In Which We Find Our Immortality
Chapter 7: Perhaps the Greatest SOLDIER
Collin had just finished laying out the evening programs when the first of the audience members began to show up. He greeted each guest pleasantly and handed out the pamphlets, just as Amber—one of Tess's friends—had instructed. The long afternoon of working to prepare for the performance had been exhausting, but he still managed to show enthusiasm. Everyone knew him and treated him kindly.
Vincent showed up before the rest of the family. He and Marlene took a moment to be sure of his well-being—and he theirs—before continuing inside. Collin frowned at the report given on Vincent's health. Cloud broke his collar bone with one punch. And Vincent's not the kind of guy that gets thrown around easily. To have that kind of power….
Amber poked her head outside the auditorium. "Hey, Collin. How're you holding up?"
"Fine," he replied, forgetting his worries. "Is everything set?"
"Sure is. Thanks for the help." She winked. "We've got a seat saved for you up in front. Mallon's gonna take over for you when it gets close to show time."
"Okay. Thanks." He smiled, and returned to helping the incoming guests.
It was nearing show time when Collin's family showed up at last. He was relieved to see them, as he'd spent much time that morning wondering if they'd come. They were also elated by his well-seeming appearance, and Shera hugged him warmly. "Oh Collin, we're all so sorry," she said right away. "You know we all love you, don't you?" She bit back on sentimental tears.
Collin hugged her back, taking a moment to note the expressions on his siblings' faces. The trio looked a bit reserved at first, as if not knowing what to say. They're not really my sisters, he told himself, biting his lip. "So…you guys know now?"
"Yeah." Daryl stepped forward, and with a smile took her mother's place in hugging him. Samantha and Elly joined her. "But you're still our brother. Can't get out of that now."
He laughed, grateful for their understanding. "Yeah," he replied quietly. "Thanks, everyone."
Cid came forward then, and ruffled the boy's hair affectionately. "I'm…sorry, kid." There was a deep sincerity in his eyes and voice, one that was unusual for the gruff old captain. "About everything."
"I know, Dad." Collin's gaze faltered, remembering the terrible things exchanged that morning. "I guess…you were right for keeping it from me. But, someday, you'll tell me…right?"
He nodded, though his expression had hardened somewhat. "Sooner than that. We'll worry about that later."
"Yeah." Collin gazed past them as a chill ran up his back. There was one man lingering behind: Cloud, dressed in a white shirt and khaki pants he'd borrowed from Cid. Though the outfit was a bit too big for him, it was more appropriate than the tattered, ragged clothing he'd come to the city in. His hair, though still appearing uncontrollable, had been combed. Strangely enough, there was no sign of the wounds on his arm from that morning.
Collin gulped, tried his voice, and failed. He forced himself to meet the man's gaze. Cloud's face was a mixture of composure over indecision, but much improved since the scene that morning. The boy took a deep breath, ready to face whatever words that could be spoken, but he didn't have to. Cloud entered the theater without giving him a second glance.
"You can settle with him later," Cid said, his hand firm on Collin's shoulder. "Right now I don't think even he remembers the truth." He sighed. "He made it this far. When he's ready, he'll explain."
Collin didn't acknowledge the man. I will find out. Somehow, I will. I have to know. "The show's going to start soon, so why don't you all find seats? I've got a saved seat in front."
"Sure." Cid clapped his shoulder once more before ushering his family inside. Collin waited until Mallon showed up before entering the theater himself.
She school theater was larger than many of the other high schools'; Webber High was well know in Rocket City for its fine arts program, especially its Interpretation Pieces. Each performance was entirely the actors' choice—some read famous poetry, others wrote their own skits, or even factual orations. The wide variety made it a popular art form.
The stage protruded from the back wall in a semi-circle, and chairs surrounded it, each facing inward. There were no props or furniture; only black curtains behind the stage. Collin trotted down the center isle just as the lights were beginning to dim. One of the girls in front—Amber—waved to him. He took the empty seat on her right.
"Hey, Collin," Amber greeted cheerfully. She was probably the most motivated of Tess's friends, other than Tess herself, and definitely the most out-going. Though he'd been taking orders from her all afternoon, he didn't mind. "Are you ready?"
"Can't wait." Collin smiled, glancing down at the program he'd saved for himself. Three acts before Tess, he thought. Rajiel is doing a Cosmo Canyon Lullaby, Verde's doing an informative speech about the old Shinra 26, and Caysm and Bell are doing a doubles skit. Tess's performance was entitled, "Perhaps the Greatest SOLDIER," self-written and choreographed. Collin smiled to himself; after her piece, everyone would get to see how talented she was.
The lights began to dim, and Mrs. Daytem, the school drama teacher, stepped onto the stage to make a speech. Collin wasn't paying attention. He was too excited about seeing Tess perform. Finally the woman stepped down, and the single spotlight was replaced with half a dozen soft lights of red, orange, and gentle pink. The theatre was flooded with the soft colors of sunset as Rajiel took her position on center stage.
Rajiel's piece was mostly song, sung in an old language with some dancing. The Cosmo Canyon Lullaby, a famous bard-like tale that was often performed this way, told of the canyon's history and beauty. As a native of the region she had no difficulty mastering the elegant accent and flowing dance maneuvers. Her voice was gorgeous, like the wide through Canyon rocks. She left he entire audience completely enthralled.
Next was Verde. His speech about the rocket that had once stood on the outskirts of town was purely factual, but interesting none the less. Dad's probably enjoying this, Collin thought, twisting in his seat in an attempt to spot Cid. He never saw him, but he could imagine the look on the old engineer's face: the rueful, nostalgic expression he got when gazing up at a summer night's sky.
Caysm and Bell's romantic duo was hilarious. They squabbled back and forth, and even got into a sword fight involving a broom and a loaf of bread. Beside him, Amber doubled over his laughter until tears formed in her eyes. Collin sighed. It was funny, but not that funny.
And finally the time came. Caysm and Bell took their bows amid the applause and moved offstage. Collin clapped, appreciative of their efforts—he would never have been able to face so many people, their eyes watching him from the dark. He had even more respect for Tess, as she wasn't about to give a pleasant monologue or comedic relief. Her performance would be of a very different kind, and the audience mostly likely would be reluctant in praising her, no matter how clever.
The applause began to die down, and the lights dimmed on the stage. Collin held his breath as a figure stepped into the center of view. The lights were so low that he couldn't see much; a mass, strangely shaped as if bundled in a thick cloak. The sight was eerie. He felt suddenly cold.
The figure—Tess—seated herself at center stage, as close to the audience as it would allow. She was so close to Collin in the first row that he could hear her breathing a bit shallowly with nervous tension. He watched, praying silently for her to be strong.
Tess took a deep breath, composing herself. The audience was waiting patiently, subdued by the dark silence of the theater. A single spotlight alighted over her heard, illuminating a circle about her. Tess exhaled slowly. She lifted a hand, removing the hood that had covered her head a moment before. Her black hair had been streaked with silver, and gel had caused her bangs to raise form her forehead in a style Collin recognized. It was like the newspaper clipping he'd seen. But when her eyes met his he could see that she was wearing special contact lenses. They made her eyes bright green that almost glowed in the dark.
"The winters in Midgar are always cold." Tess's voice, deep and very much unlike her own, echoed through the spacious theater. "I…don't like the cold. It surrounds, penetrates, unavoidably. Like a prison it captures, confining, killing whatever lies inside." Collin suppressed a shiver. "More than that, it possesses the spirit. It oppresses men. It holds life."
Tess rose to her feet and cast off the cloak, revealing her costume: thick boots, baggy pants, a leather vest, and long coat, all black. "I am Sephiroth, perhaps the greatest SOLDIER. No, surly. I am the greatest." She turned her back on the audience and moved upstage, as the audience bean to murmur and shift in their seats. Collin crossed his arms—the theater felt colder now. He knew that Alex was controlling the interior air-conditioning, but whether the temperature had actually dropped or it was just him, he couldn't tell.
"I never knew my mother." Though Tess still had her back to the audience, the microphones placed on the stage easily picked up her voice and filed the room with it. "She died just after my birth. They told me her name was Jenova. So beautiful a name…I often wonder about what she was like. My father…I don't know."
Tess began downstage once more. She had taken no more than two steps when something dropped from the ceiling, landing perfectly in her outstretched hand. It looked like a sword (it was really only a wire frame covered with thin silver plating, or so Alex had told him).
"There is only one thing that matters," she declared, moving the pseudo weapon in a series of complex swings and jabs. "Discipline. Strength. Perfection. They are all I need, all I desire. My life has always been meant for a sword, for this purpose." She took on a stance with her right side forward, sword held horizontally with the point facing the audience. It was the same stance from several of her newspaper clippings. "Nothing else matters. Nothing should—can—matter."
Collin stared, amazed, as she began another series of sword maneuvers. Her motions were smooth and flawless, like the steps in some kind of complex dance. Her cloak ruffled dramatically, and the light reflected off her "sword" in a dazzling display. The boy was captivated; his fingers curled around the denim of his jeans as if in want of his own weapon. He wanted to be up there, moving with her. The audience, similarly astounded, faded to the back of his mind. They didn't matter anymore.
Tess finished with an impressive combination of moves, holding the last stance with her face tightened in concentration. Suddenly her head snapped to the side. "They are speaking about me," she said, coming out of the position. "They always speak of me, especially when I practice. The most basic and important hour is tainted by their whispers. I look at them." She turned her head and paused. "They shudder and look away. They fear me.
"No. They know me. They can see something." She continued to move with the sword, its metal an extension of her very hand, though the activity was far less strenuous than before. "I ignore them. I focus on my work, the vital center to my strength, but still my mind wanders. I catch glimpses of their eyes, and the cold comes. They whisper, but I can still hear. They wonder at my power and my skill, beyond normal appreciation. Because they know."
What do they know? Collin leaned forward in his seat, waiting. What is it?
"There is something different about me. I am an outsider, a stranger. They fear not my strength, but my existence. Their eyes speak to me." Tess's movement became less fluid, more aggressive. Collin could feel his pulse rising. "They know. I'm not like them. I'm better—faster, stronger, smarter, and much more lethal. But—but that doesn't mean I'm less human. I am not a god, and—"
Tess brought the sword down, smacking it against the stage. The impact—thanks to some help from Alex in the sound booth—made a sound like gunfire, startling everyone in the theatre.
"—I am not a monster!"
The boy's heart skipped a beat, not entirely from the percussive interruption. I'm not a monster his brain echoed. I'm nothing to be feared, not by my own father. I'm not a monster…I know what I am.
Tess went on, in Sephiroth's place, to describe life in Shinra. She spoke of the constant training, the endless missions and pointless ceremonies. It was the life of a faithful, emotionless doll painted over a backdrop of uncertain, accusing glares. "I am not a monster," she often blurted, cutting herself off in mid-sentence; she gave the impression that, no matter what the scene or circumstance, this issue centered all his thoughts. Every repetition of the declaration sounded a bit more desperate than the last.
Through it all Collin listened, stunned. His mind was spinning. You know those feelings. When Vincent said you might have Jenova—or rather, denied it—you felt it. You saw those eyes, those looks. Cid, Vincent, Shera, Marlene…even my own father…they all know. They see something. They think…you're a monster, too.
"What is it they see?" Tess went on, having interrupted her own speech detailing Sephiroth's arrival at the small mountain town of Nibelheim. "What is it, painted on my face so clearly that everyone can see it, recognize it, and fear me? Is it in my eyes, my face? My expression? Or something deeper?"
It's deeper. So deep that it cannot be removed, or even detected by the host. Deep enough that it can change your memories, and influence your dreams. It can guide blood to blood.
"No…I can't believe. I won't!" Tess marched back and forth, her voice sharp in anger. "The monsters I saw—I'm not one of them!"
Collin's hands tightened into fists. He was letting his imagination get the better of him, something he could not allow. He was acting like a fool. He was nothing like Sephiroth.
"Led him to believe that his son—"
"…the possible return of Sephiroth…"
"…On X month, X day, X year, the product of their experiment was given life," Tess read from an imaginary book. Her arms dropped. "They named it Sephiroth." Her head lolled back, and for a moment silence filled the theater.
Collin was trembling. His skin felt hot, and his gaze began to swim.
I know what you are.
"I am…a monster," Tess announced. She paused, waiting until the entire audience was at the edge of its seat before letting out a long, distressed wail. Her voice, already becoming raw from her long performance, sounded like the pained bellow of a demon—or a madman. She closed her eyes as if wrapped by the sound of it, motionless despite her anguish. Not a spectator was left without goosebumps.
And now, you know, too.
The lights began to dim as Tess's shriek faded away. But then another howl rose in its place, just as agonized and chilling. It surpassed its predecessor, however, in shear presence, filling the darkened chamber. It wasn't until his throat had begun sting that Collin realized; the one screaming was him.
Tess nearly jumped out of her skin at the sound of Collin's scream; she'd rehearsed her piece so many times that she'd become used to the silence that followed her ending. She didn't recognize the voice at first—she silently cursed Alex for overdoing her climax. By time she realized that it wasn't her own recorded voice, the theater lights had been dimmed to almost black. She squinted against the dark.
Collin was standing just below the stage, his stance much like her own moments before. She could tell it was him from his eyes—they were glowing in the like emerald fireflies. He hunched over, still crying pitifully as if in tremendous pain. A horrible sound accompanied his wails; like twisting, ripping flesh. From behind him rose a broad shadow. It unfolded and stretched, the added weight causing Collin to falter. He clutched at the stage in an attempt to remain upright.
The house lights returned, and several cries arise from the audience when they finally caught sight of the boy. Tess could only stare in shock. From Collin's back had sprouted a single, black-feathered wing.
Collin collapsed onto his side, no longer able to stand with the weight of an extra appendage. He continued to moan piteously; he felt as if his skin were on fire, originating in his back and spreading through him in a furious blaze. He was so dazed that he couldn't even comprehend what was happening. The wing, as if sensing his panic, began to twitch and flutter. Soon it was flapping crazily, beating against the confined space between the front row and the stage. Feathers slapped the boy's face and he cried out, terrified at what was happening.
I'm a monster.
"Collin!" Several people were calling his name, but still more were shrieking in horror, confusing his senses. Someone took him by the hand, trying to help him to his feet once more. Several other pairs joined the first, lifting him from the ground. The contact caused the thing attached to his back to beat wildly. Hands covered the wing—he was startled by the sensation, as he was receiving stimuli from an extension of his body that had not been there before. The fear only made matters worse.
Somebody—somebody help me! Please, help!"
Collin forced his eyes open. He could see the floor of the stage, his resting place, and a theater filled with panicked, fleeing spectators. They pushed past each other toward the exit, screaming, "Monster!" and "It's the SOLDIER!" in a mad frenzy. Collin moaned painfully at their words. When he tried to make out any one figure, though, his sight was filled with brilliant emerald light, making it difficult to see. "Tess?" he called desperately. "Mom? Dad? Vincent?" Voices followed his pleas, but he couldn't make them out.
Something in the green shield sparkled; a dot of sharp azure, piercing his gaze. Collin looked to the back of the theater. Cloud was there. He stood near the exit, and despite the distance Collin could make him out clearly: fists tense at his sides, eyes wide but expression carefully still. He was perfectly motionless, oblivious to the crowds shoving past him.
In desperation Collin reached out to him. "Father!" he cried, his hand groping the immense space between them. His muscles burned with the movement, but he didn't care. "Father please, do something! Help me!" If never before, he needed the man now. He placed all his trust and belief into that gesture, reaching for him with nothing left to depend on. "Please, Father, help! Please!"
Cloud stared. His eyes, burning brightly, were sharp and cold. He didn't even appear to give the matter any thought. Without so much as a word he turned his back and exited the theater with the rest of the crowd.
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