The child

The thought slipped into Hojo's mind as he stared into a tank of red fluid. Somewhere inside, he caught the slightest glimpse of movement. He sighed to himself in satisfaction as he straightened and dusted his hands off on his lab coat. Rufus stood watching him in the doorway.

"Come here, boy." Hojo motioned to the President's son and gestured to the tank. Peering inside, Rufus gasped.

"Wha- what is it?" he asked, stepping back.

"Life," Hojo told him, eyes gleaming. "That's life, pure and plain. I created that, boy. I took nothing and created life."

"But- how is that possible?" Rufus looked at him, his blue eyes clouded with incomprehension. "How can you create life?"

Hojo stared at the tank for a moment, a mélange of expressions warring on his sharp-featured face. "Many things are possible," he said, softly. "They say...they say that I am a walking mass of complexes." His voice sounded distant. "Almost. I am a walking mass of complexities. I am unorthodox. I take things long accepted by most scientists and I question them. I look at things from a different vantage. That is how I got to where I am today. Remember that boy, become a conformist and you will be forever mired in the standards and routines of the commonplace. Question, though, and you will rise to heights others never dreamed possible."

"Professor Hojo?" Rufus eyed the scientist apprehensively, frightened for reasons he couldn't explain at the mix of emotions he heard in his voice.

Abruptly, Hojo switched his black eyes to the boy. "You're too young to understand," he said. "Here." He handed the boy a bag. "Go around the lab and any empty test tubes you find, put them in here. Make sure that they're empty, though," he added, absently. "Your father would be too pleased if you were eaten by one of my experiments."

"Yessir." Rufus hid his smile. Over the weeks, he had come to appreciate working in the lab, it was a refreshing change from his normal day-to-day existence, and the Professor Hojo would sometimes take a moment and explain to Rufus the process of an experiment. In addition, the old scientist was the only person the boy knew who was unafraid of insulting his father the President outright, expressing exactly what he thought of the old man.

"Professor Hojo?" Rufus held up a test tube with a few drops of clear substance inside. "What about this?"

"Put that down!" Hojo reached out and grabbed the test tube and set it in it's holder. He looked at Rufus, who stood, head bowed.

"Sorry, sir," he said, his voice small.

The old scientist shook his head. "Watch," he said. He took the test tube and shook the few drops out onto the lab table. With the utmost precision, he added two drops of water. Immediately, the substance began to change. First, it turned blue, then green, then orange, yellow and finally, red.

As Rufus watched, the liquid began to roll over and into itself, creating undulating waves. Then, slowly, it began to build onto itself, rising higher and higher until it formed a glistening red stalagmite. When it grew as high as it could, it suddenly split and fell apart, scattering little droplets all over the table, droplets that gathered back together to begin the entire process again.

"What is it?" he asked in wonderment.

"Never mind what it is," Hojo told him, gathering the liquid back up in it's container. "Pay attention to what it does."

"I don't understand."

"No, you don't." Hojo stared at the boy thoughtfully for a moment or two, then turned back to the lab table. "It changes, boy. It goes through it's color phases until it arrives at the most practical. In this case, because of the water and the lab lighting, it was red. Remember that: change until you arrive at the most functional and most useful stage of being that you can, and always be prepared to change again at the slightest hint of necessity.

"Then it begins to form waves. It's impatient, always looking for a way to better itself."

They watched as the red fluid piled up on itself again, rising to the peak and breaking.

"There," Hojo said. "See that, boy? It's just like what people do. They find a place that suits them and they stay there, growing higher and higher in society, getting more and more powerful, until they reach the height of their success and they break. It's inevitable. No matter how strong, or how rich a person gets, there will always be a day in which they fall. That's when the people below them gather up the remains."

Rufus stared at the scientist in rapt fascination. He had only a vague idea of what the man meant, but somehow, the words fit nicely into his brain. He absorbed them thoroughly, leaving the meaning for later. Until then, he tucked the scientist's lectures in the back of his mind, knowing, but not knowing how he knew, that a day would come when he would be glad of them.

* * *

Sighing heavily, Hojo straightened, wincing at the twinge he felt in his back. The years had not been kind to him, he reflected, as he moved slowly, frowning at the limp he had developed in his left leg. He had lost count of his own age long ago, indeed, years meant little to him now. Nothing mattered to him except his work.

As he sat at his desk and pulled out a folder, he paused and looked down at his hands. For as long as he could remember, he had always been a sickly child. His hands were his last reminder, his fingers pale and thin, scarred and twisted from all the years working with chemicals. But such was the price, he thought, leafing through the file. Such was the price, and a small price at that, for all his successes over the years, everything he had created, everything impossible thing he had done.

He smiled grimly as he turned the papers, yellow and brittle with age. Somewhere in the background, he was dimly aware of the lab door sliding open. Irritated, the old scientist closed the file and slid it back in his desk.

"I won't be needing you today," he said, not looking up.

"Yes, but I will be needing you."

Startled, Hojo looked up. Standing in front of his desk was not Shinra's son, as he had expected, but Shinra himself.

"Sorry, sir," he said smoothly, rising with minor difficulty to his feet. "I wasn't aware that it was you."

Shinra waved his hand, dismissing Hojo's words. "I understand you have a former Turk in your lab, here," he said, gazing distastefully around the room.

"Yes, sir, I do." Hojo narrowed his eyes at the President's disapproving glance. If he didn't like the lab, he could very well get the hell-

"Why?" Shinra switched his eyes back to Hojo's. "I thought perhaps Sephiroth was enough, but now you're doing the same thing to a former Turk?" His eyes darkened considerable. "I'm afraid I don't approve."

Hojo stood speechless for a moment, feeling the all too familiar hate boil up inside him. Never to his knowledge had Shinra ever cared a whit about the well being of any creature, human or otherwise, in his lab. "Sir-" he began, only to be cut off by another imperious wave.

"The people are restless, Doctor," Shinra said absently, no longer even looking at the scientist anymore. "They are beginning to lose faith. Things are changing, and I must be prepared for them. I have people protesting every day in front of these offices; they want you stopped, Doctor, and that's exactly what I'm going to do." Shinra turned and began examining a wall of shelves, presenting his back to Hojo, who did not miss the slight.

"So you want me out, is that it?" Hojo hissed, his hands clenched tightly together. "After all this time, after all I've done for you, you want me out?"

"Of course not." Shinra turned back to him in feigned surprise. "You will be permitted to continue your work in this building, but there is to be absolutely no human experimentation whatsoever. Do I make myself clear?"

"Perfectly." The word nearly choked him.

"Good, then. I'll send the boy down and you can begin cleaning out your labs of everything you need to. I expect all this to be completed by tomorrow."

Hojo watched Shinra's retreating back until the doors closed behind it. Only then did he realize that he was clenching his hands together so tightly that they ached with pain.