The prison cells are dark and damp.

Of course they are, Hope thinks to himself as he is being led into the cold bosom of the underground. They are meant for terrorists.

By that line of logic, these holding cells were considered perfect for the suspect that might be more detrimental to the planet than any disgruntled religious or freedom fighter in an embroiled Middle Eastern community.

There is no cover-up that they can use to explain their actions to the American government now. Hope is using a ruse in the dead of night to sneak into a classified underground bunker located in the middle of nowhere. When Hope had originally been helicoptered out to this spot from their home base about 10 clicks out from where they are headed, he had asked how they were going to explain their movement to the powers that be.

Sazh had turned to him at the controls, his face unreadable behind his helmet. "We don't." He had put simply. "We're on our own now, kid. Everything we are doing has nothing to do with the space race. They know about this bunker, and what we are doing is infiltrating on another department's area. We can't even plant evidence and say that we were first to the scene of finding part of an asteroid. It's too suspicious, considering how they wouldn't believe a space rock just happened to land right on top of a top-secret holding facility for local insurgents." He had taken the time to shake his head here. "No, everything that we are doing is illegal, and would be considered traitorous to our nation. We would be executed as traitors if found."

Hope had paused, looking out at the cool sands rippling below their chopping blades. "How do we get past the guards?"

Sazh had waited uncomfortably too long to answer that question. When he did speak, all he said was, "Don't worry about that. It's been handled. You just worry about getting in there and finding out what's been going on. This could be our chance. The point to all of our work."

Hope understands that now as he follows Sazh farther down into the earth, following the bouncing beam of light that his friend holds out in front of them. He was the only one out of all of them who had insisted on his coming here to do exactly what this man had wanted, which was a meeting with Hope, face to face. The others had deemed it too dangerous, protesting that playing right into Bhuni's hands would be exactly what the old god would want. Would Hope have a breakdown if the old God communicated through him? Would he try to harm Hope vicariously through the shell of the man that was being used as his mouthpiece?

From what Hope had been told, the man had asked for Hope, and no amount of coaxing would get him to speak further. The last time that the human sheep had spoken, according to the friends from Bodhum, was when he had looked up through a mat of hair and had said, "Bring me the boy Estheim. Bhunivelze wishes to speak to him." That had been all. For all anyone knew, the man wouldn't talk again until Hope came.

In the end, the solid point that the information they could extract from the man far outweighs the risk is what decided them to committing to commit treason in meeting the man.

Originally, the gentleman had been found in a terrorist cell that was wreaking havoc on the edge of Kabul. He had been taken by an American ground force that was there helping out the locals in the region, and they had thought his speech patterns odd. Everything that the man was saying had been recorded by his American captors, and Hope and his friends had an ear to everything that was suspicious occurring within the world. They had feelers out to report to their New York Lab if anything was found in military advances that seemed more strange than normal. What had been recorded in interrogation sessions definitely fit the bill of what Hope's crew were secretly looking for. He had straight out started talking about receiving visions from the True God, that of Bhunivelze. None of the man's captors recognized whom he was talking about, but put down the name anyway.

That was about a month ago. Infuriatingly, their team had to wait that long for something to occur in that local region of the world for them to have clearance to travel close to where the man was being held. They were helpless, depending on their subterfuge and continued bank roll to unknowingly clear them to carry out their mission. The government's grants were given exceedingly slow, and for them to only have to wait a month to go where they needed to go was actually a very small waiting time.

The supposed reason for their visit to Kabul was reports of a rocket being manufactured in the capital, and their reconnaissance specialty and previous successful sweep team history granted them the special right to be able to come in first, without military action, and see if they could confirm the preliminary reports. The Bodhum crew had their minions out on task to make sure that they could neutralize any thoughts that there was going to be another threat to America's foothold on the space race anytime soon, so that part was being taken care of.

So many people watching my back, making sure that the most important piece of the weapon-myself-is being taken care of. Hope thinks of all the people, all of the souls, unwittingly at this very moment, playing a part to help create a bubble around this meeting. He's almost there. He can feel something, a pulsing sensation, a primal, dark throbbing…

"It's Chaos." Hope speaks aloud for the first time since leaving the copter, and he stops dead in his tracks. Sazh follows suit, holding the light higher.

"Sure looks like it." Sazh is agreeing, and the light…bends, warps, somehow, against a glassy looking bubble suspended in air. Hope steps up next to his friend, blinking at the sight. It's something that he's heard about, and helped defend against, but he hasn't actually physically SEEN a pocket of chaos…up until now.

"So this is what it looks like. What it feels like." A strange, eerie music plays, something that he can pick up on, but not follow. The air seems to dance and shimmer in a seductive way, and there are horizontal waves of energy rolling across a suspended time and space. There is a magnetic pulling here, tugging on Hope's heartstrings.

"It's deadly." Sazh is saying. He is breathing hard, but the light he is holding never wavers. "It's dangerous, and it's calling us."

Hope closes his eyes, and reaches out with his hand. His fingers touch the seam, and the distortion pushes back. His finger indents the air somehow, as if the pressure on the other side is thicker, and he has to rip back the curtain separating the two worlds to fully get a bead on what can happen.

"Well, if we weren't sure before that there was a connection between these occurrences happening and Bhunivelze's presence, we are now." The evidence is conclusive. Hope's thoughts range from a riot of emotions, most of them negative. There's no way he can do anything else with the rest of his life other than try to find a way to beat his old enemy back. There could be no happiness, no peace-only this eternal struggle. It wasn't fair. Hadn't they all worked so hard? Claire…she, she deserved more than this.

"Hey, kiddo-you…you sure you're okay with going in there?" Sazh looks wide-eyed into the threads of ether. "This has got to be tough for you. I found him. I put him in here. Maybe I should go and talk to him, now that this Chaos has sprung up…"

"No, we agreed." Hope's mind latches upon an idea, and clings to it. "This is a trick. Like the Fal'Cie. Smoke and mirrors. There is no more Chaos. Caius is on the other side, taking care of things for us topside." Gritting his teeth, he shifts his gaze to his friend, who is rubbing his goatee in thought.

"Yeah, sounds about right. I can roll with that." Sazh nods once, stretches, and sighs, feigning indifference. "So, you ready to hit the dusty trail?"
Hope smirks. "Old man, I've BEEN on the dusty trail with you now far longer than I'd like to be. I'd like to get this over with and go home." Feeling a surge of hope, he smiles and steps through the Chaos ribbon.

It's like pushing back against Jell-O, except there is a towering mold of the stuff all around Hope. He continues forward momentum, and the sensation only lasts for a millisecond that he is frozen and can't find air. Then…nothing. Everything seems normal. He takes a step on the other side, and it is completely the same as the air from whence he came. He turns, beckoning Sazh, and his friend steps through with the light.

"I should have let you go first. Two reasons. One." Hope holds up the first finger. "You have the light. It just makes more sense. And two." Here he grins mischievously. "Age before beauty, and all that."

"I never want to experience that feeling again." Sazh shudders, and the beam of light dances down the hall with his movement. He is rubbing the back of his neck. "I felt suffocated…wrong."

Hope closes his eyes for a moment, sending a thought out to the universe. Was it like this for you, too? Every time you went into a battle while I watched from beyond. We couldn't feel…I hope it kept you from experiencing this.

"We may have to travel back through this stuff on our return." Hope cautions, placing a hand on Sazh's shoulder.

Sazh narrows his liquid dark eyes into a smolder. "Not if we can fix whatever's wrong down here."

Hope has a sinking feeling, a moment of truth, as he gestures for the two men to start walking down the dank corridor. They both do so, slowly and sure of foot. He doesn't voice his thought out loud to Sazh, but somehow he just knows that whatever was causing the Chaos distortion in this world, couldn't be sorted in only the space of a few hours.

The space that prisoners of war had been secretly detained in hadn't been used recently, Hope easily saw as soon as Sazh revealed the location of the hidden grate in the sand. The inside smelled clammy and damp, if that made any sense. The farther they walk back, the older everything seemed, the dirtier the surroundings.

The oddest thing, however, is the fact that Hope can pick up on some sort of vibration, a sound. Almost…almost…Hope actually stops walking mid-step, and plants his feet, causing Sazh to halt in his tracks and turn to look quizzically at his friend.

Hope closes his eyes, an age-old human instinct that evolution couldn't shake off for wanting to feel with the other senses more acutely.

Sazh clears his throat. "Hope…Hope…are you…okay?"

Hope holds out a finger, a universal signal for silence, and tilts his head. His shaggy bangs brush gently across the bridge of his nose.

"Sazh, can you hear that?"

A pause, and Hope can hear the larger man shuffle his booted feet on the slick bricks beneath them. "Uh, no. Am I supposed to be hearing something?"

Hope nods slightly to himself, then straightens. He lips thin into a line, and he opens his eyes, blinking against the harsh beam thrown by Sazh's flashlight.

"I don't think you are supposed to be hearing something, Sazh." He smiles his most reassuring grin, and places a hand on Sazh's shoulder. "I think I am."

Sazh shakes his head. "Uh-uh. No. That makes no sense. If you can hear something, I should be able to. We're standing right next to each other! What are you talking about? You're freaking me out, man."

"Don't worry. I'm sure you remember the words Claire said, right before we arrived here. 'We can beat him again.' It doesn't matter if he's returned, Sazh. As long as we still stand to fight, we will win this battle a hundred times over if need be. There's nothing to concern yourself with. Come on. How much farther until we get to the cell?"

Sazh squints at Hope, but then sighs resignedly and turns back around. "Only two more bends. I put him down in here so far to make sure that there would be no way anyone could hear him."

Hope nods, his emotions now completely tucked away in a corner of his heart. "Makes sense."

This is the Chaos music that Claire told me about. It's what I remember her explaining when she entered a pocket of Chaos in the old world, right before the end. She described a sensation of hearing floating music coming from far away, but that it never originated from any particular source. It only occurred while she was fighting inside the Chaos seam.

Hope doesn't need to be the scientist that he is to understand that the weird music is a throwback to the sounds that played in the old world that Claire had encountered, and was meant for his ears alone. It's another desperate ploy, a trick to throw him off guard.

It also means that there can't be anything good up ahead. He vaguely remembers conversations with the old Claire, back when she was still Lightning, telling him that any time the music played, it meant that it was time for her to dance. She did most of her dancing inside the floating Chaos bubbles.

And it wasn't a good kind of dance.

Sazh is an accomplice, but he doesn't have a special kind of history with the old god. Sazh is a casualty, a pawn. Hope is the bait for this setup, and so the tricks involved into bringing him here wouldn't be something that a passerby would pick up on.

They can hear the heavy breathing, and then a distinct male voice.

"Come closer, Hope Estheim, we've been waiting for you."

Hope pauses for only the slightest second. Sazh slams a hand down on his shoulder, halting Hope from taking his next step forward. He whispers excitedly into Hope's ear.

"What? That's crazy. Even if that guy could hear someone coming down the hall, which is very possible in this quiet…there's no way he would know it's you. This is madness. Come on, man, let's fly. We are only two men. Let's get some backup and reconvene…"

Hope shakes his head, silencing his friend. "No, Sazh, we don't know if we can get another chance to cover our tracks and come here. We've waited a month as it is. That's long enough. I'm tired of waiting. Let's just get this over with. Whatever we find, we've beaten before. I at least want a face to the thing that's been keeping me up at night."

With that being said, and decision made, Hope steps around the corner and finds the holding cell where the suspicious man has been held for the past two months.

He comes across a very dirty cell…there's a pile of human waste with an overflowing bucket in the corner accumulated for the past few months. The smell is overwhelming, and Hope can't help but gag.

A very nondescript man sits pressed up against the bars, almost as if in welcome of visitors. There is nothing remarkable about his appearance or face-his dirty clothes are tattered and ripped in parts, and his hair and beard are long and scraggly, but that's about it.

The man doesn't even look native to this region. He's blonde, with blue eyes. Medium frame, but it's hard to tell, as the man is slumped against the bars in a folded position. He's scrawny, as food depletion would suggest. Fresh water is supplied by a slow drip coming from a leak in the ceiling, and the continuous drip-drip platters into another bucket strategically placed on the floor where the droplets would land. A single shaft of sunlight also comes from the crack in the ceiling, and shines downward…

"No." Hope breathes aloud, as he espies two figures on a bench, sitting perfectly framed in the sunlight.

Claire and Alyssa.