I never thought I'd be sitting in a bed beside Rufus Shirna as he carts himself around in a wheelchair, heavily bandaged and leg weighted with a thick cast. But here we are, staring out the window wistfully wishing for our freedom like a pair of dogs left alone during the workday. The silence becomes suffocating and it's hard not to pick holes in the material of my pants.

"So… How do you think they're holding up?"

"They as in the others?"

"Who else?"

"They're fine." Rufus's voice is dry, bored even. He refuses to turn away from the window, pale eyes locked on the street.

"Well, that's good I guess." I chew on my cheek, anxious to ease the tension. Of course, the next thing out of my mouth does the opposite. "The kid's okay."

"Marx told me."

"… Oh."

"Is something wrong?" he asks, making a half-assed effort to glance over his shoulder. "You're acting strange."

"I'm fine, I just feel weird."

"Weird?"

"It feels like…" I sigh, shaking my head, my stomach twisting into knots. "Like something bad is gonna happen. I'm just being paranoid."

But maybe I wasn't. After another hour of silence, the doorbell rings. I sit up straight, heart skipping a beat. That's not the others. It rings twice more before I stand, hobbling over to the window to see what Rufus is staring at. A group of men is outside, sweating and trying to pry a window open. Impatient, the closest man smashes the window.

"Great, an angry mob," I huff, closing the door and pushing a chair until the knob to keep us safe a little longer. Rufus nods toward the nightstand.

"There's a gun in there. Give it to me."

I obey, handing the gun over and watching him slip it into his sleeve. "How'd they find us so fast?" Where the hell did Reno put my rod?

"They probably saw Tseng and the others leave this morning."

"Dammit." I jump when the door at the end of the hall opens, slamming against the wall as the group files upstairs.

Rufus glances up at me, raising an eyebrow. "Sit down, Kat."

"But they're—"

"You can't fight them. Sit."

Scoffing, I obey, crossing my arms and leaning my crutches against the wall. It takes a moment of shoving, but the men manage to pry the door to the room open and rush inside, guns raised and faces sweaty.

The one in the front sneers, pulling back his chapped lips to reveal a set of crooked teeth. "Looks like you've gotten yourself into quite a mess, Mr. President." He waves his gun as he speaks, eyes wild with excitement. My hand twitches as I remember the knife on my leg and immediately two guns are pointed in my direction.

"Indeed. But now's the time I fear most." Rufus raises an eyebrow, calm and collected. "There is nothing more frightening than a foolish mob."

"We might be foolish, but at least we know who should be taking responsibility for everything that's happened."

I take a breath to retort, but Rufus shoots me a look, determined to appease his audience. "Then let me ask you this: what will you do after you leave this house? Have you thought about your futures?"

"What do you mean?" the man snarls, eyes narrowing. It's not that hard to understand, dumbass.

"There are two kinds of people in this world: people who give orders and people who take them. It is a question of one's abilities, not a trick question. Often when an incident occurs, it is the ones who give orders that are made to take responsibility." Rufus refuses to break eye contact with their leader and I can tell it's starting to unnerve him. Goddamn, he's a good bullshitter. "As a result, those who remain lose their direction and panic arises. Then everything comes to a halt."

The man blinks for a moment before he regains his anger. His knuckles go white when his hands squeeze his gun tighter. "You don't plead for your life well."

"You might be leading a number of people here, but how long will that last? What kind of future can you give them?"

"We're a foolish mob. As long as we live for today, that's all that counts." The men in the back that aimed their guns at me have lowered their weapons, frowning. I conceal a smile, taking a deep breath.

"No, not 'we,''" Rufus cuts in, cocking his head to the side. "It's just you."

"You have some kind of plan?" one of the men in the back asks.

Their leader scratches at the scruffy hair on his chin. "Of course. First, I would secure my home. Kalm can't shelter all the Midgar refugees. It looks like you're one of the locals here."

"Yeah."

"Do you want this town to become like Midgar?" Rufus asks.

The in the back man closes his mouth, turning his eyes to the floor. Their leader shakes his head, furious. "It's only natural that we help the people who need refuge!"

Rufus continues, unfazed. "Take this for example. What do you do when it rains? Where would the overwhelming amount of people go? Perhaps anyone would provide them shelter out of good will, but think about how big Midgar's population is. It may not be very big anymore, but you can't shelter them all. Can you lay their discontent and anxiety to rest? What can you tell them when all you care about is living for another day?"

"Shut up!" the leader shouts. Rufus doesn't so much as blink, waiting. The man from the back speaks up again.

"Well, you may be right. What would your plan be?"

Rufus tilts his head, a hint of a proud smile on his face. "It would cost my life to tell you." My face falls into a frown and I turn to him, frightened. What the hell are you doing?

The leader snarls, lowering his gun. "I don't have any more time to waste on this. Knock 'em out." Rufus meets my gaze, taking a breath to speak, but the man's rifle slams him in the head before he can say anything. I jump, watching his eyes roll back and his body slump. Holy shit… the man stops before me, eyebrow raised. "Got anything to add?"

"No."

"Goodnight, then."


I'm trapped in hazy delirium, drowning under the weight of the drugs the men pump into my body. I've been wavering between sleep and awareness for days. Rufus thinks it's been close to two weeks since they took us, but I'm not sure how he's tracking time. I haven't heard Jenova's voice once, trapped in eerie silence aside from the jingling of my chains every time I move.

From what I can gather, we're chained up in the leader's basement. His name's Mutten and I have no idea what he wants from us. Our wrists and ankles are locked to the wall, preventing too much movement and the drugs keep us from fighting. Not too long ago, a doctor came and looked over our wounds, putting my knee in a brace and prescribing Rufus additional medication for his pain.

A chubby woman brings us our meals that I can't eat because of the nausea. Rufus doesn't seem to notice, picking over the food until he's bored and returns to his sleep like a dog. Mutten visits every few days to try to squeeze information on rebuilding Midgar. Rufus only feeds him one cryptic bite at a time, knowing that if he gave him what he wants, we'll die. And by the looks of this basement, our deaths wouldn't come swiftly.

"Tell me everything," Mutten urges. "I won't kill you."

Rufus looks up at the man, sharp as ever. "Then take the chains off us. We won't run away."

A few days later, Mutten's getting impatient with us. Rufus refuses to say anything more about rebuilding, but the next time Mutten visits, he wants something different: the password to the Sector Five warehouse. When Rufus doesn't answer, Mutten strikes him across the face. After the third hit, Rufus straightens his head slowly, taking his time in torturing his enemy.

"I can't tell you something I don't know."

"Tell me the new passkey, dammit!"

"Someone must have changed it. I only know the emergency—"

Mutten hits him harder this time, sending a short spray of blood across the floor. Rufus takes a moment to gather himself, his hair plastered to the bleeding cut on his forehead. I tear my eyes away, dizzy. Much to my surprise, Rufus's lips split into a smile.

"I see. You're from the army."

"You've passed by me many times before," Mutten bites back, bitter. "But to you, I'm just another one of your troops."

Rufus's eyes flicker to the floor, his smile fading. "… I'm sorry." My heart skips a beat and I glance across the room to see if he's being serious. Was that a genuine apology?

Mutten's eyebrows twitch together before he turns to me. His eyes narrow and he squats before me, pinching my chin between his bloody fingers and forcing me to look up at him. My eyes flicker between all four pairs of his, trying to find the real deal in the chaos of my doubled vision. He grits his teeth, standing sharply and turning back to the president.

"I should've known. You have lapdogs, don't you?" Rufus doesn't answer. "Where are they?!"

"I was taken away when they weren't present. They don't know my whereabouts."

"I see." Rufus's head jerks sharply when he's struck again, blood dripping from a deep cut in his lip. Mutten turns to me. "You know something."

"He already said they weren't—" My heart leaps into my throat when his knuckles collide with the side of my face, my head spinning even faster than before. "Fucking ow."

"What's the passkey?!" he demands, refusing to look away from me.

"I don't know!" Another punch, although this one is into my bandaged chest. My body screams and an involuntary gasp tears through my threat as my bones crack from the impact. Holy shit!

"I don't tolerate disrespect, dog. You know what it is." His eyes flare with rage and he jerks me forward by my collar. "You've been contacting them!"

"You took my phone, moron!" I force out, gritting my teeth to ease my pain. "How the hell do you think I'm contacting them?"

"I don't know. I do know it's one of you." Mutton throws me back toward the wall and turns to Rufus. "And I will kill her if I don't get an answer soon." A knock at the door jerks him out of his act. "What is it?" he demands, irritated.

"You have a guest."

"A guest? Who could—" He shakes his head. "Nevermind. I'll be right there." He continues speaking as he heads for the door, keeping his head up and his shoulders square. "The construction of the new city has begun. I'm really looking forward to it, Mr. President. They're building my city. I'd love to show you it, but you leave me no choice but to leave you and your pet here."

He leaves quickly, locking the door with a loud click. I try to focus my sight on Rufus, grimacing at the amount of blood streaking his skin.

"Are you okay?"

"I'll survive." He looks up from the floor, eyeing me. "Are you?"

"I think he turned my ribcage into bone meal," I admit, struggling to catch a full breath.

"That bad?"

"Fucking awful."

Two voices over our heads raise into shouts. One sounds familiar; it must be Mutten's. A startled scream just barely starts before a gunshot goes off. Thundering footsteps precede the arising scent of smoke. What the hell happened?

"A fire?" I frown, huffing out a dry laugh. "That's my trope."

Much to my surprise, Rufus acknowledges the joke with a slight laugh before attempting to stand. He almost gets there, but the chains snap short and his weak knees give out, throwing him back to the ground. If I didn't feel so hazy, I might've laughed. We have to get out of here.