With a swift gesture, the Tsviets were dismissed, though where they were dismissed to, the Restrictor didn't say. Instead, he began the tour.
What struck Kunsel, more than anything, was how mundane it was. There was a single visible reactor as they went further - the big 00 giving away that this was Reactor Zero - and around it, buildings as cramped as the most packed areas of the Slums. He only got a brief glimpse, but it was enough to get a sense of size, and a sense that this really was some sort of functioning subterranean city.
How many people were down here? How many people were in the military machine, and how many more people did it take to sustain it? He didn't have a head for those kinds of numbers, but a glance said that Reeve was calculating. As the former head of City Planning, now the President of ShinRa itself, if anyone could do those kinds of numbers in their head it was Reeve.
From the grim set of his mouth, he didn't like them. Kunsel wasn't sure he wanted to ask.
They went down a winding maze of halls - not enough to completely disorient the SOLDIERs, probably not the Turks, but definitely enough that if they had to make it out in a hurry most of the civilians would probably need to be physically grabbed and guided.
(Or left behind. He still wasn't feeling too charitable towards Heidegger.)
When they emerged from the maze, it was to a broad viewing balcony inside what felt more like a stadium than a training room. And yet, that's exactly what they were looking at - people in training, a good hundred or so at a quick estimate, going at each other like a dozen dozens of sparring matches overseen by prowling officers. Briefly, he wondered if they had any kind of control themselves or if that was purely the Restrictors. There were only four of them, it would make sense if the others had some means of control. If you were going to do that anyway.
He refocused on the matches, looking them over, and one thing jumped out above the rest, demanding his attention - they were brutal.
Sparring was not play fighting, and Kunsel would be the last person to say it was. But it was practicing, practicing for much harsher fights in a safe environment where you could learn how to do things before going out into a world that might gut you for your ignorance. These guys looked absolutely ready to do the gutting. Far from stopping at first blood, it looked like that was when things really got started.
Which, he'd admit, was not to say that SOLDIER stopped at bloodshed. He'd walked away from spars bloody and bruised. But he'd walked away. Here? He had the distinct feeling there were times people didn't. And by the time you got to that point, where so many fights ended like that, it wasn't just something that 'happened' and got swept under the rug. This was encouraged.
A quick glance showed Zack had noticed the same thing, hands in fists at his sides and bright eyes still far too bright for comfort. This was not helping his urge to pick a fight of his own.
"These are our soldiers," the Restrictor said. "Unspecialized and ranking well below even the colorless Tsviets, they still remain highly capable and well trained operatives, ready to serve."
"Is there a particular reason they're fighting like that?" Zack asked, inclining his head. When he was greeted with silence, he clarified bluntly. "I've been in SOLDIER since I was fourteen. I know what it looks like when you'd be okay with killing your opponent. That's not how I spar."
"Unlike SOLDIER, Deepground is not lacking for operatives," he said mildly. "Therefore, it is vital that only the best remain in the program."
And of course, no one in this company retired, let alone Deepground which did not exactly practice voluntary enrollment.
"So you just kill off the rest," Zack said flatly.
"If they don't survive the training, that is not my concern," the Restrictor said. "I am interested in operatives who can do the jobs they are asked. We must be ready to take our place when the time comes."
"I think we have very different ideas about where people like you belong," Zack said.
"Fair," Anya said, soft but brooking no argument.
Zack straightened a bit, though his full height still didn't match the Restrictor, and flashed a 'smile' that was a lot of teeth and unspoken warnings. At some point, the puppy had become a full grown wolf, and he looked about ready to rip someone's throat out.
Kunsel put a hand on his arm anyway, the muscles under his hand tight and stronger than mythril. He knew he wouldn't stand a chance of moving him if he didn't want it, those days were long gone even before Hojo's last twisted hurrah. But he had to make the gesture. Had to make the effort to reel Zack in from the very dark place he was heading. "Hey…"
Zack didn't shake him off and he counted it a win, if just barely.
"Let's continue, shall we?" Anya said, light despite the tension running through her. She knew as well as he did that they were walking a very fine line. And while she may or may not be as first-person aware of what that sort of thing would look like, as a Turk she had to have more than the average awareness of where this could go. And what might happen was almost scary enough without knowing for sure what would.
"Perhaps it would suit you better to see the educational facilities," the Restrictor suggested.
"Let's do that," Reeve agreed.
The Restrictor nodded and led them on. This time, the path was much longer, and even more winding - a deliberate attempt to disorient? Surely they weren't actually this poorly laid out, he could see Reeve's metaphorical side eye from here and didn't blame him in the slightest, it was -
It was huge.
Kunsel didn't break stride, because Kunsel was used to things like 'appearances' and 'bluffs' but Zack had a little brain stutter that made him pause as they came out to another observation deck - this one, shielded behind what he would assume would be some kind of double sided mirror or something of the sort, allowing them to see out but no one who happened to look up to see in.
Not, he mused, that anyone would.
Below them stretched classroom after packed classroom that could either be viewed at a glance from the deck or up close through a bank of monitors. Looking down, it was clear that the students in the lecture halls wouldn't be looking up to see - they'd have to look back, and no one in Deepground was going to be turning away from their superior's instruction to just take a gander around. They were likely aware of the structure, given they had to walk to get around and presumably looked up at some point, but it was not something to be stared at. Not something to be looked too closely at, or questioned. And wasn't that Deepground operations in a nutshell?
"So, you guys keep an eye on the classes from here?" Zack said, more casual than he felt and approaching the banks of monitors to get a better look. From above, you saw the backs of a lot of heads. From the monitors, though, the camera feed was behind the instructors, giving a view of the students. "I assume they're also split by ability and not by age? Via some intense testing?"
"They are," the Restrictor confirmed.
Zack hummed, scanning the bank of monitors thoughtfully.
He froze, when his eyes locked on one of the lower ones. His voice was casual, far too casual for the situation, and the words had immediate, unpleasant implications no one could miss. "Just how young do you start these kids?"
There was a moment's pause, a beat of consideration. Maybe he'd heard the tension in Zack's voice, and was considering just how to approach the topic. In the end, his answer was a crisp, "Nine."
"Nine." The word wasn't even incredulous - he'd suspected something like that, from what he'd seen - it was pure fury. How dare they? Where was the line? Was there a line? "How old is the youngest person down here?"
"You can't expect he would know -" Heidegger began.
"He'll know," Zack said, soft and sure and dangerous. "They start training at nine, but you're not out recruiting nine year olds. You're not stealing nine year olds from SOLDIER or the army. So where are they coming from? Where are you getting all these people? Even the older operatives, where are they coming from? There aren't enough disappearances to match. SOLDIER accounts for some of it - older people, though, not… not kids. Most of your Tsviets looked younger than me, and they had to have been here for a while before reaching that rank."
There was silence as they all processed his words. The implications.
"Zack…" Kunsel trailed off. What did you even say? He wasn't sure he wanted anyone to say anything. There was no making this better, but he was sure it could get worse.
"I'll tell you where they're coming from," Zack said, and his voice was pitched low, threatening a growl. "You are breeding them. Aren't you?"
Dead silence.
Zack moved, getting back up in the Restrictor's personal space, eyes far, far too bright. "Answer me."
The Restrictor held up a hand, and for a moment Kunsel felt something like static skittering across his senses. "Do not challenge me."
Whatever he was trying was about to backfire grand royal, because Zack shuddered and grabbed his wrist. The snarl that came from him and the way it distorted his usually smiling face made Kunsel break out in chills. "I am not one of your Tsviets. You can't control me. And I don't fucking appreciate you trying."