Chapter Sixty: The Monsters Inside Us

Author's Note: A Mu is an enemy in original game which is basically a squirrel in a hole in the ground. It teaches you the Enemy Skill L4 Suicide.

Spirit of hartshorn is another name for smelling salts, the ammonia inhalant which can revive a person who has fainted, or is about to faint.

Did Zack believe in monsters?

They were everywhere. They lurked in the darkest recesses of the wild, they scurried between the wreckage of the Midgar slums. There were monsters which would keep their distance, as wary as the human crossing its path, and there were others which would strike first whether the timing was right or not.

Then there were the monsters lurking inside the hearts of man—men like Mejia.

Zack knew those well, for he had them, too. They were the source of his anger, his ferocity. He drew from their savagery to survive extraordinary situations. He had to have monsters of his own to be able to live in a world in which he was surrounded by wretched creatures and wicked men.

But what of those who transmute into wretched creatures by the hands of wicked men? Men such as Professor Hollander? Professor Hojo?

Too real was the memory of Angeal having been consumed by monsters to emerge as one of his own. His body had been twisted into an aberration. Once a man, then a quadruped with armored plating on its legs instead of mortal flesh. What once were feet were then gnarled talons, gouging into the ground as it attacked. A single white wing outstretched from its right shoulder, looming behind a massive arm which had wielded a trident—the very weapon which scarred Zack's face. In the other hand gripped a shield to protect itself, as if its ironclad body was as vulnerable as its former human self. At its center was a glowing orifice, encircled with vicious teeth, punctuating the already bestial visage.

It had not been the grotesque body which haunted Zack's dreams, but the very face of this monster. It was Angeal himself, his skin gray and cold like granite, yet his familiar features remained unchanged. To see his former friend's face atop such a creature was still something with which Zack struggled.

So how could he not believe in monsters?

But whatever Cloud had been referring to, Zack didn't know. The boy had been out cold since they had finished their lovemaking. Zack had managed to get a few hours of sleep in himself, but he awoke in the late afternoon ready to continue his mission. Before he could leave, he had to drill it into Cloud's head that he was not to follow him under any circumstance.

He waited several more hours for Cloud to wake up, but he never did, not even when Zack tried to rouse him. His mind kept going back to the drive into Kalm, how Cloud looked as though he were losing consciousness at the wheel. Perhaps he was really exhausted, Zack thought, but to go from being in a rage to unresponsive in a matter of seconds didn't correlate.

Not when his own words had been, "You're not well, Cloud."

What the hell was he doing here with Cloud? Why did he allow him to come when he was so clearly ill? How much longer could the both of them continue to ignore the truth?

Zack showered, then spent the remainder of his time in the room sitting on the edge of the bed with his face in his hands. Eventually he resolved to leave. After writing Cloud a note instructing him to stay put and placing it on the pillow beside him, he left.

It was evening now, and the bustle of both the cars and the foot traffic was disorientating at first, despite the numbers being far fewer than any traffic rush Midgar would have. Zack made his way to the town square and cut through, avoiding colliding with people shuffling home after a long day, or to the bar on the other side of the square to forget their troubles. Several people stopped to stare at him, which he was used to whenever he would be out in public in his uniform, but it finally dawned on him, as he neared the Weapon shop, that people must have been gawking at the massive sword on his back.

He stopped when he reached the foot of the stone stairs leading up to the row of tudor style shops Mejia's family owned. His mind raced, trying to gather every idea he had that could pass as a feasible plan.

"Screw it," he muttered, then marched up the stairs with an empty head.

The door to the Weapon shop chimed with a bell as Zack entered. The shop was dimly lit by warm candle light and back-lit display cases boasting mythril weapons of various types. A rich, wooden counter swept across the entire expanse of the room, joining together with the Materia shop beside it. There was a lavish table case to his left, shimmering gold with a glass pyramid lid. Inside, Zack could see an array of colored orbs nested in black velour. The glow from the candles was shining on them, causing the materia to look as though each was a star twinkling against the black of night. He had never seen materia displayed with such unique consideration before, and judging by the rest of the fine wares and décor, he realized that Mejia's parents took great pride in their livelihood.

Mejia's parents. He glanced around for anyone, but realized he was alone. He walked along the length of the counter, stopping across a doorway leading to the back of the building. Inside he could see a staircase to the left, leading up to the second story. Further down he could see a kitchen with travertine tile and dark wood cabinetry. He could hear the sounds of someone rummaging through pots and pans, but giving no indication that his presence was known.

He was about to call out when a short, older man with tan skin suddenly popped his head up from the floor behind the counter. Zack peered over to see he had emerged from a trap door which led down to the storage room beneath the buildings.

"Ah, customer," the man said with a thick Mideelish accent. "We are almost closed." He looked down the ladder he was standing on and shouted something to someone below him in his native language. He gave the person below no time to respond before he was clambering to his feet and shutting the trap door. He righted himself and dusted off his pants before looking up at Zack with a warm, but professional smile. "How may I help?"

Zack found himself unable to speak at first. This diminutive, mustachioed man with a buttoned nose and dark, beady eyes like polished pebbles was Mejia's father. That sick, deranged monster came from this unassuming shopkeeper, who quite frankly, reminded Zack of a Mu. The equation relaxed him, if only enough to give the man a silly nickname in his head: Mu-Pa. Anything to distract Zack's mind from the fact that he was face-to-face with the father of a murderous, sex offending, rogue SOLDIER.

Mu-Pa motioned to the sword on Zack's back. "Too late to grind, friend. Come back during morning. I can sharpen for you."

"N-No, I'm not here for bladesmithing," Zack said, blinking in confusion as his brain began to restart. "I, uh," he looked around quickly, his eyes falling upon a display cabinet with daggers and knives, "I was looking to buy."

"I have time for that," Mu-Pa said, turning to wheel the cabinet closer for Zack to peruse. "Mythril is specialty, but we have other material we work with."

Zack took his time looking through the various blades, acting as though he were interested. There were several hunting knives, dirks, kukri, sgian-dubh, even a stiletto that came to a very unnerving point. There was one white dagger which was made out of ivory from the tusk of an Elphadunk, another with a handle made from the shell of an Adamantoise. Some blades had engraved images of Summons, quillon and pommels which were gilded; and handles made of redwood burl, some with gemstone such as jade or agate.

He came to a row of boot knives and small daggers. Mu-Pa waited patiently as Zack scrutinized them, all the while trying to think of what to say to this man. One dagger caught his eye, and he must have made some sort of noise of interest, for Mu-Pa removed it from the case and presented it to Zack.

The blade itself was perfectly symmetrical with a substantial spine and tight hollow grinds. It flared in the middle of the spine, tapering up to a sturdy ricasso and dovetailed quillons. There was a fine grain throughout the blade and the quillons, both polished to a mirror finish which flashed under the candlelight. The handle had a belly, making it easy to grip, and was made of what Zack thought to be obsidian, but perhaps onyx as it had faint traces of gray stripes twisting beneath the surface. There were two materia slots embedded in the gemstone handle, each with a beaded bezel mount for decorative purposes.

But it was the pommel which drew Zack to this particular dagger. It was in the shape of a silver wolf's head. Its ears were twisted back, its eyes dark and ferocious, its mouth snarling with fangs bared. Between its jaws it clenched a metal ring, giving it the appearance of an ornate doorknocker one would certainly be intimidated to use.

The entire dagger was only about ten inches long, but it was one which Zack found himself enamored over by its striking elegance.

"Full tang. Made of mythril. A very strong blade," Mu-Pa said, pulling Zack out of his momentary trance.

Zack looked up at him and gave him a genuine smile. "It's incredible. The wolf head is neat."

"Monster wolf," Mu-Pa said, considering the pommel as though he were viewing a piece of fine art. "A fearsome hunter. Always gets its prey." He motioned to the ring in the wolf's mouth, symbolizing what Zack could only assume would be a fresh kill.

Zack nodded in agreement. "Very fine craftsmanship for sure."

Mu-Pa returned Zack's smile and seemed to beam. "Thank you. My son designed it."

The weight of the dagger seemed to increase instantly. The chill of the gemstone handle turned hot. "Did he?" Zack asked slowly, doing his best to mask the sudden repulsion he was feeling. He wanted to drop the thing and wipe his hand off on his pants.

"He has natural talent, but wasted it running off to Midgar," Mu-Pa said with a hint of bitterness in his voice. Still, his smile held firm.

"Yeah? Now why would someone as talented as your son decide to leave his gifted craft to go there?"

Mu-Pa closed up the cabinet, as though he were certain Zack was going to purchase the dagger. He pushed the cabinet back to its resting place between several others housing much larger mythril blades, each with its own distinct design. "Midgar attracts men like Siren. Lures them with promise of fame, prosperity. Then it swallows them up."

Zack realized that this was his chance. Mejia's father was opening up the avenue to talk about Mejia, to extract any sliver of information about him. He no longer felt the urge to drop the dagger. Instead Zack's fingers tightened around the handle.

"So I've heard. Where's your son now …?"

The shower was running. There was a wall behind his back. Sounds of a festival were muffled behind the window. His body ached, and he couldn't move. His face was wet.

The shower stopped. Someone approached cautiously.

"You know, you don't have to stop crying just because I turned the water off, yeah."

It was … Ratcliff?

"I wasn't," Cloud muttered.

"It's okay to cry, Cloud."

"I wasn't."

Ratcliff knelt in front of him.

Cloud curled into himself and ducked his head down into his raised knees.

"You should be resting, yeah."

"I don't want to."

"Kunsel said you were hit with Thundara. You shouldn't be moving around. Your nerves might be shot, yeah."

"I'm fine."

Ratcliff sat beside him.

Cloud flinched.

"Sorry, I can move, ye—"

"It's fine."

Ratcliff sighed and patted Cloud's knee. "You know … you can, uh … talk to me."

There was that warm smile of his. It pained Cloud to see it.

"I've … been through it, yeah."

Cloud began crying again. The light from the festival revealed the tears on his face.

Ratcliff reached up to brush his tears away. "Hey, c'mon, Cloud …"

Cloud went to grab Ratcliff's hand, but it was gone.

Ratcliff was gone.

Water was dripping from the shower in the bathroom. His body was aching, and tears were real on his face, but there was no festival outside the window behind his back. He sat alone, naked and slumped against the wall. He looked around in a daze, breathing heavily in his confused state. His heart was racing and his chest felt as though he were pinned beneath the weight of the planet. There was a feeling of hot liquid being poured down his body, seeping through his skin and pooling in the depths of his stomach to stagnate.

Cloud got to his feet with great difficulty, swaying as he made the short distance to the bathroom before crashing to his knees in front of the toilet and retching into it. Even though his stomach was empty, this nauseating panic took control of his body and forced his muscles to clench, his throat to burn, and his jaw to split open. Nothing came up, but the motions kept coming in waves. He almost wished there had been something in his body to expel, for then this nausea might have been pacified.

He slumped to the side when he could no longer stand the strain. The tiled floor cooled his skin, helped him to feel a sense of grounding through his panic. He managed to slow his breathing, focusing his eyes on the bed out in the room. The blankets were jumbled, the pillows displaced, and his clothes lay on the floor, all from the intimacy he had shared with Zack. His heart then found a steady beat once more. Somehow he was able to stand and stagger out into the room.

He sifted through his bag to find an old prescription bottle he had tossed in. His head was throbbing, making it hard to concentrate on opening the lid and popping a pill into his mouth. There was no time to wait for it to relieve his headache. His clothes were gathered and donned in a hurry, but with effort. The memory of what he had just experienced coming back to him the longer he stayed in the room, and with it, the panic returned. The air was getting too thick to breathe, even out in the hallway and down the stairs at the entrance of the inn.

He exited and was hit with chilled air of the evening. As he walked through the town, trying to clear his head, he began to smell smoke from the barbecued meats wafting from the food booths, and he could hear children laughing as they ran past him with prizes gathered in their arms. He watched as their parents followed, chuckling to each other as their children skipped with mirth to the next game to play.

Despite being surrounded by the jovial senses of the festival, Cloud was unable to ignore a sound which drew him across the town square. He was being forced toward it, like a gun pressing against his back. He found himself at stone steps to his side, and an archway in front of him. The sound was was soft and muted at first, but the closer he came, the louder it coursed throughout his entire body. He could no longer hear the festival behind him, but instead these strange, helpless sounds trailing out from the within the archway.

He passed underneath, being consumed by the darkness of the alley. There was a wooden door to his left, set in the stone of the building's foundation. He approached cautiously, his heart beginning to race once more when he realized this was from where the sounds were coming. He paused before it, recognizing cries of distress, and a voice so depraved that Cloud's blood dried up.

"You're something different," the voice said. "It's like being able to fuck innocence itself."

Cloud turned the knob and burst through the door. He stood in the doorway, breathing frantically and glancing around to find the source of these sick words and the helpless whimpers. Through columns of wooden crates, he saw a man's form, his body hunched over another who sat on the ground lifelessly, being pinned against the wall. The man's pants were undone, his body thrusting against the other's face with violent force and disgusting noises.

"That's right, gag on it."

Cloud began gagging. His throat closed. His lungs burned, begging for air.

"You little slut, you like it, don't you?"

He forced himself forward, legs shaking, vision starting to fail him. Panic was growing, swelling, tearing him from the inside out, clawing its way out of his stomach and chest and throat and skin. It was beginning to free itself, to break away from the coward it lived inside, this weak and pathetic coward—

"You're fuckin' worthless, Strife."

—worthless worthless worthless coward always crying and lying and powerless to stop this man, this monster who killed and defiled and killed again and again—

"Now, you better swallow this, little fuck."

—he was unable through the gagging and the retching and the struggle for a single breath. Just one breath and he would be okay, he would be able to fight despite being torn to pieces. He could stop this from happening and save this person—himself—from being violated like this.

It was himself. He was watching himself against the wall. He was watching himself being forced into oral copulation. He was the one crying out for help, he was the one gagging and thrashing to stop the hands from gripping his head, to prevent himself from being impregnated by a single drop of this man's immorality.

But he couldn't stop any of it. It slithered down his throat and absorbed what was left of him.

Cloud sank to his knees. He was finally able to suck in a breath, and when he did, the apparition was gone. He was freed from reliving the memory of falling prey to that beast, but inside himself he knew that he still carried his own. As badly as it tried to claw its way out, it hadn't really left him.

There were footsteps behind, and a shadow crept over him.

"What're you doing in here?"

He twisted around, coming face-to-face with Mejia.

That's when the monster inside Cloud swallowed him whole.

Despite Mu-Pa having opened up the conversation about Mejia, he seemed reluctant to give out exact details to his current whereabouts. Instead, he offered vague and generalized responses such as, "Who knows with that son of mine" and, "All you young ones like to give us old ones gray hairs."

Even after Zack asked to see more of Mejia's designs to cajole Mu-Pa, and openly complimented them—although it sickened him to do it—Mu-Pa divulged nothing which would point Zack in the right direction. He had even purchased the dagger in hopes it would really loosen Mu-Pa's tongue, but to no avail. The only hint Zack was able to catch was that Mu-Pa spoke about Mejia in the present tense, as though he were still alive.

Still, Zack tried one last attempt as Mu-Pa tendered Zack's gil behind the counter. "Are you expecting your son to be back in town any time soon? I'd love to commission him for a custom sword."

Mu-Pa offered a shrug and a wag of his head. He grimaced and his mouth seemed to hide beneath his mustache, as though to prevent himself from speaking. "I have not seen him in months," he finally said, sounding pained to admit it. "He left his old job in Midgar."

Zack's heart leapt, and it took every ounce of restraint in him to remain stoic.

"He said he was traveling to the Western Continent. To find new work."

"Designing weapons?" Zack asked nonchalantly.

Mu-Pa's face twisted into a thoughtful frown. He took his time counting the last of Zack's gil before he closed the till and looked up. His shiny eyes bored into Zack's, seeming to search him for something, perhaps the answer as to why Zack would not get off the subject of his son. "To work for some scientist."

Zack lost control of his expression. "A scientist?" he whispered to himself in confusion.

Just then a crashing came from below the shop. Mu-Pa turned to look down at the trap door, then muttered something in his native language. Footsteps came thumping down the hall, and a stout woman emerged in the doorway, wiping her hands on a dishtowel. She, too, reminded Zack of a Mu with her round cheeks and button eyes. She had unruly brown curls atop her head, with some sticking up as if they were pointy, fuzzy ears. Zack dubbed her Mu-Ma in his head.

Mu-Ma said something to Mu-Pa in Mideelish in a frightened voice, and her hands were visibly shaking. She yelled at him, gesturing to the trap door, urging him to open it. Mu-Pa obeyed, throwing open the door and peering down for a brief moment before looking back up to his wife and holding up a hand as if to calm her. He said something to her while shaking his head, and she instantly relaxed.

"Trouble?" Zack asked, looking between the two.

"No, no trouble," Mu-Pa said, his hand now being held up toward Zack. "There was fire in the storage some months ago. My wife scared that it happened again."

Mu-Ma asked something, this time in a calmer voice, but still imploring. Mu-Pa sighed and got down on his hands and knees to peer further in. He then looked up to his wife with a bewildered expression.

There was a scrabbling sound at the door to the shop, then a strained voice calling for help from the other side. Zack moved to rush over, but the door flew open and there stood Mejia, holding a large object in his arms.

Zack widened his stance and reached up to the handle of his sword. Blood began rushing to every muscle in his body, the instinct to kill taking over his senses.

"Help!" Mejia cried, lifting up what he held in his arms as best he could.

Zack looked down, first noticing a hand missing from Mejia's arm, and Zack's own hand dropped from his sword. It was Mejia's brother, and in his arms he held Cloud, who was completely limp and white.

"What happened, Damien?" Mu-Pa asked, trotting to the end of the counter to guide Mejia's brother around as he carried Cloud over.

Mu-Ma began moving backwards, ushering her family to follow her to the back portion of the building. Zack began following, but Mu-Pa waved him off.

"It is fine. Thank you for your purchase, but we are closed now."

"But that's my friend!" Zack said, pointing down to Cloud, who was beginning to slip from Damien's hold.

"You come," Mu-Ma said, motioning for Zack now, too. "Come, come, come!"

They followed Mu-Ma past the stairs and into a sitting room before the kitchen. Damien struggled to make it to a couch before depositing Cloud onto it and falling to his knees immediately after. Zack entered the room in a daze, but was quick to remove the sword off his back, laying it off to the side. He knelt down beside Damien.

The three began to speak in Mideelish, rapid-fire and frantic. Clearly Damien was explaining what had happened, through heavy panting and stuttering. He motioned up to his face with his good hand, drawing attention to a swelling lip and a darkening ring around his left eye. Zack tried to decipher what they were saying through their gestures, all the while trying to get himself under control.

Suddenly the three turned to Zack, looking at him and expecting an explanation.

"Wh-What happened?" Zack said, focusing on Damien, trying to block out the stares of his parents behind him.

Damien shook his head, shrugging his shoulders in exasperation. His mouth opened for a while, moving, but unable to form words at first. "I-I took a quick break from working in the storage room, an-and when I came back, I saw him," he motioned to Cloud, "inside, having some sort of-of-of attack! Like a panic attack."

Zack reached over to Cloud and put two fingers on his neck, feeling for his carotid pulse. It was there, slow and perhaps weak, but was hard to tell through the tremble of his own hand. He watched his chest for breathing, and saw that it was rising and falling at a normal rate.

"I approached him, and when he saw me, he went into a rage and began hitting me. I held him off and then he just … blacked out. I didn't know what to do, so I brought him up here," Damien said, and Mu-Ma took that as her cue to rush into the kitchen and retrieve an ice pack for her son. She thrust it into his hand, then disappeared again. Damien began icing his eye first.

"He's … he's not well," Zack found himself saying, quiet and fearful, as though finally admitting these words to another would solidify the obvious truth. "I'm sorry, I … I told him to stay put at the inn while I came here to shop, but he must've followed me and …" Zack trailed off, losing his words to a lump forming in his throat.

Mu-Ma came back with a first-aid kit. She began sifting through it methodically until she came across a vial of spirit of hartshorn, and a Remedy. She held them both out to Zack, who took them from her slowly, but gratefully.

He tried the hartshorn first, wincing at the blast of ammonia once he opened the vial. He waved it under Cloud's nose, but there was no response.

Mu-Ma took it back from him, then pointed down to the Remedy. "In his mouth. Little bit," she said, opening her own mouth and pointing to her tongue.

Zack untied a ribbon from around the small canvas bag and poured a little of the compound into his palm. Mu-Ma shooed Damien off to the side and reached down to Cloud's jaw, opening it just enough for Zack to sprinkle a pinch of the Remedy onto his tongue.

"We wait," she said, then disappeared into the kitchen.

Damien went back to icing his face in silence, Mu-Pa took a seat in an armchair behind them, and Zack sat on his heels, willing Cloud to wake. And they waited.

Minutes ticked by, and Zack's nervousness was increasing with each one that passed. He began looking around the room in hopes to find something to focus on that would help pass the grueling time before the Remedy hopefully began to work. He noticed the walls in the sitting room were an eclectic collection of mounted weapons, artwork, and framed photographs. Mejia was in many of the photographs, pictured by himself or with other individuals. Some were of Yule celebrations or birthdays, baby pictures—although Zack couldn't tell the difference between Mejia and his brother as infants—and portraits. There was one of Mejia and Damien at a river, both shirtless and holding up fishing lines with tiny fish hanging off the ends. It was strange to see Mejia before he joined SOLDIER; he was scrawny and gangling, certainly nothing like the brute he was now.

The silence was broken by Damien speaking to Mu-Pa in Mideelish. Zack turned around, not having realized that he had gotten up to inspect the photos of Mejia at close range. He watched as Mu-Pa got up from the chair slowly, then hesitated before leaving the room into the kitchen. Damien was standing, staring at Zack with a livid expression.

"You need to leave. Take your friend, get him to a doctor. But just get out."

Zack said nothing as he walked back to Cloud, not taking his eyes off Damien's glare.

"I didn't recognize you at first. But that sword," Damien motioned to Zack's sword on the floor. "I would never forget a sword like that. Especially one that nearly killed me."

"I thought you were your brother."

"What do you want with Angels?"

Zack chewed on his lip for a brief second. His cover was blown. "Do you know where he is?"

"Leave."

"Please, just tell me where he is."

"I said leave."

Zack was about to profess all the horrible, sadistic acts Mejia had done. He was going to point down to Cloud and go into great detail about how Mejia had molested this poor boy, how he murdered Cloud's friends, and tried to rape him in the very storage room beneath their home. He wanted to blame Mejia for Cloud's current condition and demand Damien assist Zack in bringing Mejia to justice.

But Mu-Ma and Mu-Pa were now standing in the doorway of the kitchen. Those once benign, endearing faces were now stricken with fear. Mu-Ma was quaking, and Mu-Pa was holding her hand, doing his best to reassure her, even though he himself held a look of betrayal in his eyes. And Damien's face was full of suffering.

He realized that they, too, had been affected by Mejia's actions. It was in a different way, and perhaps indirectly, but it was just as much pain and torment to lose their son and brother, to know he was being hunted.

Zack didn't have the heart to tell them the truth.

"I'm sorry for causing you all trouble. You're good people," he said, picking up his sword and putting it on his back. He leaned down and hoisted Cloud over his shoulders with ease, and turned to leave. He could sense the family following a safe distance behind him, but ensuring that he did, in fact, leave. When he reached the Weapon shop, he looked down to the dagger he had purchased still sitting on the counter. He contemplated leaving it behind.

Cloud let out a bleak moan atop Zack's shoulder, but then nothing more.

Zack grabbed the dagger and left.

His mind had been racing the moment he stepped foot into the town square, thoughts about what to do with Cloud firing at him from all directions. He didn't know which way to go, or which thought to listen to. He found himself stopping in the middle of the square, ready to ask a passerby for directions to the nearest clinic when he glanced to the inn and saw a figure standing in the window of his room.

He adjusted Cloud on his shoulders and marched toward the inn to face his repercussions.

It was Cissnei who had been standing at the window, and she turned to Zack when he walked into the room with Cloud. Her face was solemn and darkened in the fading light of the evening. As Zack began to put Cloud onto the bed, she stopped him.

"Don't bother. You'll both be coming back to headquarters with us immediately."

"'Us'?" Zack said, gripping Cloud tight against his body.

"Tseng is outside the city. He was ready to storm in and drag you back by force, but I convinced him to allow me to talk to you first … to see if you'd come peacefully."

Zack's mind was, again, under fire.

"I will, on one condition."

Cissnei's face held steady, but he could tell her interest was piqued.

"Make sure Cloud gets help. Please."

"We'll see that he does," she said with sympathy. She held up both of their bags that she apparently had secured in preparation. All that was left for them to do was leave.

The walk to the entrance of the town was short, but to Zack it felt like a journey. Everything that he worked for was being taken from him. His effort and chance to track Mejia, his relationship with Cloud … the trust he had built with him. But Cloud needed more than just trust and vengeance now.

He needed help.

Zack approached Tseng outside the city, who was standing in front of a helicopter with nary an expression on his face. Both Reno and a Turk by the name of Rude stood flanking him, waiting like guard hounds ready to act with a single command from their master.

Rude stepped forward first, grabbing Cloud's limp body off Zack's shoulders without sparing a single moment for Zack to change his mind. He swung Cloud over his broad shoulders like a sack of flour and moved to secure him inside the helicopter.

"I have gone beyond what was necessary to accommodate you, Zack," Tseng said coldly. "Now I'm through playing babysitter for both you and that cadet."

"Bullshit!" Zack spat on the ground. "If you had only let me chase after Mejia in the first place, we wouldn't be here right now! Cloud wouldn't be …" He watched as Cissnei began starting an IV line in Cloud's hand inside the helicopter, and Rude was strapping Cloud down on a stretcher.

"You're chasing a ghost, Zack," Tseng said, his voice thick with warning.

Zack growled, his feet planting in the dirt. He felt himself waking up by the hands of this wicked man. He drew his sword and lunged.

Reno rushed forward. Zack felt something strike him in his chest with a spark. His body began convulsing. His muscles shriveled and strangled every nerve inside until he saw nothing but darkness.

His fall to the ground was short, but to Zack, it felt like an eternity.

… to be continued in Chapter Sixty-One: Confined.

Ending Author's Note: I drew a very rough drawing of the dagger and posted it on my tumblr. I sure would love to share the link to it here, but ffnet really blows when it comes to sharing legitimate links. Grrr...

I also started a Ko-Fi page for myself. I can't share the link here either, but if you enjoy this story and like what I do, and want to toss me a tip in my virtual tip jar, then go to Ko-Fi dawt kom and my name on there is ZiggyPasta. I would really appreciate it! Had to use phonetic spelling to avoid ffnets web address blocking.

Thanks to all who are reading, and special thank you to those who have reviewed and sent me private messages here and on tumblr. You guys are the best!