of her hand connected with the underside of the short guard's jaw. Before the second could move or even raise alarm, a sharp pain at the base of his skull flashed red in his vision, then, as if a light switch to his brain had been abruptly flipped, he slid to the ground insensible.

"Sorry." The golden-haired women muttered, tugging one body at a time into the hallway. It wasn't much better than leaving them in the open, but at least the patrols were less frequent on the inside of the hotel than they were along the grounds. She checked her watch and glanced towards the ill-placed security cameras that had made this risky procedure possible from the south entrance. No alarms had been triggered. Fixing her conspicuously touristy blouse, she made her way up the three flights of stairs to the next checkpoint. If operations were running smoothly, the janitor's closet would contain a duffel bag with everything she would need for the next half hour.

A black suit of noiseless fabric quickly replaced her civilian clothes. Her golden twists of hair disappeared into featureless cap, and her blue eyes—so distinctive of Continental heritage, vanished behind a sleek pair of sunglasses.

Her mixed ancestry had been put to very good use over the last several years. The resistance needed to have ears and eyes in places where only those privileged with pale eyes and hair could get. It was almost laughable how quickly people from Shinra assumed she must be one of them. To those at the top of the social hierarchy, it seemed her identity, her culture, her past, were all only skin deep.

The palace's design was deliberately exaggerated to appeal to Westerners' sense of the exotic. Red woods carved into elaborate knots and lacquer inlays had been cheaply recreated; copied and reproduced in warehouses, worked on by small hands that labored from morning till dusk without seeing the sun. Dyed silk, once an expensive commodity, lined each wall for the casual pleasure of those who had no conception of the time and extensive processes required for each sheet. Maybe this was the way of the world—maybe the gradual cheapening of human effort and the lack of respect for individual rights was simply the cost of the future. But she didn't have to accept that eventuality without a fight.

Any Shinra dead on Wutai soil was a victory, but the ground troops and minor officials seemed as numerous as ants, and for every one killed, a swarm of others replaced it. However, this time was different; this was some upheaval within the Shinra hierarchy itself, and the result of tonight's work would reverberate all the way up to the top of the ladder. What the repercussions would be to Wutai were another matter; Sally did not particularly care what her client's reasons were for wanting to assassinate another card-carrying member of the Shinra elite, but there was a chance it would lead to another open war with Shinra, and that was not something her country could afford. That was why she had hoped to gain more intelligence on the matter before acting, but time was limited, and this might be the resistance's only chance to eliminate a top Shinra official. She was going to have to get inventive.

Room 313 waited at the end of the darkened hallway. Sally checked her watch again; ten seconds to go. She held her breath, and when the count was finished she rushed forward, feet padding quietly on the thick plush carpet. The cameras were down- she had just enough time to slide a replica passcard into the lock, slip inside, and shut the door behind her. The lapse in visuals would be too short to cause alarm; at least, that was the theory. She still waited to breathe until several more seconds had passed, waiting for sirens to alert everyone on the premises to her failed mission… Finally she exhaled.

The chamber was unlit, with a small foyer leading past a washroom and living room. Her entrance had been silent, and with no movement or noise from within, Sally crept forward. Her target had left his jacket folded over a chair, all gold epaulettes and indigo wool.

A large window had been left open a crack, admitting a warm southern breeze and faint silver light from the high full moon. She drew out a needle from her belt carefully; tomorrow, her target's autopsy would reveal a particularly potent toxin, unique to the Kaikichu insects found on the Dao Chao cliffs. It was a favorite amongst the hidden warriors of Wutai's ancient past, for it paralyzed opponents completely before slowly hardening their lungs and heart into useless cakes of tissue. There was a fair amount of time between the initial sting and the victim's death; time enough to administer the antidote. In Sally's case, this time would be spent determining whether or not the SOLDIER General's death would cause substantive harm to the resistance.

Creeping forward, back to the wall, she entered the bedroom, scanning the chamber carefully before setting foot inside. Her sunglasses were fitted with lenses cut and ground from materia, allowing her to see perfectly in the dark. She could see the supine contours of a sleeping body in the bed before her, but she did not attack. She lowered her body to the floor and got as close to the bed as possible.

But he was not there. The bed was empty. She'd nearly fallen for the oldest parlor trick in the book. Luckily the venom in her needle had not been wasted on a feather down pillow, but where in the twelve hells was the general?

A sharp, cold edge under Sally's jaw answered her question.

"You're not the only one who can see in the dark." Said a deep voice behind her, speaking in passable Taiesan.

She didn't answer. She needed only one shot, and she took it, flicking the needle backwards towards the man's thigh. He was quick—a First Class SOLDIER, after all, but his hand closed around hers a fraction of a second too late. The tip of the needle just pushed through the thin white fabric of his slacks, scratching his skin. It was not the full dose, but it would be enough to slow down even a large opponent.

The general gasped, jerking backwards. Sally pushed him towards the window and leapt neatly onto the bed frame, balancing with the ease of an acrobat. He'd been holding her hostage with a simple shaving razor, she noted with some amusement.

"Weirding toxin. Ah." He pressed his hand against the flesh of his leg, blanching considerably. "How… appropriate." Sally watched from her perch as he stumbled, grimacing, and crumpled to one knee, laboring to breathe.

"You're General Treize Khushrenada?" She asked in her native tongue.

"I am, (humbly)." He answered with considerable linguistic formality. "And (respectfully) you are…if I may guess, part of the Golden Swallow Resistance group?" His Taiesan wasn't bad; it was accented, and overly academic, which accounted for the excessive use of honorifics. Still, he was the only outsider she'd heard who spoke it fluently, and it stood out to her as impressive.

"My name is Sally Poe. If you live, it will be because you have no reason to condemn me. If not, then it will be of no consequence. I have questions for you, and an antidote. I suggest you answer quickly."

From the floor, the man nodded haltingly. He was beginning to slump, his hands and feet sliding numbly under him; he couldn't escape now if he wanted to.

Sally asked her first question: "How much do you know of the Golden Swallow Resistance?"

"Only that they are anti-Shinra partisans fighting for Wutaen independence. They are presumed to be responsible for the attack on the new reactor construction. We do not know where they are based, nor who, if anyone, is their leader." Treize answered. "It's named after the legend of Great Leviathan and the Ogre, is it not?"

"Don't waste time." She snapped, though she was secretly impressed that he'd known about the group's origins. "How many Shinra officials are here? What is the purpose of your meeting?"

The man's eyes fluttered, either because he was in pain or about to lie. Sally watched closely, prepared to administer a second dose if his honesty was in question.

"…Three… Heidegger, Scarlet, and myself." He swallowed. "Rufus Shinra… was in attendance. Along with Hojo, but both departed for Midgar earlier today. Our purpose…" His jaw clenched. Sally wondered if he still had any feeling in his face. If he didn't, their conversation would become farcical very quickly.

"Our purpose is to discuss Shinra's continued occupation of Wutai and the reconstruction of the Jinhgwan reactor. Heidegger is in favor of full-scale invasion; he is to meet with the royal family tomorrow in order to negotiate the terms of their deposition. I oppose him."

"That sounds like something a man desperate to save his own life might say." Said Sally with a hint of amusement. "Why do you oppose Heidegger? Aren't you part of Shinra's military?"

"I am…" He inhaled laboriously. Unable to lift his head, his eyes flicked upwards to look at her. "But I represent a new order in Shinra. I studied in Wutai. I have a fondness for your culture and a profound dislike of the occupational forces' barbarism. I came close to changing the president's mind on the matter, but I was outranked."

"Is Heidegger particularly well liked in your 'new order'?" Sally dropped down from her perch, already knowing the answer.

"He is a ruthless, complacent, pandering fool who sacrificed an entire city sector to crush one small rebellion. So, no." He enunciated slowly, fighting the mounting influence of the poison.

"Interesting." She lifted the man's chin with one hand. His vivid eyes were dilated evenly, and his pulse was just shy of normal. The general's metabolism was giving the toxin a real run for its money. "How much can you move?"

The corners of his mouth twitched. "I can't actually tell. Is my hand raised?"

"A little."

"There's your answer."

Sally grinned despite herself. "You're in SOLDIER. I expect that the effects will wear off pretty soon. Give yourself a day to recover." She rolled up one of his sleeves and pressed a syringe needle gently into the vein at the crook of his arm, keeping a firm grip on his bicep in place of a tourniquet. "There. All done."

"For an assassin, you have terrific bedside manner." Treize quipped, clumsily inspecting his arm.

She almost laughed. "I was a doctor in the war. Old habits die hard." The window provided her with a convenient exit, and after a quick climb down, the darkness covered her getaway completely.

...

The attack came just before dawn. All over the capital the night watch was yawning, turning over their guard to the next shift, pouring coffee or getting ready to sleep. They were overwhelmed almost immediately.

From the roofs of temples and apartments rained down volleys of gunfire; smoke and shrapnel grenades landed amidst clusters of Shinra vehicles; troop transporters' tires were slashed and the gas tanks punctured; in the main city square, Heidegger's men found themselves harried and felled by an unseen sharpshooter, roosting somewhere above the city's center.
From alleys and cellars, houses and stores came a flood of armed citizens. Some were past veterans, some were young and some were old, some were recognizable as merchants or guides. All wore tatters of armbands, saffron yellow and emblazoned with the image of a flying, split-tailed bird.

Vendor's carts became barricades and soon the streets of Jinhgwan were entrenched in every kind of makeshift warfare; blood flowed into Wutai's gutters, though not as much as would have, if Shinra had had time to mobilize its forces. Caught off guard, there was more chaos than outright fatalities.

Amid the smoke and shouting, a partition of 3rd to 2nd class SOLDIERS came swiftly to heel around Brigadier-General Heidegger, ready to conduct him from the now-compromised hotel to the more formidably barricaded military base.

"Preparing your escort, sir. There's an armored van waiting out front—please stay within the convoy and move quickly. Sections one and two, ready for departure." Radio static crackled, stern faces under helmets sweated.
Heidegger wore his scowl a little more nervously than usual, though the insurgents could not have picked a more convenient time to attack according to his plans. All he had to do was make it to the safety of the barracks, and tomorrow he could order an airstrike of the whole stinking province and watch the whole thing from the comfort of his suites in Midgar. Scarlett had really come through for him this time, he thought. Wonder what the little minx is going to want in return…

` The SOLDIER squad hustled him down three flights of stairs, all code words and frantic breathing. They were interrupted on the second floor due to an explosion that shook the foundations of the hotel itself, sending dust and splinters in cascades from the ceiling.

"Bloody hell…" Heidegger shook himself. "How did the little shits get hold of so many explosives?"

"Don't know sir. This is as much a surprise to us as it is to you. Keep moving."

The smell of fire and gunpowder was strong, and the screams and gunshots and sirens could be heard from outside now. The brigadier-general moped his brow, almost stumbling down the last of the steps to the ground floor. They had just stepped foot onto the patio when another explosion went off—this time from behind them, near enough that shockwave sent Heidegger sprawling onto the lawn.

His ears rang, temporarily deafened. As he staggered to his feet he saw his convoy scattered and bloodied; the van they had put their faith in, his ticket to safety and victory, lay useless on its side, the driver dead.

Heidegger felt dampness at his temples, but could feel no pain, only dizziness.

As his hearing returned gradually he was aware that the sounds of battle were much closer than before. He had to find shelter, find his Shinra troops, make it to safety before the howling native terrorists got to him and tore him limb from limb…

Hauling his suddenly inconvenient bulk down a narrow street, he could see in the light of the early dawn, Shinra transport cars parked in a defensive formation in the distance. If he could just make it there…

"Commander!" A voice called from behind him. Heidegger turned around, relieved to see a three-lensed SOLDIER helmet, it's neon blue markings denoting a high-ranking Deep Ground operative.

His relief was short lived, as a gun barrel leveled itself with his eyes.

"I had family in Sector 7, you monster." Said Lieutenant-Colonel Maxwell Andras, as he pulled the trigger.