Chapter 44
Genesis leaned against the plane's bulkhead with his arms crossed and a sharp frown on his face. He felt as though he had been wearing the same frown for decades now.
The winds over the Midgar plains buffeted the plane and shrieked across the metal hull as they lost altitude. Every tremor reverberated through the crowded cargo hold. An entire platoon of troopers was stationed inside. Despite being strapped into seats around the compartment for the landing, they all had easy access to their rifles. Anxious and wrong-footed, Genesis could see them swapping nervous looks under their helmets.
Shepard sat next to him in handcuffs.
Her weaponry was locked up in an entirely separate compartment of the plane. This was the first time he'd seen her out of her armour in months, and the plain SOLDIER uniform she wore looked alarmingly thin by comparison. She didn't appear at all alarmed. Her head had fallen forward, bobbing slightly in the turbulence, and her arms were as close to crossed as they could get in handcuffs.
That didn't stop the troopers from keeping their eyes fixed on her. They were right to be nervous. Only a First Class could hold back another First Class. He was the jailer here.
His frown grew deeper. How dare Shinra ask this of him?
The plane shook as the landing gear met the tarmac.
With the war over, there was no longer any reason for her to remain free. She was accused of treason, and Heidegger had ordered her immediate incarceration and return to Midgar. Sephiroth and Angeal were still organising their forces in Wutai.
Genesis' anger had burnt itself down into a simmering resentment. The whole situation left a bitter taste in his mouth and a lurking sense of nausea at what was still to come. Worst of all, it could have been avoided. Shepard already held a generous body count, one decades in the making. He knew what that looked like now; it hid in the thud of every step and the shadow behind her eyes. Death was ugly, but it was their trade and she knew that as well as he did. Why throw her life away trying to pretend otherwise? She didn't believe in heroics, why play the martyr now?
She had always been proud. Proud and stubborn. She gave such an appearance of being straight-laced, he had underestimated just how much backbone she hid beneath that armour.
The plane slowed and taxied along the runway. Next to him, Shepard roused herself from her doze and looked up at him, awaiting instruction. She couldn't even take off her own seatbelt.
As much as her actions had stung him, it made his blood boil that Heidegger dared strike out against one of the few people he was prepared to care about. Heidegger was an interfering fool whose ego had already cost more lives than they could afford to lose. Now he wanted to throw away one of the only First Classes left alive and the woman who ended the war.
Shinra's gratitude was so short lived.
The plane came to a stop, and after some minutes of waiting, the cargo doors opened. Grey plains stretched out before them, crumbling cliffs and fields of dead vegetation as far as the eyes could see. Midgar's walls stood behind them several kilometres away. A helicopter waited at the other end of the tarmac to fly the two of them up to HQ. Shinra wanted to avoid the public spectacle of dragging one of its prized propaganda pieces through the city in cuffs.
They couldn't keep it a secret from everyone.
"How dare they treat her like this?" a trooper near the back whispered, unaware of just how sharp his hearing was. Shepard sighed next to him.
"She was defending ninjas," another replied under his breath.
"But she killed the emperor!" the first trooper said.
"And broke orders. SOLDIERs think they can get away with anything," someone else whispered.
"Saved my life," another murmured.
"Theirs too."
"Traitor."
"Hero."
"Quiet," Genesis snapped. He'd had enough of that before the plane even took off. "Go secure the area. Guard the helicopter." He jerked his head at the door, and the pack of troopers marched out. The helicopter wasn't visible from the cargo hold, but he'd seen it when they landed. Piloted by Turks, it didn't need guarding or securing in the least, but he craved a little breathing room and quiet.
Shepard watched him with a raised eyebrow—which he was also not in the mood for. The last of the troopers marched out onto the runway and beyond his line of sight. He sat heavily in the seat next to her. She was still held down by her seat belt, so he brusquely undid it and then crossed his arms. Her eyebrow remained raised.
"Don't give me that. You no longer get a say in these things," he said, with what even he knew to be unnecessary bite.
"Not afraid I'll overpower you and make a break for it?" she asked. It was the first thing she had said in hours. He had started to fear she'd just given up.
"And where would you go?" he asked, gesturing to the barren plains before them.
Her lips twitched into a small smile.
"I'd figure it out." Her eyes surveyed the bleak sight, her sniper's eye looking for details he couldn't identify.
It brought a bitter smile to his face. She was still the hard woman he called a friend. He nodded and stood, rolling out his shoulders and strolling past her. He pulled out his phone and checked leisurely through his backed up emails. Such a busy inbox.
"What are you doing?" she asked behind him, her voice suddenly sharp.
He looked over his shoulder at her. A sleep materia sat next to her, well within reach. His sword was back where he had been standing, leaning against the wall on the other side of her.
"Make it quick," he said, his focus returning to his phone. "My reputation is going to suffer enough from this as it is." It stung just to say it. She had better be grateful.
Several seconds dragged by, and he wondered why he was still conscious. He glanced back. She hadn't even reached for the materia. She could easily use it despite the cuffs, which she was strong enough to snap anyway, if she really tried. She didn't move. She just looked at him through troubled eyes.
"Why are you still here? Go!"
"Genesis," she shook her head, "I'm not running."
He stared at her, certain he was mishearing. "You won't get another opportunity like this."
She shook her head again, and he felt frustration and a sick feeling in his stomach.
"Please," he entreated, an edge of urgency in his voice. They only had so much time before the Turks decided to investigate the delay.
She stood, leaving the materia on the bench. "You're not going to take the fall for me. You don't need to protect me from my own choices."
He swore.
"How exactly do you expect this to end?" he stalked towards her. They were the same height but in the moment he felt like he towered over her. "Do you imagine that you're going to somehow win the trial? There is only one possible ending here: a guilty verdict, swiftly followed by your execution."
Her expression remained unreadable, but she made no move towards the door. Didn't she understand? Why was she unmoved?
"Why aren't you running?" he asked, desperation leaking into his voice.
Her eyebrow rose sharply at that. "Would you?"
"This isn't a time for games!" he hissed with enough force that it felt more like a yell. "I am risking my entire career," he faltered, a spike of nausea running through him at the words. He swallowed harshly. "I am risking my life for you—at least have the decency to save your own."
"Genesis," she said, putting her hand on his upper arm. Still cuffed, her other arm came with it. "There is a time for retreating, and a time to hold your ground."
"This is the former."
Her hand dropped, and he saw steel in her eyes.
"I am not going to disappear quietly," she said, her voice quiet but firm. "If Shinra is going to hold me accountable for my actions, I will return the favour." There was fire in her voice, restrained but unmistakably there. "But I will not let you take the fall for me."
She squared her shoulders and looked him in the eye. Without the wall of her armour, he realised how gaunt she had become. The war had taken from her just like it had everyone else. And now she wanted to stand alone against Shinra itself.
"They'll crush you," he whispered.
"Perhaps," she allowed, unflinching.
She turned, picked up his sword, and held it out to him. He stared at the jewelled hilt, engraved with runes of accuracy and strength and fire infused. He took it and felt utterly powerless.
Genesis led his shackled friend out of the plane to the helicopter where the Turks waited. Shepard marched with her chin raised and her back straight. An army she had trained flanked her, their rifles tracking her every step.
The procession of guards escorted Shepard to her new quarters: a cell designed specifically for First Class SOLDIERs. She'd half expected to end up rooming down in the Science Department, but apparently Heidegger wasn't going to let any other department get their hands on her until he'd exacted his own vengeance. She was very grateful for his vindictiveness.
The door shut behind her, leaving her in a metal room. The lock engaged and the doors hummed with the electrical current pulsing through them. At least she wasn't cuffed anymore.
It was surprisingly large for a cell, albeit completely stripped down. The walls were heavily reinforced, with obvious effort going into making sure they were perfectly smooth and uniform. Not a single weak spot in sight. Apparently they feared she was going to punch her way out.
The amount of thought and effort that had gone into designing a First Class-proof cell was evident. Shinra knew that SOLDIER inspired admiration all over the company, especially in those in the armed forces, so the door couldn't even be opened by the guards. It was electronically controlled, no physical lock and key at all. She gave the small camera in the corner a wry smile. Oh, the joys of automation.
She sat on the cold slab bed. She had a plan. A risky and bloody plan, but a plan nonetheless. She wouldn't have let this go so far without one, but it was surreal to suddenly be trapped like this. Yesterday, armies lived and died on her word. Today, she was confined to a windowless room and kept under constant surveillance.
Based on previous experience, she expected to be left alone in the dark and quiet for at least twenty-four hours before anyone stopped by.
It had been less than ten minutes when the door disengaged and Cissnei entered.
The Turk looked the same as usual, well pressed suit and loose but strictly controlled hair flicking around her shoulders. Her large shuriken rested against her back. She looked around the cell with polite interest, as though observing a painting in a museum.
"Comfy," she said, giving Shepard a half smile.
"Roomier than most barracks." She still sat on the edge of the metal slab that made up the bed, which was uncomfortably low to the ground and making her knees sore.
"And you've got a toilet all to yourself." Cissnei raised an eyebrow at the metal plumbing tucked away in the corner.
"I know soldiers who would kill for that," Shepard said, studying her guest. "Are you here to interrogate me?"
"Yup. Do you play cards?" She brandished a small deck.
"Sure do," Shepard said, shuffling over on the bed. She played a wicked hand of Skyllian Five, and she missed playing with her crew.
Cissnei sat facing her with her legs crossed and her shuriken leaning against the side of the bed. She shuffled the deck and started to deal them, only to learn that Shepard didn't play the game she had in mind. In the end, the only game they did have in common was Snap. She split the deck in two, and they started a spirited round.
"Snap!" Shepard yelled, slapping the cards between them down onto the table. Cissnei jumped and almost tumbled backwards off the bed.
"Sorry," Shepard offered, pulling the cards she had won towards her with what she hoped was humility.
Cissnei laughed and resettled herself on the bed. "That's what I get for playing a game of reflexes with a SOLDIER. My hand would be stinging if I slapped the table that hard."
Shepard examined the inside of her hand. All calloused and scarred, she'd barely felt the impact at all. She shrugged in response and kept playing.
"I always figured you'd end up in a cell sooner or later," Cissnei said after some time, reorganizing her shrinking pile of cards. SOLDIER reflexes sort of took the joy out of the game, but they could still pretend they stood on equal footing.
"Really?" Shepard kept her eyes on the cards being played.
"Mm. I assumed it would be for something more direct though," she said with a shrug. "Trying to blow up HQ. Assassination attempts maybe."
Shepard gave her a wry smile. "The day is young."
Cissnei snorted. Two Kings in a row hit the pile and Shepard's hand struck like a crash landing.
"Do you have any idea how much of an uproar you've caused?" Cissnei said, frowning at Shepard's growing stack of cards.
"Yes."
"I really doubt it," Cissnei said, a small and entirely artificial smile on her face. "Had it been anyone else, they would be in the science department right now. The fact that you're so popular and famous is the only reason you're getting a trial at all."
Shepard nodded. She remembered the haunted look in Dalton's eyes when he woke from his Mako-induced coma. To everyone else the threat of the Science Department was reason to stay in line. She didn't work like that.
"You don't look surprised." Cissnei pursed her lips. With her constant half smile gone, she looked about five years older.
Shepard watched her with a steady gaze and put a card down. "I've been doing this for decades. I know the rules."
Cissnei paused halfway through putting down her own card.
"Please tell me this wasn't on purpose," she said, leaning forward.
Shepard snorted. "I don't know why I would want to—let alone how I could have—done it on purpose. How does any of this help me?" She gestured at the empty cell around them. "I'm flattered you think I'm that good a strategist. At the end of the day, I'm just a rebellious grunt."
Cissnei's half smile returned, not as convincing as normal. "You have to fall in line sooner or later. Everyone does."
"I do not," Shepard said in a low voice.
"Then you're going to be fighting for the rest of your life." Cissnei paused and looked down at the game. "Which won't be very long at all." She had run out of cards. The game was over.
"Yes." Shepard returned the deck. She'd won, but the cards weren't hers.
Cissnei shuffled the deck, her eyes unfocused as she returned them to their case.
"I'll miss you," Cissnei said quietly. Her lips smiled but her eyes were sad.
Shepard looked down. "Yeah," she replied.
Cissnei cleared her throat, "I'm done in here," she called out.
She stood, picked up her shuriken, and swung it onto her back as she crossed the room.
"I'll wave from the chopping block," Shepard said.
Cissnei looked back. "Yeah.
The locks disengaged, the door opened, and Cissnei walked out into the rest of the world. The doors slammed shut behind her and the room hummed from the electricity once again.
With nothing to do, Shepard looked down at her fingers. She traced old callouses. Jabbed at one of them. The sensation was dulled, but she could still feel it.
She wished… that it didn't always have to be the hard way.
The doors buzzed again, and she looked up in surprise. The locks disengaged, and she expected Cissnei to be standing there. Instead, Tseng entered.
She remained seated.
He stood in the centre of the room, with his hands at his back and his face blank. Still, given the way he walked in, the distribution of his weight and the reinforced blankness of his expression, she could have sworn he was uneasy. Surely not.
He raised his chin and stared at her, perhaps awaiting a response.
Oh, she knew this routine. Send in the fun and relatable agent to loosen her lips and then swoop in with the big guns. She'd done it herself a couple of times. She normally played the big gun.
"Shepard," he said, when she didn't twitch under his calm scrutiny. He tilted his head in false politeness. "May I call you Jane?"
She met his blank stare without flinching and let the silence drag out.
"Not if you expect a response," she said after a very long minute.
He nodded. "Miss Shepard, then."
"Commander," she corrected reflexively.
"You've been stripped of your rank."
"Oh?" She crossed her arms and leaned back against the wall. "Has Admiral Hackett been in contact?"
"I can't say I've had the pleasure." He took a meagre step forward. "In fact, there hasn't been any contact from your people.
"With you," she said, idly inspecting the material of her prison garb.
"Pardon?"
"No one from outside Gaia has gotten in contact with you." She smiled at him.
His forehead furrowed marginally, before smoothing out a second later.
He cocked his head. "Have you been in contact with your allies then?"
"Would I tell you if I had been?" she asked. She knew what game he was playing, and she happily played right along.
"It's in your interest to co-operate."
Her smile turned condescending. "You should be worrying about your own interests."
"Can you return to your own people?" He frowned with a very good facsimile of concern. "It would be simpler for us all if you left Gaia."
"Simpler?" She raised an eyebrow.
"Conflict within the armed forces weakens the company. Is there anything we can do to facilitate communications? Is there a rescue party on the way?" The furrow in his forehead returned. "Surely they haven't abandoned you."
Despite all efforts to hold it back a low chuckle broke out of her. She shook her head. "Facilitate communications?" she asked with raised eyebrows before snorting. "I've seen rookies with more subtlety."
He frowned.
"You may as well just come out and say it. You want to know if I'm going to call for backup or if you can execute me with impunity." She lifted her foot to the edge of the bed and rested her elbow on her knee. "Is there a fleet watching Gaia as we speak? Will orbital bombardment follow my death?" She leaned back against the wall, relaxed. "Can you afford to burn those bridges?"
He offered a wan smile. "I don't see why orbital bombardment would follow the execution of a soldier who disobeyed orders during wartime."
"I won't be the one you'll be explaining your motivations to."
"If anyone," he said dryly.
She tilted her head sideways. "Let me ask you something, Tseng," she said. He nodded and she let him wait. "What makes you think I'm the only alien on your planet?"
His eyes narrowed and the furrow on his brow returned. "You've had the same equipment since you arrived here, despite all the damage sustained. Had you been in contact with others of your kind, you could have simply replaced it." The furrow faded away, and his bland expression betrayed nothing. "You are a competent liar, but you are still alone."
"Did it never strike you as odd that I know so much about the people of Gaia?" she said. She didn't need Tseng to be afraid of her and the Alliance any more, but it couldn't hurt either. "I speak your languages. Your idioms and phrasal verbs make perfect sense to me, I understand your social cues. I even play a mean game of Snap. Do you think that is just happy coincidence?"
He studied her for a long moment. "I think you are a very good liar. But I know there is no proof of anything you say."
"Both of those things are true," she allowed with a dismissive flick of her wrist. "Do what you have to. But you will live with the consequences." She flashed a grim smile. "Hopefully."
"Quite." His expression remained unreadable. She had seen brick walls with more expression. He turned to leave, but paused by the door and looked back at her.
"Why did you spare the village?"
She blinked at him and said nothing.
"Who are the Wutai to you? What reason do you have to favour them over anyone else?"
She scoffed. "By that measure I have no reason to favour Shinra either."
He raised an eyebrow and swept his gaze across the cell. "I disagree."
She let her head thud back against the wall and looked him square in the eye. She wouldn't tell him the truth: that she felt sympathy for the villagers, one minute just living their lives, the next rained down upon by forces they couldn't possibly hope to repel. He probably wouldn't even believe her anyway. But there was a motivation she knew he would understand.
"We share a specialisation. A profession even," she said. He looked doubtful, but she kept going. "You've seen my rifle. I fight with surgical precision to get the best results. Wholesale slaughter is wasteful and lazy." She stood and stared him down. "Killing civilians is beneath me. I'm the best sniper in the galaxy and I am not here to waste my time burning down wooden shacks."
"The best in the galaxy." His eyebrow rose.
"You'll have to take my word for it." She looked away. "I take pride in my work, no matter what you think."
"I see." He nodded and left, and she had no idea if he believed a word she had said about anything.
Almost a week after Shepard's incarceration, Sephiroth returned from Wutai.
He closed his eyes and leaned against the wall of the elevator. It was early morning but already he had had enough.
Everything in Midgar was the same. The same overpowering stench, the same fawning Shinra employees and egotistical executives. The same grey that blanketed everything. It didn't matter how brightly coloured something was, if it spent enough time in Midgar it became grey. And it felt worse every time he returned.
At least in Wutai he was allowed to kill people who irritated him.
Midgar wasn't entirely the same, of course. The SOLDIER prison cells held an occupant this time.
The elevator opened with a ding, and he straightened his back. This wasn't his floor; he was on the way up to the First Class quarters. A gaggle of Third Classes stood waiting for the elevator and were about to step in when they saw him. They froze at the realisation of exactly who stood before them, awe in their eyes. Everyone else in sight stuttered to a halt as well. Only the slightest breath of movement dared to exist in his presence.
He pursed his lips. One of the Thirds mumbled something apologetic, and they retreated to go wait for another elevator.
He pressed the 'close door' button and it creaked under the force. When would they stop doing this? He worked here, just like them. They didn't have to all freeze in terror every time he turned a corner. The doors closed, and he pinched the bridge of his nose. The elevator continued on to his destination.
It dinged open again, this time at the correct level. He stalked out into the corridor, brandishing his key. It had just turned in the lock when he paused.
He thought back to that frozen moment at the elevator. Everyone stopped moving a second after the doors opened. But there had been movement in the background. He couldn't identify what it belonged to, no shape or colour lingered in his mind, only a barely visible distortion.
Exactly like a tactical cloak.
No.
That couldn't—
He narrowed his eyes. He locked his door again and marched straight back to the elevator and rode it to his office.
Logging on to his computer, he wasted no time with all the updates and emails he had missed but went straight to the security files. The multiple passwords that protected the security systems were no deterrent to him as he had full access to all but the executive levels. He clicked on the live video feed of Shepard's cell.
It took a moment to open—the servers were always slow in the mornings. Finally, it opened into a black and white image of the cell. Shepard lay stretched out on the bare bed in the corner. He glared at the footage, feeling none of the relief he had expected. She shifted in her sleep. It was definitely her. They'd trekked their way across Wutai together; he knew very well what she looked like.
He leaned back in his chair and locked his jaw. The sight of her in a cell was unsettling, and not just because he would have preferred she not be in there at all. Something was wrong and it nagged at him.
Maybe he hadn't seen her ghosting down the corridor at all. She couldn't possibly get out—she didn't even have her Omni-tool. Perhaps he had simply grown so used to her walking around invisible that his tired mind imagined it.
He exited the video. It felt disrespectful to watch her sleep.
His fingers tapped against the top of the desk, and he pursed his lips in thought. He'd never known her to sleep in so late. Not even when she was on furlough and had nothing to do. She stayed up late, got up early, and always had dark marks under her eyes.
He clicked the feed open again. She was definitely sleeping. He exited it. He felt ridiculous and frustrated because he knew what he had seen and it didn't make any sense.
He got up and went back to the elevators. He punched in the level for the high security prison cells and crossed his arms. As the numbers ticked by, he stubbornly ignored all the reasons why he was being ridiculous.
He had intended to avoid her when he returned. He didn't know what to say and the whole situation made him uncomfortable. He knew what he'd seen. He was just going to check.
Maybe the cameras had been tampered with. She was good with electronics, though normally only with the assistance of her Omni-tool. She couldn't have done anything from inside the cell anyway. The whole system was brand new and top of the line. Could Hojo have interfered?
A wave of dread passed through him at the idea, but it swiftly passed. Hojo was infamously bad with new technology, and he didn't have access to these systems anyway. They all came from Urban Development and Reeve was very good at being too uncooperative for Hojo to bother with. Reeve—
Reeve was friends with Shepard.
Why had that not occurred to him before?
But what did it mean? Would Reeve help her escape? If so, she had been walking in entirely the wrong direction. Why would Reeve want to help her anyway? He had never expressed an interest in SOLDIER or any of the company's more heated politics. The engineer didn't generally draw attention to himself.
It occurred to Sephiroth that he had no idea what motivated the Director of Urban Development. He looked up at the camera in the elevator and narrowed his eyes. A grave oversight that was. How did Reeve fly under the radar so well? Surely someone had to have noticed that, despite all appearances, he held tremendous power?
Evidently Shepard had noticed.
Reeve maintained Shinra HQ—the very foundations of the building were his designs. The security systems, the communications networks, Mako distribution throughout Midgar, all went through Urban Development. It was more than enough to destroy a great many people if the mild mannered man who sat in the corner and watched the other directors squabble wanted it.
He arrived outside the detention area. Four Second Class SOLDIERs guarded the door. None of them had anything to report, and as far as he could tell, they believed it too.
He typed in his passcode and swiped his security card through the scanner. The locks disengaged. He braced himself and entered.
The cell was empty.
That much was immediately obvious. He spun around just in case, but there was nowhere to hide. It was an empty room being guarded by four stern and vigilant SOLDIERs.
The door closed behind him.
He looked at it for a moment, a barely visible electric current running through the metal, and scowled. He drew his sword and was about to slash through the door, electrical current be damned, when a voice spoke from the ceiling.
"Sephiroth, SOLDIER."
He stilled. His head slowly turned up to the camera in the corner of the ceiling. The voice sounded familiar, but he couldn't place it. It was too heavily synthesized.
Then he remembered. He had heard it before, well over a year ago now. It was synthesised by nature.
Oh.
He was going to kill Shepard.
A/N: Thanks for reading! And thanks for your patience :) Reviews are tremendously welcome.
Next Time: 12 Angry Men and an Angry Spectre
