Azul had not felt this bad for a long time. It had been years- decades- since the last time he'd been ill. Whatever he'd caught had to be virulent indeed to lay flat a SOLDIER of his size. Everything ached, chills shivered through his massive body, and he shuddered. A small hand touched his brow and his first thought was of Argento. Fully expecting to see her patched face, he blinked at the one watching him. She was young, probably still a teenager. Instead of Argento's straight black hair, the girl wore her auburn curls tied back with a pink ribbon. Noticing his bewildered look, she smiled.

"How are you feeling?"

"Been better," he groaned, a wave of nausea washing over him as he sat up.

"Believe it or not, that's a good thing," she told him. "You enlisted as an adult, right?"

"Yeah…" he answered slowly. "What's that got to do with anything?"

"The Healing Rain washed Jenova away," she explained. "You and the other First Class SOLDIERs have been exposed to Jenova a lot longer than the Seconds and Thirds, so it's taking more time for your system to clear. Zack and most of the other commanding officers are fine now."

She meant Fair, the General's spiky-haired second. "Is that why I feel so sick?"

She nodded. "You've actually got a mild case of Geostigma, but you're going to be fine."

Her entire speech was so strange to his ears that at first he didn't believe her. When was the last time someone had told him everything would be okay? He couldn't remember. It would have been a lifetime ago, before Shinra, back when he was only tall, not enormous, and his life didn't resemble a bad horror movie.

"Think you can drink this?" The girl presented him with a glass of the clearest, most sparkling water he had ever seen. It didn't look real. Magic radiated from it like heat from a candle flame, like light from the sun. He didn't think she was trying to poison him, but he couldn't help being a little afraid of the glass full of magic. It was so beautiful all he really wanted to do was sit and look at it. A dry screech made him look up from the glass. The girl had shoved an old fashioned tin wash tub in front of him.

"What's that?"

"One of the tubs for ice baths," she explained. "The hospital let me borrow it."

"Why?" He asked, growing suspicious.

"Try and drink the whole thing," the girl prompted, ignoring his question. "It will help."

Nervously, he eyed the glass before downing it like a shot. It was like drinking liquid diamonds, new fallen snow, or spring wind after rain. It was the most delicious thing he had ever tasted. Unwilling to leave any in the glass, he tilted his head far back to catch the last drop.

"Two more just like that," Azul smiled, handing her the empty glass. The girl smiled back.

"Well, let's see how you feel, first. That was a double dose; twice what I gave the other SOLDIERs."

"Double dose?" he echoed, confused. "Of what?"

The miraculous taste of the the water had distracted him from his discomfort, but it had returned doubled. As if someone had cast Bio 3 on him, noxious pins-and-needles shivered through him and his stomach lurched. He could not have held back if he wanted to. Falling to all fours, he retched into the tub. Aeris had been wise to use it as a basin. It was nearly full by the time he collapsed back onto his seat, coughing and gasping for breath. The girl waited until he'd recovered somewhat before offering a glass of ordinary water. Grateful, he took it and rinsed his mouth, spitting into the tub.

"Better?"

"Yes," he rasped, the revelation of just how well he felt both wonderful and strange. He had not realized how cramped his muscles had become, or how noisy the inside of his head had been. Without the constant white noise of Jenova in the back of his mind like the humming of machinery, everything sounded so much louder, so much clearer. For the first time in years, he felt as if he could finally think straight.

The disgusting gray-pink vomitus in the tub was slowly turning to black-brown liquid, as if someone had filled it with mud, or used motor oil. Without a life to sustain them, the Jenova cells were dying.

"Thank you, er..." He trailed off, realizing he'd never gotten her name.

"Aeris."

"Thank you, Aeris," he told her honestly.

She smiled and squeezed his shoulder with one hand. "I'm just happy you're free."

Well, Azul thought, smiling for her, the edges of the microchip seeming to dig into his flesh even more sharply now that Jenova's presence was not there to mute it, mostly.


It took Sephiroth a brief yet terrifying moment to realize where he was. Bare fluorescent lights glared down at him from the ceiling. When he tried to get up, pain seized him by the neck and threw him back down onto the mattress. As he lay there gasping, a familiar face swam into view. Although the hair was dark, it was unruly, and the worried expression was notably free of glasses.

"You okay, Sir?"

"Zack…" Sephiroth could have hugged him, but he was pretty sure the pain still held him fast. The last thing he clearly remembered was helping the other SOLDIERs to burn the bodies of the Deepground troops when… Oh dear. "...I lost it again, didn't I?"

"We all did, Sir," Zack told him, a rueful look on his usually cheerful face.

Of course. Anyone carrying Jenova's cells might be immune to Geostigma, but were at risk of being subject to her will. Dear gods… Jenova and nearly a hundred crazed commanding officers against a mob of infantry, terrorists, and militia. His stomach twisted sickeningly at the thought of the casualties that must have resulted.

"Please tell me I didn't kill anyone?"

Zack shook his head. "Not for lack of trying. Commander Verdot managed to hold you off. Weirdly enough, just about everyone made it back alive. I think Jenova knew the real danger was Aeris."

That made him blink. "Aeris?"

"Yeah, she summoned the Healing Rain while Chaos fought Jenova and Commander Verdot kept you busy. The rain washed away the remains of the Deepground soldiers, but it only scared Jenova off."

It was a relief to know that most of the army was still standing, but there was still the larger issue of the alien parasite. "We need to kill her," Sephiroth said decidedly.

"No shit," Zack agreed, "but how? We've lost her again. We don't even know where the hell she's gone."

It was indeed a problem. It appeared as if every time they made even the slightest bit of progress, something happened to put them right back where they started. Sephiroth lifted his hands to rub his face and found that this was doable. Sitting up, however, triggered white-hot ripples of agony from neck to navel. He tried to tell himself he'd had worse, to convince himself to force past it, to get up, but it was a difficult argument to present. There seemed to be additional weight dragging on his right shoulder. He tried to twist and look, but had to stop at the sudden surge of pain and the gasp it forced from his throat.

"Whoa, wait a minute," Zack said, gently pushing him down by both shoulders. Sephiroth's stomach sank at the ease with which Zack did this. "Commander Verdot had to smack you upside the head with her sword to get you off her case. Got your bell rung nicely. Shalua's trying to be in like ten places at once right now, but she's gonna want to look you over before she lets you out of bed, let alone out of the clinic."

"Now you know how I feel."

Sephiroth tried to turn his head, but found the pain would not allow this, he was able to match the face with the voice as Genesis limped into view. He looked like Sephiroth felt: tired and worn-out. For a long moment his friend stood silent, golden eyes coming to rest on something just out of view, off to the General's right. Sephiroth tried to look as well, but only managed to turn his head a few degrees. Pain clamped down, turning his muscles to stone. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed a length of black feathers awkwardly folded between his bed and the floor.

Oh gods…

The mass of feathers obeyed when he tried to lift it the way he might have lifted his arm, a single wing unfurling from his shoulder. The thing was huge, more than large enough to bear a man Sephiroth's size, and Zack had to scoot out of the way to avoid getting hit by it as it opened. While Genesis' wing feathers laid smooth and sharp like that of hawk and Angeal's had been white and full like a dove's, Sephiroth's were somewhere in between, smooth and black as night, but fuller than Genesis' sleek plumage. Up close, the feathers had a blue-green sheen where the light struck them. It might have been beautiful if humans were supposed to have wings. As it was, something cold settled in the pit of Sephiroth's stomach, and he folded the unwanted limb out of sight.

"Black," Genesis mused more to himself than to anyone else. "Angeal's wing was white… What does that say about us?" he chuckled, forcing a smile. Sephiroth forced an equally false smile in return.

Although he was in his right mind now, Genesis had not been branded a madman until after he'd received his wing. Sephiroth knew now that his friend had been acting at Jenova's insidious promptings, but it was cold comfort. How long could he expect to hold onto his own sanity with a raven's wing sprouting from his back? It was as well he had transferred command to Elfe before Jenova had snatched control. Sephiroth only hoped he had not caused too much damage while Jenova piloted his body.

"That we still have many wrongs yet to right," Sephiroth replied. "How bad was it?"

"Well, I got Jenova-ed too," Zack said, awkwardly rubbing at the back of his neck. "I don't actually remember all that much. Captain Shears is calling the shots at the moment. According to him, just about everyone made it back in one piece, so it could have been way worse. The other SOLDIERs are being treated for Geostigma, but most of them are okay."

Sephiroth frowned, confused. "I thought Geostigma did not affect SOLDIERs?"

"That's the tricky part," Zack explained. "The Healing Rain washed away the Jevona- all of it- including the Jenova in the SOLDIERs' bodies. I don't think I've been that sick in my entire life, but at least it was over pretty quickly."

"What about Commander Verdot?"

Zack and Genesis exchanged a worried look.

"She made it off the field alive," Zack told him, "but outside of that, I don't know. No one's told us too much."

"That's because I've been trying to treat about fifteen people at once," a female voice cut into their conversation. The curtain was pulled enough to admit Shalua, her bright red hair tied back in a hasty ponytail.

"How are the SOLDIERs?" Sephiroth wanted to know.

"Well, I got good news and bad news," she announced. "The good news is, the last of the SOLDIERs have been tested, and every one of them is Jenova-free, everyone except you two."

"Why us?" Genesis asked, confused.

"When you were brought in, you both had marks from the healing rain that resembled Geostigma lesions," Shalua explained. "However, they faded after only a few hours. I guess it wasn't enough to purge the Jenova from your systems."

"How much would be enough?" Sephiroth asked.

Shalua thought about that. "Aeris gave Azul twice as much rainwater as the rest of the SOLDIERs were given, and his blood test came back clear. I'm guessing you would need at least that much, probably more."

Sephiroth wasn't so sure. Azul had enlisted as an adult. SOLDIERs carried Jenova in their bloodstream the same way they might carry medication; administered by syringe in doses that after time would wear off and need to be refreshed by a new injection. While he had likely been exposed to much more Jenova than the average SOLDIER, he hadn't been conceived bearing Jenova's DNA. One-third of both Genesis and Sephiroth's genetic code was Jenova's. A little magic- no matter how powerful- was unlikely to purge their bodies down to the cellular level, at least, not without causing significant damage.

"Do you think it would help?" Genesis' voice snapped Sephiroth's attention back to the conversation at hand. The younger man gestured to the sling that bound his arm, and Shalua contemplated it thoughtfully.

"I don't know," she admitted. "The only thing to do would be to try it and see."

"Let me go first," Sephiroth cut in. They both turned to look at him, Genesis' expression rather annoyed.

"Let me do this for you?" Sephiroth asked. "I don't want you to be hurt worse if it doesn't work."

Genesis had opened his mouth to argue, but closed it and nodded. "Alright."

Shalua disappeared briefly and returned with two tall glasses of dazzlingly clear water. It was beautiful, almost too bright to look at, like the center of the sun. In the back of Sephiroth's head, something shrank back from it and hissed like an angry cat. Jenova didn't like the glittering water, which made him all the more determined to drink it. Swallowing back his pride as well as pain, he sat up with Zack's help and reached for a glass. Pain arced down his spine and out across his arms, making his muscles spasm and jerk. Water sloshed over the edge of the glass, crystalline drops spattering his bare arms and chest. The hiss in his mind became a shriek, and he cried out in pain himself before he could bite the noise back. The water stung like acid, melting his skin into brown-black puddles where the drops had fallen.

"Oh my gods, I'm so sorry!" Shalua hastily took the glass from him and carefully set it well out of reach. Genesis just stared, horrified. All Sephiroth could do was sit there and try to push past the pain as Shalua carefully dabbed at the spots with a towel. Already he could feel his core temperature rising like a furnace stoked with fuel. The ugly splotches began to fade, healing over as if they had never been.

"I don't think you should try to drink that," Zack remarked, his expression mirroring Genesis'.

"I agree with Colonel Fair," Shalua said, coming closer to perch on the edge of the bed. Reaching, she set her hands gently against Sephiroth's neck. "Does that hurt?"

She pressed her fingertips into his muscle, making him wince.

"A little," he admitted.

"It should," she told him, now running her hands along his shoulders. "You had a concussion and a nice case of whiplash. You'll be okay in a day or two, but please try not to force movement? You'll aggravate the injury and it'll take twice as long to heal. If it hurts, don't do it. Simple as that."

"Yes, ma'am," Sephiroth told her, unable to suppress a smirk. "I don't suppose I'm cleared for duty?"

"Hell no," Shalua said, getting up and making a note on his chart. "You can get up and wander around the hospital if you want, but I'm keeping you here at least another twenty-four hours because I'm pretty sure if I don't, you'll just find more ways to exacerbate your injury."

Genesis snickered, and Sephiroth fought the urge to roll his eyes.

Zack raised his hand like a child at school. "What about me?"

Shalua seemed amused by this. "You're fine. You can head out as long as you feel up to it."

"Bring me some clothes?" Sephiroth asked. "I want to speak to Commander Verdot." And he couldn't do that in his underwear.

"Sure thing, Sir." Zack only waited long enough to salute before making his exit.

Shalua waited until Zack had left before turning to Sephiroth, an odd look on her face. "You can't speak to Commander Verdot. Not now."

Sephiroth blinked. "Why not? Is she alright?"

"She's in quarantine," Shalua answered in a flat tone, "with a case of Geostigma."


Trying to get dressed with a stiff neck was bad enough, but the wing added an extra degree of difficulty.

"What do you do with yours?" Sephiroth asked, eyeing the new limb and then his long, leather coat.

"Fold it flat," Genesis advised, demonstrating with his own wing. "It's a little bulky, but you should be able to fit it under your jacket."

There was actually a rent in the back of the coat through which he could have slotted his wing. Instead, he tucked the new limb tightly against his shoulder and shrugged the coat over it. Genesis was right; it made for a tighter fit, but it was doable. The only problem was the wing wanted to move with him like an extra arm, further throwing off his center of gravity. Strapping Masamune across his shoulders might have helped, but both his and Genesis' weapons had been confiscated. Although he did not like to be without his sword, Sephiroth saw the necessity of keeping Masamune out of his hands. Still, he felt naked without her.

Genesis nodded approvingly once Sephiroth had finished putting himself together. "Not bad. The coat covers it. You can hardly tell."

"Thank you," Sephiroth replied, glad for a second pair of eyes since he had no mirror. Although probably everyone in town had seen the wing, he didn't want to draw any more attention to himself than he had to.

"It isn't fair," Genesis said, his voice strangely without petulance. "I should be going with you. I want to help, but I'm trapped here. Even you won't let me leave."

"I want you to get well," Sephiroth told him truthfully.

Genesis scowled. "How? The rainwater would probably kill me, and your blood will only give Jenova a stronger hold over me." The younger man sighed heavily and shook his head. "I don't want to be the Prisoner…"

"Not for too much longer," Sephiroth promised, resting a hand on his friend's undamaged shoulder. "We'll find a way to defeat Jenova, and soon enough you and I will be back in Midgar, defending a new regime."

"My friend, do you fly away now?" Genesis quoted. "To a world that abhors you and I?"

"No, just to talk to Elfe," Sephiroth said, and patted his shoulder as he turned to leave. "I'll be back."

"You'd better!" Genesis called after him.


To Sephiroth's mild surprise, the ward on the other side of the curtain that separated his bed from the others was almost full. He and Genesis had been placed in the back corner, at least two empty cots between them and the next man. He recognized many of the other Firsts and a handful of Seconds as well. Everyone else must have been recovered enough to leave. Those who noticed him saluted. He nodded and returned salute before pushing the door open and going out into the hall.

Here it was strangely quiet, only a few nurses hurrying back and forth. Near the Geostigma ward, he spotted Veld sitting on one of the old-fashioned wood benches. At Sephiroth's approach, he looked up.

"They won't let me see her," Veld said, the look on his weathered face the closest to tears Sephiroth had ever seen on a Turk. "She's not well and there's nothing I can do…"

The helplessness in the older man's voice was painful.

"Where's Vincent?" Sephiroth asked. The other Turk had survived Geostigma and was further immunized by the Chaos materia in his chest. Surely he would be all too happy to sit with his best friend's daughter? Veld just looked at him, confusion morphing into something so much worse.

"Oh gods, son, I thought you knew…" He stood and gripped Sephiroth's upper arm with one calloused hand. "Jenova swallowed Chaos whole, pulled him into the gorge with her. Sephiroth… Vincent's dead."

It was as if someone had put the world on mute. All sound had been shut off, his ears ringing with the silence. Outside, he felt his body lock into a stiff, military stance, his left hand curling into a fist around an imaginary sword. It was an old response, a behavior drilled into him until it had become reflex. Stand up straight. Face the problem. Show no fear. The greater the pain, the braver the face. The same was true for Turks, but Veld's thick mask had cracked, and Sephiroth realized the deep lines in his face had been carved at the same time as the many scars in his heart.

"I'm so sorry, son…"

Sephiroth nodded and replied with a mechanical "Thank you," his mind and body struggling to resynchronize. He had to do something, must do something; if he didn't, he was going to break down where he stood and that could not happen. There was nothing he could do about Vincent, but there was something he could do about Veld. He'd been separated from his daughter for most of her life. They barely knew each other, yet it was obvious he cared about her.

"Come with me." Turning sharply, Sephiroth strode purposefully down the hall toward the quarantined wing of the hospital. Through the windows, it was easy to see that only one of the many cots was occupied, the faded yellow curtains drawn closed around it. Elbowing past the guards, he barged through the doors with Veld right behind him.

Rather than walk all the way to the veiled bed, Sephiroth stopped short two cots away, letting the old Turk hurry past him.

"Felicia!" Veld's voice, tight with worry, carried beyond the pulled curtain.

"Daddy?" Elfe sounded weak and tired, her voice disturbingly small. "You shouldn't be in here…"

"Try and throw me out," Veld replied tenderly. "I'm not leavin' until you do."

They fell silent then, and Sephiroth did his best to exit without making too much noise. However, combat boots on a tile floor were not a combination designed for stealth.

"Who's there?" Elfe asked amid a rustle of bedclothes and a brief cry of pain.

"Sephiroth," Veld told her. "He let me in."

"I want to see him."

"You sure?"

"Yes. Give me a hand?"

There was a further rustling of fabric, some muffled cursing, and Veld poked his head past the edge of the curtain.

"She wants to talk to you."

Unsure if he would be able to say anything, Sephiroth pushed the curtain back and stood at the foot of Elfe's bed. She sat propped against several pillows, her white cloak draped over her shoulders, but pinned on her left side instead of the right. Sephiroth could just make out the shape of her right arm bound in a sling beneath the snowy fabric, the tips of blackened fingers barely visible behind the hem. It was not the only thing hidden by the cloak. No doubt she had not wished to meet him in a state of undress. The sleeve of a hospital smock- pastel pink with darker rosebuds sprinkled across it- stuck out uncovered and absurd from the folds of the cloak. Muddy splotches dotted her left arm, as if she'd been spritzed with the rinse water of an enthusiastic painter. Her face was yet untouched, but there were shadows beneath her eyes and she looked exhausted. Not knowing what else to do, Sephiroth fell back on old habits, pulling himself up to stand at attention and offering her a formal salute. Elfe mirrored it with her left hand.

"At ease," she told him, mouth tugging to one side in a half-smile. For a long moment she looked at him, as if examining his dress and posture for inspection. He half expected her to ask about his wing, but no such inquiry was forthcoming. At last her eyes met his. There was a strange lack of accusation there, which Sephiroth had not expected. He'd made a beautiful mess of things, beginning with Vincent and ending with Jenova- and the disaster was only likely to grow worse. Thank gods he'd thought to cede command to her before he'd lost his senses or they'd be in worse shape than they presently were.

"You knew that would happen," she stated. "You knew Jenova would try to puppet you. That's why you transferred command."

Guilty as charged, he nodded.

"Has this happened before?"

Ashamed, he looked at the floor. "Yes. It happened once before, when I was sent to Nibelheim. I found Vincent there and encountered Jenova for the first time. If not for him, I would have killed my men." And probably much worse, but that was something he actively avoided thinking about.

Elfe nodded thoughtfully. "I can't recommend you returning to duty."

"Nor I you," he returned, nodding at her bandaged arm. "I didn't do that, did I?"

She shook her head. "Not directly, no. We fought, but I'm reasonably sure this is entirely Jenova's fault." Nudging her cloak back, she stiffly held up fingers that looked as if they were melting, the skin black-brown, peeling, and running with ooze. Although most of her hand was bandaged, the strips of linen were growing soggy with the muddy fluid, creating a clear outline of the materia shard embedded in her hand.

"Zirconiade is doing her best to keep it at bay, but Jenova doesn't seem to like her or me very much," Elfe went on. "We were able to cure the rest of the troops with the water from the healing rain, but it didn't have much effect on me. Do you have any suggestions?"

"Vincent was the only one I knew who had survived a case of Geostigma," Sephiroth shrugged, "and I think that was primarily due to Chaos protecting him."

"I only have half a materia," Elfe mused.

"You need the rest," Sephiroth finished. "If you had a whole materia, Zirconiade could drive the Jenova out of your system."

"Probably," she agreed. "I don't suppose you know where to find the other two shards?"

His gut reaction was to say 'no', but rather than make an immediate reply, he kept his mouth shut and thought about it. Back at Corel prison, both Elfe and Shalua had mentioned Professor Hojo had treated them. Shalua's materia shard had been encased in a customized fitting so that it could power her prosthetic arm. He'd seen such a thing before, years ago, but at the time had not thought much about it. All mechanized prosthetics were powered by materia, usually the green magic type. The materia was commonly mounted in the joint nearest the body. Both Veld and Shalua had materia mounted in the shoulders of their false arms. Vincent's arm, because his model was much earlier, had had a dangerous and impractical bit of wiring connecting the prosthetic to the materia in his chest. Shalua had since retrofit his arm with a magic type materia also mounted in the shoulder. The only other person Sephiroth knew with a prosthetic limb was Lazard. The incident that had cost his old commander the lower half of his right leg had also earned Sephiroth his rank as Captain. Later, Lazard had proudly showed off the shiny new limb-at the time, a piece of cutting edge technology. There had been no colored stone in his knee joint, just a flat circle of metal: a custom made fitting designed to hide something much more valuable.

"I think I may know where one is, yes."

Elfe blinked, surprised. "You do?"

"I'll need to confirm it, but my old commanding officer lost part of his leg in Wutai. His materia socket had a fitting similar to Shalua's."

"Contact him," Elfe told him, the words not quite an order. "See if he's willing to part with it."

"If he has it, he will be," Sephiroth assured her.

"Do you know of anyone else who might have one? Professor Hojo can't have treated that many people."

"You'd be surprised…" Sephiroth grumbled, mostly to himself. And then it came to him. The CDs Veld had copied for him. They were still in his jacket pocket. It was entirely possible they held the information he needed. The epiphany must have showed on his face, for Elfe's expression grew hopeful.

"You have an idea?"

"I might have a lead."

"Good," she said with a nod. "Now what are we going to do with you and all the other SOLDIERs?"

A much thornier problem. Sephiroth pondered that one for a moment.

"Let me talk to them," he began. "Let me see where their heads are. Rui said they no longer carry any Jenova. They are free of her will. If I tell them to follow you, they will."

Elfe nodded. "Do that. Let me know how they are; if you think they're fit for duty."

"I will," he promised.

"And what about you? Are you safe?"

"None of us are safe." The words left his mouth before he'd even realized they were there. It was unlike him to speak before he thought. Elfe, however, took his remark in stride.

"I guess that's true. All soldiers are killers; potentially lethal weapons, whether they carry Jenova or not. We've all been trained to take lives in order to spare others. However, a weapon in and of itself isn't necessarily dangerous. A sword isn't likely to harm anyone if it's just sitting there in its sheath."

Sephiroth could not decide if the remark was aimed at him or not. Veld appeared to be wondering the same thing, for he looked at his daughter quizzically. Ignoring them both, Elfe went on.

"Neither one of us is fit for command. Who would you pick?"

"Your second, Shears, ought to command in your stead," he said immediately. The Avalanche sub-commander was a no-nonsense leader with plenty of experience to his name. Although he held more hostility toward Shinra than Elfe, if she gave him an order, he would obey it.

"And for Shinra?"

That was a bit harder. "All my officers are also SOLDIERs," he said slowly. "Genesis is next in the chain of command. He carries as much Jenova as I do, but he's limited by his injury. He can make rounds and give orders but…" Sephiroth sighed through his nose. Allowing Genesis command fell somewhere between pleasing the younger man's vanity and nursing his own guilt over the events before and after Genesis' own defection from Shinra. He and Genesis both carried Jenova's cells and were therefore at risk of falling prey to her will. The hazard was too great. Neither of them were fit to lead. Therefore… "Colonel Fair is next in the chain of command and carries no Jenova. Command must fall to him."

Elfe considered his suggestion, then nodded. "I agree." Unable to suppress a sigh, she rubbed her eyes with her undamaged hand.

"I'll let you rest," Sephiroth told her, dismissing himself.

"No, we're not done," Elfe countered. "Is there a way I can speak to President Rufus?" They'd begun calling the new president that in order to differentiate him from his father. "I also need to talk to Tseng."

Under quarantine, there was no way Elfe could leave this wing of the hospital even if she had possessed the strength to get out of bed. Tseng and Rufus could don protective clothing, but it was still a risk. They could not afford to have Rufus come down with Geostigma. Veld, however, looked thoughtful.

"What about a video conference?" he suggested.

Elfe blinked. "A what?"

"A video conference. Elena knows how to do it. We could set up a video camera and a computer in here, and another in the town hall," Veld explained. "That way, you could see and hear each other as if you were in the same room."

"Okay, let's do that," she agreed. "Daddy, can you go and set it up?"

"What, now?" Veld asked.

"If you wouldn't mind."

The old Turk looked at his daughter, at the General, and back again, suspicion lingering in his eyes.

"I'll be fine, Daddy. Really," Elfe assured him.

Reluctantly, Veld got up and cast Sephiroth a narrow-eyed look before heading for the end of the hall and the decontamination unit. Elfe noticed it and bit her lip against a smile.

"I swear, he thinks I'm still a kid," she observed. Sephiroth smiled a little at this. Veld was not a bad sort, Turk though he might be. As a group they had an unsavory reputation, but as individuals, Sephiroth had discovered they were remarkably kind and loyal in their own way. It must be strange to have someone wander back into one's life after so long, but in his heart, Sephiroth envied Elfe her restored relationship with her father. This made him think of Vincent even as Elfe asked him:

"Are you okay?"

He had been up until then. Sorting out command and other details had given him something else to think about, something to do. He wasn't used to being asked such personal questions by people not wearing white lab coats, not that they ever asked out of anything but duty. This, by contrast, seemed genuine.

"Fine," he answered automatically. Elfe did not look as if she believed him.

"I clocked you pretty good during the fight- with the flat of my sword no less. What did Shalua say about it?"

Sephiroth shrugged carefully, his neck still sore. "No serious damage. I have a thick skull."

He had not meant it to be funny, but Elfe chuckled. However, the smile melted away after a moment, and she gestured for him to take Veld's seat. Obediently, Sephiroth sat down on the straight-backed wooden chair, doing his best to remain at attention. His neck still hurt and his wing was in the way. Seated, they were eye-to-eye, and although outwardly he did not flinch, inwardly he squirmed as Elfe's blue eyes searched his face.

"Do you remember any of the battle?"

Sephiroth carefully shook his head. "No."

"Did anyone tell you what happened?"

"Somewhat. We won, after a fashion. Aeris summoned the healing rain which cured most of the SOLDIERs and all of the Geostigma patients. However, Jenova swallowed Chaos and fled, making Vincent the only casualty."

It was as if someone else was speaking, his General's voice rattling off a report of facts and figures like a machine. He was glad no one else had been hurt, but it was hard to feel happy about it. He'd stabbed Vincent, causing him to turn into Chaos. Chaos, in turn, had fought Jenova and lost. It reminded him a bit of the incident back at Nibelheim. Vincent had spared him then, just as he'd spared him now. There was no need to execute a man who was already dead.

But was he dead? Vincent had four other creatures living in his head, sharing his body. Even if Chaos was bested, surely the others would step in to continue the fight? The real question was whether or not they could stand against Jenova. Sephiroth's heart sank even further as he realized that no, they could not. Even the Gallian Beast was mortal. If Chaos could not hold his own against the Crisis, there was no way a handful of humans could. They might prolong the battle, but if Chaos did not win, the rest of them would surely perish along with him.

Why should it matter that the Turk was dead? What was Vincent to him? He was no relation, barely more than a friend. Everyone, including Vincent himself, had denied any family ties. Sephiroth had known virtually nothing about him, except that he had been one of Professor Hojo's experiments, and that he had once been in love with his mother, Lucrecia. Although glad to be freed from the coffin, Vincent had never been happy; haunted constantly by the ghosts of terrors and transgressions long since past. Perhaps, it was better this way? At least it had been a warrior's death, a noble end; and now Vincent would finally be able rejoin the Planet and his beautiful Lucrecia. He could be at peace. There was some consolation to be had in that.

It did not make it hurt any less.

"I'm sorry," she told him. "He was someone close to you, wasn't he."

Sephiroth jerked out of his train of thought and looked away. "No," he said quietly, "but I wish he was."

He started as he felt her fingers curl around his. Bemused, he blinked at their joined hands.

"Sorry…" she said, moving to withdraw her hand, but Sephiroth closed his own around it, holding it in place.

"No, it's…" he stammered, choking back a sudden surge of emotion. "It's okay."

She smiled gently, squeezing his hand briefly, and though he had to swallow back his grief a second time, it did not hurt as much as it had earlier.

"Take some time," she told him gently. "Recover. I've got to, so you might to as well, until you're cleared for duty."

Unable to gather any words, he nodded. For a long moment he just sat there, looking at nothing, mind swirling with thoughts but settling on none of them. Elfe waited patiently, hand in his, until he returned to earth.

"I'm sorry about Fuhito," he said at last.

Elfe nodded, accepting the apology. "I'm not angry with you. The Turk did his best to make it right. Nothing more needs to be said about it."

He didn't know where the smile came from. Perhaps he had not recognized it as such- small and fragile as it was- until it had appeared on his face. Far from happy, he was nonetheless grateful. He could see why she had become a leader in her own right. Unsure what to say in light of her graciousness, Sephiroth simply nodded.

"I should let you rest," he repeated, finding his voice at last. "Veld will be back with the video equipment soon."

"Going to deprive him of the pleasure of kicking you out?" she teased.

This time his smile was real, if closed-lipped, a brief snort of laughter behind it. "He'd enjoy it too much. Get some rest." Patting her hand once, he let it go.

"Only if you do," she called after him, the words somewhere between a dare and a command. It wasn't easy, but he looked back over his shoulder and smiled for her.


Sephiroth barely remembered standing in the decontamination unit; walking down the hall. He felt dazed, detached, as if someone else- mercifully not Jenova, she'd been silent since the battle- were piloting his body while he simply rode as a passenger. The ward was quiet. Zack's bed was empty, but Genesis was still there. Sephiroth had thought he was dozing, but Genesis opened his eyes and sat up at his approach. Taking one look at his friend, he asked:

"What happened?"

Sephiroth sank down onto his cot, expression so utterly blank, so completely neutral that Genesis knew it had to be something serious.

"Vincent died," Sephiroth said quietly, "and Elfe held my hand."

Genesis had nothing at all to say to that, the two halves of the sentence so disparate that there was no way to comment on them both at once. He wasn't even sure which to address first. For a long moment all he could do was stare at his friend, utterly dumbstruck.

"You… What?" he managed after several minutes. It was neither polite nor consolatory, but it was the best he could do under the circumstances.

"Vincent died. He transformed into Chaos and went over the gorge with Jenova. I'm told she swallowed him whole."

"I'm sorry…" Genesis stammered, not knowing what else to offer his friend. Sephiroth had spoken of the red-eyed Turk as if he'd been family. Only he and Angeal had ever known how desperately Sephiroth longed for the one thing he could not win through hard work or knowledge: blood relatives. If the Turk had truly been the father Sephiroth had never known, that would explain the too-placid expression on his friend's face.

Sephiroth, however, was already on to the next problem. Flagging one of the nurses, he spoke with her for a minute and then rummaged in his coat pocket, producing a pair of CDs.

Genesis blinked. "'Loveless'? I thought you were sick of my recitations," he teased.

"Don't judge a book by its cover," Sephiroth replied, taking a closed laptop from the nurse. Sitting back down on the cot, he opened the computer and started it up.

"What is it then?"

Selecting one of the CDs, Sephiroth slotted it into the drive and pocketed the other. "Home movies," he replied absently. "May be a lead. I'm not sure yet."

There weren't that many files left. He'd already gone over everything regarding the SOLDIER program. Indeed, there were only a handful of movie and PDF files he had not yet looked at. Taking a deep breath, Sephiroth pressed the earbuds into his ears and selected the first movie.

He had expected more black-and-white, yet this film was shot in grainy color. That alone made him wonder, as did the strangely familiar setting. The walls were only partially painted, but he recognized the old training arena, back before the holographic simulator had been built. It was still used for training the new recruits against low-level monsters and each other. Here, however, it was still new. Indeed, it was barely finished, the raw wood and fresh paint as untested as the first SOLDIER that stood in the midst of it.

The memory came back to him then, and the film seemed to play from two different angles at the same time: one from the camera trained on the gray-haired boy in the middle of the sand, the other from behind his own eyes. The child on the film looked as if he were at least twelve, but Sephiroth had been eight the first time he set foot inside the arena. The sand had felt strange under feet that had only known carpet, linoleum, or concrete. He had not set foot on grass until he was nearly thirteen. The Professor had warned him that he would be facing a monster that day. He had been provided with various hints, and then left to figure out the rest on his own. He had learned all he could about his unnamed foe, and felt confident in his knowledge and the sword in his hands. However, when the sand began to rumble beneath his feet, a horrible thrill had shot through him, and he realized this was what it meant to be afraid.

The snake burst from the sand, all one hundred fifty feet of it, tail rattling and fangs bared. Although it was not evident on the film, Sephiroth distinctly remembered wetting himself. A Midgar Zolom was considered an A-Level enemy and too intense for less than a 3rd Class SOLDIER. Why the hell anyone had thought a child of eight- even a large, strong, unusually smart child like himself- would be able to subdue such a creature Sephiroth couldn't begin to guess.

He watched as his eight-year-old self gripped the shortsword in both hands, remembering how sweaty his palms had been against the leather grip. The snake reared and plunged, its gaping mouth and razor fangs bearing down on him. He scrambled to one side, falling more than leaping, awkwardly rolling to his feet. The sand beneath him began to rumble, countless grains pouring over his boots until he was up to his ankles. Around him, the sand began to swirl. Panic surged through him like a bolt of lightning and he leaped for the edge, scrambled up, and rushed straight at the thing. The snake seemed confused by this tactic, and he took advantage of its indecision as to where to direct its long neck by stabbing its scaly hide.

The Zolom screeched and whipped away, its body coiling over and over like a garden hose filling with water. He'd done little more than make it angry, the wound he'd left no more than a pinprick. Out of the corner of his eye he saw it, but still turned too late. The two-pronged rattle caught him in the middle, knocking the sword from his hands and sending him across the length of the arena into the wall. There was a sickening "clunk" as his head struck the cinderblocks. For half a breath he hung plastered against the wall before he peeled off and fell face-first into the sand.

Sephiroth had expected the tape to fizz to an end, for static to fill the screen, because that was where his own memories of that battle ended. However, the film played on. An alarm began to blare, further incensing the snake. A figure in a white lab coat rushed into the enclosure. Sephiroth blinked and rubbed his eyes, squinting at the degraded footage. Surely not. It couldn't be! But it was.

Professor Hojo- a much shorter iteration of his ponytail bound at the back of his head- was sprinting across the sand. The Zolom turned at the noise, and lunged at the Professor. With a grace and agility Sephiroth had not expected, the Professor dove out of the way, snatching up the sword that Sephiroth had dropped. The snake reared up so that it towered over him, twin rattles shaking a dire warning as the Professor slowly circled around to the far side of the arena where his prized specimen lay senseless. When he reached the unconscious boy, the Professor sank into a ready stance, sword held up in only one hand.

His left hand.

Sephiroth could only stare at the screen in disbelief, half wondering if the whole thing had been staged? The Professor dodged and feinted, clearly it was not the first time he'd held a blade in his hands even if his movements were a bit stiff and unpracticed. Perhaps it was because of this that the next time the snake struck, it connected. The Professor howled as the long fangs sank into his flesh. However, the yell of pain turned to a battle cry as he plunged the sword into the thing's head. The snake screamed, rearing back and flailing wildly, the hilt sticking out between its eyes. With a final screech it fell heavily to the sand with a mighty "THWUMP". The Professor scrambled back from its trembling body on elbows and backside, his left leg leaving a gleaming trail of red across the sand. Yanking off his belt, he rethreaded it just below his knee, pulling it tight. The blood slowed, but did not stop.

As if his improvised tourniquet had shut off feeling as well as blood flow, he crawled over to the boy who lay motionless a few feet away. Sephiroth watched, bemused, as the Professor ran his hands over the small body, checking for broken bones or worse. He felt the little head and neck for fractures, pried the small eyelids open. Abruptly, he doubled over the child, throwing his arms around it. Despite the poor quality of the film, even from this distance, he could see the Professor's shoulders shaking beneath his white coat. He saw it, but he didn't believe it: the Professor was crying over him.

Others began to swarm into the picture: white-coated researchers, doctors, nurses, and a team of infantry to dispose of the Zolom. Only then did the picture abruptly cut out, disappearing into a blur of static.

Well now.

Sephiroth had already taken so many metaphorical punches to the stomach in the last few hours that one more barely registered. This film had not been tragic and wrenching the way the earlier clips had been, but had carried a wallop of its own, the sheer strangeness of it striking him like a blow. Sephiroth looked down at his left hand; the hand he used to wield Masamune, the hand Elfe had taken and held not so long ago. He had seen the Professor write, but he had always used his right hand. However, now that he thought about it, it occurred to Sephiroth that the Professor had done virtually everything else with his other hand: injections, measurements, even gestures.

Zolom venom was fatal, or would have been at the time. Standard treatment up until very recently had been to remove the injured limb with all possible speed before the poison reached the heart. It was therefore extremely likely that the Professor had a prosthetic leg himself. Whether or not he had kept the final Zirconiade shard to power it was still unknown, but seemed likely. Hoping it would provide a clue, Sephiroth opened the last folder.

At first he thought perhaps Elena, in her copying frenzy, had accidentally included something superfluous. There were dozens of movie files, each less than five minutes long, most only a few seconds. The footage was black-and-white, and of the same amazingly poor quality as the rest. Watching the first film, Sephiroth was again struck by the fact that he dimly remembered doing the same thing as the little boy on screen. The date stamp in the corner said he would have been about seven at the time.

At first the snippets were just footage of the same sort of Phys Ed nonsense that every grade schooler had to go through: sprints, throwing and catching, climbing, and so forth. It looked as if the Science Department had logged a fitness reel of him each year every summer- about a week before his birthday, now that he knew when it was. Once he turned ten, however, the clips began to increase in length. Sword maneuvers were added, as well as hand-to-hand sparring. A couple featured him swimming, doing every stroke about six inches below the waterline. Sephiroth couldn't help a small chuckle at that. SOLDIERs were not known for their buoyancy. However, he was not the only one to have a highlight reel. There were five other folders of film clips; two labeled as "Project G", and three more each bearing a different serial number. Unsure he could bear to watch his friends as children- even if Genesis was still alive and half-asleep in the bed next to his- Sephiroth left that folder untouched, and instead opened those marked with only numbers.

Dear gods. Apparently everyone had embarrassing baby pictures, no exceptions. The first featured the red-headed woman who had attacked them at Cleo's back in Sector 7. Rosso could not possibly have been more than six or seven in the first one, Jenova or not. It was surreal to watch a doll-faced girl with strawberry ringlets maul a sparring dummy, practically break her ankle on an obstacle course, and do flips and tumbling passes that would put an adult gymnast to shame.

The next serial number belonged to a bulky little boy with a wild thatch of white-blonde hair that made Cloud's seem neat by comparison. The date stamp said this footage had been taken the same day as Rosso's. Although the boy was almost as tall as she was, he had the clumsy movements and soft features of a younger child. Sephiroth guessed him to be at least a year behind her, perhaps more. Maybe five or six. He had to remove a thick collar and heavy chains that looked as if they'd be more at home in a medieval dungeon before he could be put through his paces. Children often broke things by mistake, but the boy in the film seemed to be unnecessarily hard on the equipment. Everything was in pieces by the time he was done. Small pieces.

The last set featured another boy, this one small and babyish compared to the other two. He also looked a lot younger, more like the child he was. Where the other boy was fair, this one was dark. An untidy mop of blue-black hair fell into his eyes. Little could be seen of his face, a mask similar to the particle filters on infantry helmets covering everything but his eyes. Even behind the mask, he looked painfully young. Sephiroth would not have put him at more than five, and a recent five at that. Well, he had started as young himself. Unlike the other two, he didn't seem to want to do as instructed. Instead, he dropped through a hole that had suddenly appeared in the floor, reappearing through another hole halfway across the room. Sephiroth felt his brow crease, watching this strange phenomenon. Most of the black-haired boy's clips were the same until he got a bit older, mostly consisting of him playing an intricate cross of hide-and-seek and tag with his keepers.

There were at least as many film clips of Angeal, Genesis, and the Deepground children as there were of him, the last of the segments filmed some time during the Wutai war. Sephiroth bypassed these, not wanting to relive those days. He had been twelve when he joined the regular army, fifteen when hostilities broke out. Not all his time overseas had been unpleasant, but there were no doubt instances captured on film that he had no desire to remember.

In a separate folder were a series of spreadsheets, each corresponding to a set of film clips. Apparently he and the other children had been routinely compared to one another in order to assess which child and associated training method was superior. In almost all of them, Sephiroth had come out on top. This was perhaps to be expected since he was the oldest of the lot. However, the others were never far behind him. With these were copies of several letters arguing over where which child should be placed. Evidently the Professor, Hollander, and whoever was running Deepground had all been in competition to develop the best method for breeding and training children with Jenova's DNA. It didn't look as if a decision had ever been reached. Or had it?

Hollander was dead, as was Angeal. However, Project Gillian had breathed its last when his friends defected from Shinra. That left just the Professor and Deepground. Now that Sephiroth had defected himself, did that mean that Shirna would rely solely on Deepground for Jenova-enhanced troops? The SOLDIER program had a lot of holes in its ethics code, but none of his men had suffered the sort of things Azul had described. Funny. Before this, he would not have thought of the Professor's methods as humane, but held up against Deepground, they seemed positively indulgent.

Sephiroth frowned at the file names of each of the spreadsheets. The innumerable documents stored within the Shinra archives were tagged by department with descriptors like "SCIDEP" for the Science Department or "UDEV" for Urban Development. All of the Deepground files were labeled "WDEV": Weapons Development.

The revelation struck him between the eyes, sending his thoughts reeling. Had Scarlett known about this? Surely not. She would have put an end to it years ago. Most everyone in her department dealt with firearms and materia. It was entirely likely no one was aware these files had been hidden among schematics for rifles and canons. Deepground was manufacturing human weapons just as Shinra proper was churning out guns and grenades. Sephiroth added another item to his mental "To Do" list and set the computer aside. Digging out his phone, he thumbed a brief message to Tseng:

Conf 0900

AVLCH, SLDR, Rufus, you.

Have plan.