Yeoooooo... How's everyone?

I don't own anything, anyone or anywhere you recognise. Sapphire, along with a few others who'll crop up every now and then, are mine.

Finished second year of uni. Yaaaaay...

I'm just...I'm bored. I'm gonna just skip this bit. We both know you're really here for what's below anyway.

Chapter 37 - Calculations

"Ciara, how did you get into SOLDIER again?!"

I would describe my tone of voice as… understandably frantic.

This morning, I can say with certainty that all - or at least the vast majority - of Cadets were roused out of sleep by a fairly alarming PHS message at approximately twelve to five this morning. Stating exactly the following;

'Addressed to all Cadets and Infantrymen,

As you all know, the examinations for SOLDIER candidates will start later today. This begins with a psyche evaluation of all candidates, conducted by the Shinra Science Department, taking place on floors 15-18 as instructed. Each candidate will receive a notification with the time, floor and room number specified.

Following a positive result will be a physical examination; you will receive further information on this in future.'

Yeah, I about died when I read that. More or less. Well, in fact, I basically died before then - receiving that message sent me careening forward to the floor, with how loud message tones are in the dead of night. And yup, the inevitable finally happened; as I came to some semblance of consciousness, sprawled on the floor, I couldn't help but notice the TV in a similar position beside me, shattered glass everywhere. I killed the TV.

Still… at least we wouldn't be living here much longer. No one would have to know.

I don't think my roommates were quite as assured as I was of that, the three of them staggering out of their rooms, each with a range of expressions a mixture of fright and drowsiness. But enough about that.

It was about a week, give or take a few days, since my spar with Ash, meaning my arm was more-or-less recovered. Back then we'd only started hearing rumours of psyche evaluations being soon, so I figured they were… a month away, or something. Even despite Kawi backing those rumours.

From what I heard from our secret double agent spy person, Kunsel, anyway. It will come as no surprise that Kawi and I weren't exactly on speaking terms, what with the messy end to the spar, and the amount of chocolate we had recovered and had been gorging ourselves on all week. I think he was oblivious to our tension, but he certainly wasn't pleased after his own failed attempt to steal away our chocolate again…for once, we caught him in the act. It was glorious.

But, yeah. SOLDIER tests. I couldn't believe it when I read that message, particularly the first four words: 'As you all know'. Ciara delightfully informed me earlier in our conversation that it was basically common knowledge to everyone that they'd be starting today, she couldn't understand how I'd missed it… and how everyone I'd been talking to had missed it.

Honestly, it must be a family trait. How she and her cousin Kawi knew everything, I'll never understand.

When I felt it was an appropriate time, seeing as I couldn't get any more sleep for my worry (about half five-ish, I'll have you know is apparently 'appropriate') I headed to the cafeteria for breakfast, intending to tackle Ciara when she decided to show. And exactly 11 and a half pieces of toast later, she arrived.

And I started my… understandably frantic conversation with her.

Ciara looked pressed as she answered, "I told you this like a month ago or more! I'm not certain, but I think there was an adjusted formula for girls. The Science Department did some research and tests I guess."

"How do you not know?" I demanded, gritting my teeth and stressfully twisting the ends of my hair.

Ciara glared at me, grabbing my hands and poking a fallen strand back up into my helmet. "How should I know?" she sniped back, "I'm no scientist, I'm a SOLDIER. I don't need to know that stuff."

I sighed. "I'm sorry," I apologised sincerely, looking at the table and carefully placing my hands on the table, glaring at them to stay put. "I just… don't know what to do, Ciara," I confided in her.

She put her face in her hands. "I don't know if there is anything you can do," she told me hopelessly. "I mean, I don't know for absolutely certain if it's different for girls, for all I know it's just circumstances and luck and odds and whatever else. But is it worth the risk?"

I didn't reply for a while. And when I did speak, it was mostly to myself; "So there's a fifty-fifty chance that the formula's different, meaning that I'll be a goner for sure if I don't speak up. If I do speak up, I may mysteriously disappear à la Turk, and if that doesn't happen there's only half a chance that I end up surviving anyway. I make that a twenty-five percent chance of survival."

Ignoring Ciara's disbelieving look, I continued.

"If the formula's not different and it's just chance, that's fifty percent chance of surviving… let's just say it's fifty, for the sake of argument, even though I guess the rate of survival in the SOLDIER treatment is much much higher. That's fifty for if I don't speak up, but if I do, I think that's another twenty-five, with being found out and all."

Ciara's eyes were narrow and her face was screwed up, trying to understand my rambling logic. "So… if you stay quiet, you have a twenty-five percent chance of survival, fifty if it's not different and zero if it is. And if you tell them, there's…another twenty-five percent, only divided equally between the formula being different and not. If I understand that correctly, those odds aren't great, and they're basically equal." She didn't seem too inspired by my mathematical approach.

"Sounds right," I answered after a pause, looking to the ceiling and revising my calculations. "Yup."

"So you speak up."

I blinked. "Uh, why?"

"If you don't, you're twice as likely to survive if the formula's the same, but if it's different - to quote you - 'you're a goner'. At least give yourself a chance either way."

"But that chance is only a quarter," I rebuked. "At least if I shush then I have half a chance… man, these odds are depressing."

I may have digressed a little there…

"Plus you're forgetting that, instead of death by Turk, I could wind up in the Science Department instead as some kind of creepy test subject…" I hadn't forgotten my bargain with Hojo, and if my mother had taught me anything, it was to trust my gut, and it was telling me not to trust that guy.

"So there's a greater chance of you surviving that way, about three-eighths let's say? One and a half for each, with half being… do you really think that could happen?" Ciara sounded quite disturbed.

I shrugged, "Weren't you the one who said they may have tested the formula for girls? A big corporation like Shinra is bound to have some dirty secrets, Ciara." Her forehead creased in concerned thought at my simple statement. "But no, that one-eighth of survival in some lab… I'd rather be dead than become some subject."

The SOLDIER blinked. "So keep quiet."

"Should I?" I frowned, unsure.

Ciara smiled, though it looked fairly strained. "I mean, you've done nothing but protect that argument, Cobalt. It sounded like your mind was made up, to me."

I certainly did prefer the thought of being silent on the matter. I still felt like my identity should stay a secret, even though more and more people seemed to know about it every day.

"Why did you show up as a girl initially, anyway?" she questioned, perplexed. I sighed, shaking my head.

"Awkwardly enough, I didn't actually think girls could be in SOLDIER. And when I saw you, and Ash, I figured for a little while that I should come clean, but… I couldn't come clean now. I'm in too deep, it would raise too many questions, and I have this awful feeling that people would start to doubt me, think I'm a spy or something ridiculous, you know?

"Plus, now that I've started…I kinda want to keep it up. Be a statement to all of Gaia that girls can be just as good as the guys," I admitted sheepishly, scratching at the bridge of my nose.

Ciara smirked, and shook her head. "You're insane. Just how long will you have to stay like this before you can make a real statement like that?"

After a few moments of silent thought, I smiled at my friend. "I guess, until I reach First Class. That would be cool, right?"

The SOLDIER's smile was wistful when she answered, "Yeah. That would be great. Thank you, Cobalt."

I sensed there was something there, something I should know about, but I couldn't ask about it now; I saw someone approaching us out of the corner of my eye. Instead, I extended a metaphorical olive branch with a smile and a quiet correction, "It's Sapphire, actually." Her smirking nod informed me that I'd done right by her.

We both looked up to greet the new arrival, and weirdly enough, Merowian offered a charming grin as he sat down on Ciara's left. "Ciara," came his smooth greeting to the SOLDIER, who offered a faintly uncomfortable smile in his direction. He sat forward, low to the table and looking up at me with a sneaky grin. "Chocobo," came his considerably less amicable greeting to me, and I stiffly nodded in return. "I'm ashamed of you, kid, cheating on your girlfriend like this!"

"Edward, lay off the kid," Ciara shortly warned, earning a surprised look from both of us - I don't know who was more surprised, to be honest. "Come on, you know the tests start today, right? He's bound to be stressed enough without you freaking him out."

"I wouldn't do that!" Merowian gasped, affronted. Well, acting as such. I don't think the guy had a genuine bone in his body.

"Yes, you would," Ciara and I were simultaneous in our reply, earning a choked laugh from the Materia expert.

"When is your date with the psyche ward then, kiddo?" he mocked, that familiar carnivorous grin shot in my direction once again.

I opened up my PHS to look at the message again - the second one, the individual notification times. Not that I needed to, because that time was ingrained at the front of my brain; I just needed something to do with my hands. The tips of my fingers were hurting from how relentlessly I'd picked at the cuticles. I mumbled the time, and he asked me to repeat myself with an undercurrent of impatience. "Five past nine," I repeated sombrely.

They both had the same reaction: they blinked owlishly and looked over my shoulder where I knew the clock was hanging on the wall, and then they cringed. "That's not far away," Ciara empathised, earning a groan and a nod as I buried my face in my hands.

"How did you end up being so early? That's just unlucky," Merowian speculated. I looked up in time for mild satisfaction, as Ciara whacked him about the head.

"It's alphabetical, nimrod. Of course Amell would be first in line," came Ciara's condescending response.

Merowian looked scandalised. "'Amell'? But this guy's Chocob-ow!" I smirked to my hands at the beautiful sound of Merowian in pain.

"Do you want me to walk you there, Cobalt?" Ciara kindly offered, sounding for all the world like her sole aim in life was to get away from Merowian. I peeked at her through the gaps in my fingers. She looked earnest, at least.

"Eh, no," I decided after much deliberation, "I think I'll go by myself. I want a little peace to contemplate my life choices before I go to the noose," I joked in a monotone, prompting a slightly uncomfortable, nervous laugh from my friend. My departure was awkwardly silent, save for the scraping of my chair as I rose.

"Knock 'em dead," was my farewell from the Materia expert, sounding the most sincere and sombre as I knew I had and would ever hear from the man. I neglected to respond as I shuffled away from them.

I thought a lot of things on my journey to my 'date with the psyche ward'; the friendships I had made - and those I had nearly lost with my lack of honesty - my 'enemies' whose misbehaviour suddenly seemed so insignificant, my various achievements in recent times, circumstances I could've been in had things been different, and prevailing above them all was the thought…

WHY ME? WHY IS IT ALWAYS ME? WHAT DID I DO TO DESERVE THIS?!

All in all, as I tentatively approached the reception on floor 17, I was feeling positive.

The skinny man behind the counter did not seem to share the same confidence. "ID," he requested in a low, gruff voice after a deep sigh, followed by a bout of coughing that only further assured me he spent too many of his waking hours drawing breath from a cigarette.

I fished out my card and cringed as I passed it to him, not needing to get too close for the strong stench of smoke to cling to my nostrils. He looked from it to me and back again far too many times to be actual procedure, before scanning the card into his computer and clicking the mouse a few times, occasionally looking back to me.

Curiosity demanded me to ask what the looks were for. He sent me a flat look after my 'What?' and answered between scribbles on a form, "You look taller in the picture, is all."

My eye twitched, and my whole posture slumped in displeasure.

"Name, date, and sign at the bottom," he commanded after clearing his throat, handing me the form. Feeling like I should read it carefully, but very aware of his not-too-subtle stare and the impatient clicking of a pen in his hand, I pretended to very quickly scan through it before scribbling down at the bottom, therefore benefiting neither of us. "On through there's the waiting area," he informed me, tossing his thumb over his shoulder with another mild coughing fit.

"Thanks," I uttered quietly, wrinkling my nose at his lack of sanitation (in the medical-sciencey-stuff floors, I mean really) before following his minimal directions and toddling along nervously down the corridor for a few minutes before coming to a very clinical waiting area. Frowning, I slid into a white plastic chair on the end of a row and bent low over my knees, running my gloved fingers over the edges of the form as - more as a calming exercise - I started to read it through properly.

Nothing really sprung out at me as alarming, which was some relief, though it may have been masked by all the legal mumbo-jumbo that no one could actually read and completely understand. Somewhat placated for now, I peered over the sheet to examine the room; or rather, those who inhabited it.

It didn't take long to catalogue. Besides myself, three individuals were sat in the available chairs. Opposite me sat a sturdy-looking Cadet, feet spread apart, arms folded and helmeted head bowed so that I could see little of his face. He didn't appear too nervous, but who could tell? Beyond the fairly bulky frame he seemed fairly unremarkable, and I didn't recognise him at all.

Further to the left was a lad who looked as nervous as I felt. His arms were also folded but his knuckles were white where they gripped his elbows. His face was, if anything, even whiter than them, and his wide eyes, black-looking at this distance, stared unshifting at the wall opposite him. His hair was black as pitch, making him look all the paler, and in beautiful tight curls that I just had to admire, emphasised and bouncing as he was jumping in his seat, more or less. My heart went out to this boy, who I also didn't recognise.

The final Cadet was one I vaguely remembered seeing in a few of my classes. One or two strands of brown hair were just about visible from beneath his helmet, which jumped as he nodded at me, acknowledging my glance in his direction. His knee was jumping beneath his arm, though his expression was at ease - probably just a fidgeter, I mused, since he didn't seem too nervous.

I heard a name called out, and Nervous Guy practically jumped out of his seat in fright, before the one I recognised slowly rose to his feet and followed the whitecoat out of the room, looking concernedly at the kid as he went. He sat back in his chair, forcefully calm and slow, and sighed loudly, putting his head between his knees and running his hands through his curls.

In a soft, maternal voice (one that came naturally to all women, whether they were aware of it or not) I asked Nervous Guy, "Are you alright?" I received an odd look from the one sat opposite me, and swiftly cleared my throat, my eyes darting to the floor before returning to Nervous Guy. If the guy seemingly made of stone saw it fit to raise his head slightly and morph his expression into one of slight confusion and intrigue, then I was obviously being very suspicious altogether. "Nervous Guy," I gruffly called then, feeling slightly ashamed when he jumped again, and his eyes darting violently around the room finally rested on me.

"Uhh, yeah?" he asked, swallowing deeply between words. Well, before the word and after the drawn out noise beforehand. I repeated my question, lower and with a downward intonation, to hopefully sound somewhat… manlier. "Yeah, I'm just a little, uh, nervous," was the reply, and my brow furrowed in sympathy. He looked about himself for a second before getting off his seat - I'd say getting up, but he stayed bent over as if to stay out of sight - and skittered over to take the seat at my left. "I don't think I'm cut out for this…"

My heart broke for the poor wee lad, and now ignoring the Cadet opposite as I reached out a hand to rub his back (and push his head down between his knees - he was breathing worryingly quickly) in what I hoped was a comforting gesture. "Well, why did you decide to join Shinra?" I questioned, and winced at how judgemental it sounded. "I mean - well… what are you aiming for?" I reiterated.

His wounded look to me at the first question disappeared then, as he bowed his head to look at the floor again. "My brother did," he mumbled to his knees eventually. Seconds passed. I gained a confused look. Is that the end of his 'explanation'?

…Fifteen ticks of the clock later, I realised it was. "Um, I don't understand," I prompted hesitantly. He let out a heavy sigh, his shoulders dipping beneath my hand.

"I was always second best, and when he left, it only got worse. I was always a little awkward-" he stretched his hands into the air in front of him as if to demonstrate the point in some meaningless gesture, all I did was marvel at his dreadfully skinny wrists, "-I was good at other stuff, but nothing useful, not here. So I'm here, because I wanna be just like him."

His voice spat harshly over the last few words, indicating he blatantly meant the exact opposite from what he was saying. I decided that was a topic for another day, and instead hung onto one other thing he said, "What did you like doing? Before you came here."

"I liked drawing," he replied simply, with all the simplicity and innocence of someone half our age.

"Why didn't you do that, then?" I questioned, mildly confused. His gaze snapped to mine, and returned exactly the same emotion that I was feeling: confusion.

"…How could I have done that?" I blinked. This guy had…a far different outlook on life than I had. The differences were startling. I was always taught, and I always believed as such, that if I had a dream then I could make it happen. Nervous Guy started this stupid feat in anger, with intentions of vengeance, or at least proving a point. He was blinded to the fact that he was just not built for it. The one difference between us, among all the similarities.

I mean, he looked like I could break him, by just rubbing his back. Still, I offered a solution as more of a question, "Street corners? Just…ask people?" Like a beggar. Like I had been, once upon a time. Apparently, stuff liked that worked here in Gaia. Though I had lived in a much kinder part of this world.

He sat a little more upright, and I let my hand fall from his back. He rubbed his hands up and down his thighs, an unconscious action. He miserably replied, "I couldn't do that…" before he trailed off, deep in thought. I could see the gears beneath those beautiful curls turning, and imagined him with the same look, only sat behind an easel with a paintbrush in hand, staring at a smiling Midgarian individual with spare change and spare time, and an half an ounce of kindness. It was a good look.

After a few moments of silence, I kindly whispered, "Life doesn't end here. There'll be more opportunities. You just have to be brave, and stick 'em out."

"Cadet Amell?"

The relatively young lab assistant looked up from the sheet on the clipboard in his hand, and rose a curious eyebrow at the trio in front of him. One serious-looking Cadet had been looking at him from the corner of his eye over his shoulder, but turned back to stare into the floor some more. The pair opposite was more interesting; Curly from earlier (poor sod…) was clinging to the waist of the individual who was half-standing, half-falling over at the assault.

Cadet Amell, apparently, patted his attacker on the head, with a fond tug on his curly locks, and wormed his way out of the kid's grasp, advancing to himself with an open smile on his face. "That's me," he answered, and as though sensing Curly's gaze on him, turned slightly to give the boy a thumbs up.

The camaraderie between them was a little heart-warming, and to a person who worked a disappointing job of fetching and carrying (and dodging Hojo) after a long education, it brought a little cheer to his day. He was hoping he'd see some more of that as the day went on - if he believed the other professors, this would be a long day for everyone involved. "This way," he indicated, and with a slight smile, the assistant led the way.

Well, he thought he did. Amell was at his side in no time. "Hey, you mind if I ask a question?" he requested, and the assistant studied him.

His entire being screamed, 'oddity'! His build was small (though not as small as Curly's) but he exhibited a confident personality, like he knew he was meant to be there, and his body language was open and friendly, familiar. Something not often found in the labs, for individuals wearing helmets and Cadet uniforms. His back was straight, he had a good posture for all the size of him. But that confidence, that attracting quality wasn't everything. There was strength behind the gentle sway of his arms at his sides, purpose in his strides. If he made SOLDIER, he'd be a popular one, the assistant mused.

He also had blue hair, which was an attractive rarity in itself. The lab assistant suspected there'd be one more fan club in Midgar before too long. Gaia knew there was enough of those already, but whatever. At his prompting look, the assistant turned his eyes back to the sheet in front of him.

"Go for it. I might not answer, though," he replied simply, examining his stats. He had only been sixteen for a couple months…ugh. SOLDIER was vile.

"What was that kid's name back there?" he asked, putting his hands in his pockets and looking all about him. The assistant peered at him, easily aware that he had been looking over his shoulder at Amell's own form and was pretending to not have seen it. He sighed, like it mattered, and shook his head. "I can't know?" the Cadet misunderstood, frowning.

The assistant flicked a page or two, quickly scanning the information, and replied, "Finley Black," without ever faltering in his stride. Even from his cursory glance he could see the kid wasn't likely to get beyond this psyche evaluation, never mind the physical. And this was his first day being a secretary. Pssh, he had not studied five years for this.

Amell nodded with a smile, and left it there. Not that there was much else to talk about, or at least no time for it, because the assistant then came to a stop, and gestured to the door on their left, labelled 'Assessment Room - D'.

"Wait in there. Someone will be in soon to speak with you." And with that, he turned tail on the Cadet and continued down the corridor. The assigned physician was…ugh, Professor Hojo? The kid's nice moment earlier was not worth seeking out that creep, not by a long shot.

Reluctantly, he swiftly made his way through the corridor, remembering what lab his mentor had told him was Hojo's (he had seen his mentor try to repress a shiver down the spine, and remembered wondering why…that was a while ago) and knocked.

There was no response. "Professor?" he called, knocking louder. But the door would not budge, no sound came from the room. He stepped back, confusion plain on his face, brow furrowed in contemplation of what he'd do next.

He hated running to his mentor at every turnaround to ask what he should do in every new situation that presented itself, but there was a professor absent, and an important one at that. What else could he do?

He made to leave, but as he turned, he spotted something just out of the corner of his eye. He turned back to the door and squinted, eyes turned upwards. Tucked into the doorframe was an envelope, crisp and white.

These were automatic doors. He pondered how Hojo had managed to get it wedged up there, and entertained the image of him spending hours the night previous making the door open and close, trying to get the exact angle and position correct to have it stick, wobbling in his endeavours on top of a stepladder. Chuckling softly to himself, he reached up, and just caught it between the tips of his two longest fingers, giving it a firm tug and releasing it into his hold.

It was pretty hefty, and with no addressee written on the front, he shrugged and opened it. A sheaf of pages were inside, as was a small note written in the professor's scrawl, blotched with stray ink. He read it, eyes widening in amazement, and not the good kind.

'I'm busy. Don't bother me.

'The results for the brats I've been assigned are here. You should probably ask them a few questions, let them think they're actually being assessed.'

There was another line used beneath, which the assistant guessed to be a signature. Flustered and frustrated, the assistant threw his hands in the air, let out an exclamation that Ciara would've corrected him for had she been present, and stalked angrily down the corridor, to his mentor's lab.

"Is there an issue?" the mentor asked, when he arrived with his head bowed. Without speaking, he handed him the note, holding the stack in his hand, ready for if they were requested. There was a few moments of silence, and then his mentor sighed, scrunching the note up in his hand and throwing it with impeccable accuracy into the paper bin nearby. "I can't believe I'm surprised," he mumbled to himself.

He held his hand down for the paperwork, and without question the assistant handed it to him. The professor swiftly flicked through the pages, scanning longer through the last few, before shrugging and handing them back to him. "Professor?" the assistant prompted. The man he was addressing pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration, and eventually shook his head, walking his student to the door.

"You'll just have to make do with what he's given to you, I think. There's no point complaining, it'll go nowhere and just waste time. These Cadets are small fries, best just to get it done and over with quickly. If anything, he's just sped that up…" he trailed off with reluctant satisfaction. Plus it meant he wouldn't have to deal with the raving lunatic, locked away in his own labs as he was bound to be, for some time.

The assistant soon found himself standing outside 'Assessment Room - D', and feeling very small all of a sudden. He stepped into the room, and awkwardly returned the smile the wide-eyed Cadet was giving him, looking confused and somewhat anxious, compared to when he had dropped him off. "Ready to start?" the assistant questioned, putting the huge stack of papers in front of him on the desk, clipboard on top so he couldn't see his own, already finished assessment. The Cadet looked at the stack with nothing but worry in his wide blue eyes, but hastily nodded, folding his hands on his lap to stop them fidgeting.

The assistant made up some nonsense questions, picking up his clipboard and pretending to write notes as the Cadet answered. The wide-eyed, anxious look was replaced with one of mild and growing confusion as he gave his responses, and the assistant wondered absently what he was thinking, then decided he wouldn't like to know; he was sure he was making a dog's dinner of the whole situation.

Suddenly, the assistant rose to his feet and stuck out his hand to shake the gloved hand of the Cadet. He hesitantly reflected his actions, and as their hands were clasped and shaking, the assistant said "Thanks for your time, you'll receive your results in due course." Squinting, Amell gave a slow nod, before retreating out the door.

It took him five seconds to sprint out after the kid, and blushing in embarrassment, give him directions to leave. Amell nodded with a faint smile, looking like he was miles away, and left, turning the wrong way at the first turn. The assistant didn't notice, returning to his room once more, shaking his head at himself. He took a breath, and soon followed his own directions to retrieve Hojo's next Cadet, repeating the process for hours, until only three pages remained of the stack. But these weren't assessment forms like the previous ones. No, they…were sample questions, written in Hojo's scrawl.

The assistant slammed his head on the desk, and mumbled the same word he had exclaimed earlier.

Ciara would have his hide. In fact, let's pretend that's why I haven't given him a name, besides 'the assistant'. So there's no emotional attachment when she kills him off for cursing without her presence to euphemise him.

...That's likely not a word, but I like it. ^-^

My thanks to my hugely patient and dazzlingly dedicated reviewers for sticking around this long: LunaEtSidera, 2ndUzukage, grandshadowseal and Tenshi Amaya. Each of your reactions to my out-of-the-blue return last chapter gave me a grin and a chuckle, and I can't describe how grateful I am for your kind words. Hope you enjoyed this one equally! :D

Keep a lookout for the next chapter. Could be weeks, could be months, but it's on the way! Toodles. :D