The faint scratching sound at the door woke him up. When, out of instinct, Seifer searched for the source of the noise, he could see nothing but white. White walls. White ceiling. White tile on the floor. White sheets on the bed. No windows to offer a view on the outside world, and no variation in the room's light to differentiate night from day. Only unrelenting, unremitting white.

Seifer had no idea how much time he'd already spent in the detention facility, and no idea how much longer he would have to stay there. That indicated, of course, that the design of the room had fulfilled its purpose. The constant whiteness of the room served as a psychic battering ram, one that would, in theory, break the will of its occupants. Whether errant student or political prisoner, SeeD's detention facility usually accomplished its purpose, given enough time. Rumor had it that another room existed, deep within the Garden, designed to succeed should the holding chamber failed - by assaulting the body instead of the mind. No one, to Seifer's knowledge, had ever seen this torture chamber, but that never stopped the speculation.

The scratching sound at the door caught his attention again. Without moving, he closed his eyes and tried to discern the cause of the noise. The delicate scratch of metal picking at metal sounded like someone working to pick the lock. A half-dozen scenarios, mostly reprises of previous escapes, ran through his head, but before he could act, the door swung open.

After spending so much time absorbing the whiteness of the room, the color of other human beings blasted his senses, and Seifer's eyes struggled to recognize the figures for him. Fortunately, one of them spoke, and Seifer immediately recognized the voice.

"SEIFER." Fujin's voice called to him, strong and clear, even though she whispered.

"Yeah! We found you! We're like secret agents, ya know?" Raijin, always the less subtle of the two, didn't have the sense to whisper. Rather, he practically crowed in triumph, prompting Fujin to kick him viciously in the shin. Her good eye narrowed and she glared at her companion.

"IDIOT. QUIET."

Moving quickly, Seifer pulled his friends through the door. This done, he closed the door to the point where it would look locked to anyone not examining it closely.

"What are you two doing here?" he asked, keeping his voice low.

"RESCUE."

"We're here to bust ya out, ya know? We heard they're gonna put you on trial, so Fujin said we should come to the rescue, ya know?"

"Did anyone see you? If you get caught in here, they'll execute all of us."

"STEALTH."

"Totally! We're like ninjas, ya know? "

"HURRY."

"She's right, Seifer, we gotta get moving, ya know?"

"Listen, guys, you shouldn't have come. I can't run from this my entire life. They found me once, and they'll find me again."

"POSSE."

"Yeah, Seifer! We're a posse, ya know? You're our leader. We gotta stick together, ya know?"

"ESCAPE. NOW."

Without warning, the door swung open behind them. Squall stood, framed in the doorway, one eyebrow raised. Fujin and Raijin automatically reached for their weapons, while Squall watched them. In less than a few seconds, they had readied themselves for battle. Squall still had not moved.

"You don't want to do that," he said, voice neutral.

"We're taking Seifer, ya know?" Raijin exclaimed, "Even if we have to bust ya up!"

"Think it over, Raijin," Squall said. "How's it going to look when everyone notices that Seifer's gone and I'm dead? Do you think they'll just let Seifer walk away?"

"Guys, he's right," Seifer added. Then, turning to Squall, "Look, Squall, I won't try to escape. Just let them go." Fujin opened her mouth to protest, but Seifer silenced her with a look. "They came here to help me. Just let them go."

His plea finished, Seifer sat on the edge of his bed, hoping Squall would listen to him. Wordlessly, Squall nodded.

Raijin headed for the door, head hanging in defeat. Fujin stood her ground and looked at Seifer with defiance in her eye.

"Go on, Fujin. I'll be fine," he said, trying to sound believable.

She held Seifer's gaze coldly for a moment. "LIAR," she spat, venom evident in her voice. Without another moment's hesitation, she turned on her heel and stalked out of the room.

"Thanks, Squall," Seifer said, breathing a sigh of relief when his friends had gone. Squall stood, listening to the sound of their footsteps retreating in the hall. "For what it's worth," Seifer added, "I really didn't have anything to do with their coming here."

"I know," Squall replied. "I heard."

"Wha--? You mean you had the room bugged? Where?" Seifer scrutinized the room, trying to figure out where Squall could have hidden a bug.

Smiling slightly, Squall knelt down by Seifer's bed, and put one hand underneath. He fished around for a moment, until he found the object of his search. He produced a simple walkie-talkie, with a rubber band holding the "transmit" button down. Setting it on the bed, he removed its twin from his belt.

"So, what, do you stay up at night listening to me snore, just in case something like this happened?"

"I'm a light sleeper," Squall answered. "I figured someone would come for you sooner or later."

"And so you opted for this cheap-ass walkie-talkie? What, were baby monitors too expensive?"

Squall sat down on the bed next to Seifer. "Do you know where I learned this?"

Seifer ransacked the contents of his memory, trying to remember their years of training. In the furthest corner of his mind, something began to stir.

"The orphanage!" he exclaimed. Squall nodded in affirmation. "We used to listen to the prospective parents talking about us! It would have worked, too, if Zell hadn't told on us."

"And then you went and hung him up by his underwear." Squall smiled inwardly at the image of the chubby young Zell, flailing and screaming to be let down while Seifer watched in glee.

"Yeah! And then the little brat went and got adopted anyway!"

Seifer intended to spend at least a few moments with Squall, reminiscing to pass the time, but that urge died when Squall stood up and smoothed the wrinkles out of the t-shirt he'd thrown on before leaving his room. The gesture had nothing to do with maintaining his appearance, rather it served more to place him back in his official capacity as Seifer's warder. The brief moment of reminiscence over, he turned to Seifer.

"You did the right thing by not going with them. It will make things easier for everyone. It will show you're serious about this Tribunal."

"Squall?" Seifer asked, hesitant to venture the question. "What do you think the Tribunal will be like?"

"I don't know," Squall answered. "I'll do my best to make sure that it's fair, though."

"That's more than I hoped for," Seifer said, pessimism evident in his voice. "And certainly more than I deserve. Thank you, Squall."

Squall stared blankly at Seifer, unsure how to react. Appropriate behavior in such situations generally eluded him. Squall nodded solemnly and left the room, closing the door behind him.

Seifer flopped back on the bed, staring at the white ceiling. He glanced over at the walkie-talkie, briefly, then grabbed the rubber band and threw it on the floor. He forced himself to breathe slowly, and within moments had fallen back to sleep.


Squall walked through the hallway of Garden, enjoying the silence. The fountains that circled the central column of the building provided the only clearly audible sound. Occasionally, he came across the robed figure of a Garden faculty member on the hunt, no doubt, for individuals breaking curfew. Squall ignored the faculty members, knowing that not one of them would dare challenge his presence. Although not normally subject to power trips, he found that his position as commander had its advantages.

He heard the "click" as Seifer's walkie-talkie stopped transmitting and reached the door to his room not long after. He let himself in, throwing the walkie-talkie on the floor and shedding articles of clothing as he moved across the room.

Rinoa lay in his bed, pale and bewitching in the moonlight. The silver glow coming through the window turned her ivory skin almost transparent, and made her dark hair ripple and shine with every movement. He slid under the covers next to her, and heard her murmur, "Welcome back," still partially asleep. Squall pulled her close to him and kissed her delicately on the nape of her neck, causing a shiver to run down her spine. In response, she snuggled closer to him, and soon he, too, had fallen soundly asleep.


The faint sound of the door opening woke him up, again. Annoyed at the inability of his friends to follow instructions, Seifer immediately began swearing.

"Damn it, guys," he cursed, warming up a particularly foul invective, "I thought I told you to forget about it."

"Now that wouldn't be any fun," an unfamiliar voice called as the door swung open. Not after all the trouble we went to in order to pay you this little 'visit' here."

Three SeeDs stood on the other side of the door, all looking quite displeased with Seifer, and all armed for battle. They all carried swords but Seifer noted that only the one in front, the short one, held his like he had extensive training with it. The other two probably focused on other weapons, but opted for the swords, which would prove more effective in close quarters.

"Wow. Two groups of people breaking into my room in one night. I must be getting quite popular."

"That's right. Think of us as… successors to your Disciplinary Committee. And we've come to offer you our thanks."

"Seriously, to what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?"

The shorter one, who, by now, Seifer had determined acted as the leader for this vigilante group, snarled. "Everyone's talking about how you're gonna get a trial. We're here to make sure that doesn't happen. You sold us all out. You didn't just desert us, you betrayed us. I saw my friends die in the attack you led, and it was all so you could have your moment of glory. And I'm not going to sell them out…"

As the man spoke, Seifer's felt his mind travel back to the days of his training, and he could hear Quistis in his thoughts.

Do not simply strike not before your enemy. Strike before he knows you intend to strike. Let your body remain neutral, your gaze steady, your breath regulated, and your heart calm. Watch and wait for the perfect moment of attack, without betraying your intention. If no part of him perceives that you still posses the will to fight, then, attacking at the correct moment, you will have truly surprised him.

Seifer never learned the full content of the diatribe, for he used that moment to seize initiative. He flung himself off the bed and pounced on one of the two followers, bringing all his weight down to slam the man's head onto the hard floor.

You will have ample time to stay still once you have died. For now: Keep Moving. Motion is life. Stillness is death. Motion is change; stillness, stagnation. If you move, there exists a chance that you may survive. If you stay still, there exists the certainty that you will die.

All the years of combat training had endowed Seifer with an almost superhuman sense for the flow of combat and he felt, rather than saw, one of the blades slicing down at him. He rolled off the man to one side, letting him receive the downward swing of the blade, which cut deep into his shoulder.

Seifer jumped up and grabbed the other man's head, smashing it into the wall three times, causing him to crumple like a rag doll. He reached down, grabbing for the blade still imbedded in the first SeeD's shoulder. Despite his considerable strength, Seifer couldn't free the blade, which had sunk deep into the bone and remained stuck there.

The leader saw this as his moment to attack. He swung his sword around and it bit into Seifer's side, sending lances of pain through his entire body. His teeth clenching, he spun away from the blade, freeing himself and grabbing the short SeeD by the throat. The man began grabbing at Seifer's hand, trying to free himself from what he perceived as a chokehold. Seifer did not intend to choke him, though.

In combat, the will to power separates the living from the dead. Prove to your opponent that you will go to any lengths to destroy him. You do not need to break his body. Merely to break his soul. If you can shatter his resolve, killing him becomes moot. Prove yourself a monster, prove yourself a soulless mercenary, and the damage you do will prove as effective as any sword.

Seifer pressed the man up against the wall and with deliberate malice, showed the shorter man his index finger, in a rather vague gesture. Without warning, Seifer plunged the finger deep into the SeeD's eyeball. He pushed in as far as he could, and then seized the optic nerve between his thumb and forefinger, pulling back out. The man, already howling at the unbelievable pain, began screaming even more when Seifer showed him the eye, dangling from the remnants of the nerve. Seifer let the eyeball drop to the fall and ground it beneath his heel.

He shoved the SeeD into the hall and let the man run. Wincing in pain, he leaned up against the wall, closing his eyes to assess the damage. As his eyes closed, he could feel himself slipping away. He fought to maintain his hold, and his mind fluttered, once more, back to training.

He sat in Quistis' classroom, watching the elegant blonde-haired woman sitting on the edge of her desk. She brushed a strand of hair back behind her ear and picked up a candle, lighting it.

"The sensory organs are receptors, much like a computer," she said, "and all sensation constitutes information. This applies to pain. Especially to pain."

Without missing a beat, she thrust her hand into the flame and held it there. Her face never registered a trace of discomfort.

"Like any computer, you understand the information being put into the system, you master the output. Master your pain. Learn to use it. Let it drive you, not control you. If you fear pain, the door is right behind me. If you're planning to be a SeeD, you'll have to be intimately acquainted with pain - other people's pain, and your own. Do not rely on curative magic," she added. "If you do, you will no doubt find yourself without it at the worst possible moment. If you have to use it, save it for wounds that will affect your performance, not wounds that merely discomfort you. Questions?"

She scanned the room without removing her hand from the flame. When no one raised their hand, she took her hand out of the flame and extinguished it by pinching the wick. Looking at the deeply burned patches of skin, she mumbled a few words in the language of magic and the blackened skin fell off, revealing perfectly formed new skin underneath.

"Instructor Trepe?" one of the students asked, grinning at trapping his teacher. "What was that about not relying on curative magic? I must have missed that part."

Quistis smiled sweetly. "I said to save it for wounds that incapacitate you. If I didn't heal my hand, how could I grade the essays you're all going to write?"

Seifer heard the students groaning at the idea of another essay, and their voices merged with his own groan of pain. He forced himself up the wall and grabbed a pillow, shoving it into his side to try to staunch the blood flow. Staggering, he exited the detention facility and lurched into the hallway.

He moved as quietly as possible, trying to stay in the shadows. The pain that coursed through him with every breath and step indicated that Seifer's only hope for survival lay in the infirmary. He pushed himself in that direction, forcing his body to take one step after another.

Slowly, he made his way across Balamb Garden's main concourse. Nearing the door to the infirmary, he pressed one hand on the emergency call button, leaving a bloody handprint as he sank to the ground.

Dr. Kadowaki threw open the infirmary doors and saw Seifer collapsed on the floor. She brought him into the medical bay and helped him up onto a table.

"Seifer, what happened to you?" she asked.

He could barely hear her question as consciousness slipped away from him. He looked at her and tried to manage a smirk, but only managed to whisper through blood-stained lips.

"Welcome… home…"


Squall stood next to the infirmary bed, listening to Seifer's ragged breathing. The readings on the monitors reflected the uncertain status of the wounded man. As Dr. Kadowaki entered the room, Squall met her gaze.

"Don't ask me, Squall. I don't know now anymore than I did ten minutes ago." Seifer's precarious condition had the doctor feeling more than a little anxious. "If you really want to be useful, go put some coffee on. I have a feeling I'll need it."

Squall turned, moving towards the coffee pot, but never reached the other side of the room. The doors to the infirmary flew open and Headmaster Cid stormed in, looking quite displeased at having his sleep interrupted. He looked at Dr. Kadowaki, at Squall, at Seifer's unconscious form, and then back to Squall again.

"What the hell is going on?" he yelled. "I thought he was supposed to be in lockup."

"Cid, you'll have to lower your voice," Dr. Kadowaki said. "There are other patients trying to sleep."

"I don't care about your other patients, Kadowaki," Cid said, screaming now. "You shut up and… and… fix him!"

"He was in lockup, sir," Squall said evenly, "but…"

"Then how the hell did someone get to him? Did you just forget to close the door?"

"No, sir. The attackers had an access card."

"They had access?" Cid's rage seemed boundless. "Who were the attackers? How many of them were there? Are they out of Garden now? Are you doing anything except standing around?"

"An investigation is underway, sir."

"It damn well better be, Leonhart. You may be Commander, but remember this: I own you. You work for me. This Tribunal is going to happen, or you'll be out on your ass so fast it will make your head spin."

"Understood, sir." Squall started to salute, but Cid had already left the room, heading down the hall, swearing to himself.

Dr. Kadowaki merely shook her head and resumed tending to Seifer's wounds, secretly hoping Cid forgot to take his heart medication.


The man sat in the darkness, fingers interlocked before him. The only light in the room came from the flickering computer screen before him. He bowed his head in deep concentration, focusing the weeks ahead. Recent events upset him, deeply, and meant that his entire timetable would need adjustment. He analyzed, plotted, reevaluated. Finally, coming to a decision, he tapped the monitor, opening his messaging program. Typing quickly, he composed the brief statement he needed.

"Contract cancelled," he wrote. "Target survived. You have become redundant, and will be removed from the equation by noon."

He sent the message, smiling at the terror it would instill in its recipients. That finished, he stood up, turned off his computer, and left the room, hoping to salvage a few hours of sleep.