Bright Seraphim
Fourteen

"Sephiroth!" Jaz jumped up, her hands out to touch him. She stopped herself, afraid of hurting him - she didn't know what she could do. "No," she closed her fists, frustrated. "Please, no, God, please don't let that be as bad as it looks -"

Sephiroth clenched his teeth, eyes squeezed shut, head lowered. He could feel his heart beating, blood seeping out under his fingers in the same rhythm. The tear in his glove grated against the wound; he felt dizzy, and opened his eyes a little. Hurt...

...For a second, when he raised his head a little, he wasn't in the elevator. He was standing on a catwalk inside the Nibelheim Mako Reactor, and Cloud was standing in front of him, on the other end of his sword...

...He looked down again, and saw only the floor of the elevator, with a few red spots underneath him staining the carpet.

The elevator reached the second basement and jerked to a halt. Sephiroth slid down a few inches, but managed to keep his feet under him. Jaz was distressed, close to crying, afraid to touch him. They had to get out of here, to keep moving...

"Masamune," he hissed. "~~Quickly, we have to go...~~" He broke off, coughing reflexively. He could taste blood in his throat.

Jaz bent and snatched up the sword as the doors opened. Sephiroth forced himself forward, staggering. He touched his right hand to Jaz's back for a moment, to steady himself; she immediately stood, taking his arm over her shoulder, trying to help him stand. He tried not to, but after two steps he leaned heavily on her. It was taking most of his concentration to make his feet move...

"The cops," Jaz panted, doing her best to support him. "If I can get their attention they'll call an ambulance -"

Sephiroth stumbled, pulled his feet back under him, and dragged her further into the basement, into a storage area. The sound of machinery here would help to hide them. When they reached an area stacked high with boxes, he turned, pulling away from her, and fell heavily between two of the stacks. He lay on his back, coughing again.



Four cops arrived in the basement at nearly the same time,two from each stairwell on either side of the elevators.

Their walkie-talkies crackled to life. "Backup is on the way, but the snow's slowing them down," the officer upstairs informed them. "Don't take any unnecessary risks."

"Yes sir," one of the cops coming from the right stairwell responded. His partner pulled a heavy flashlight from his belt and turned it on.

"Yes sir," one of the cops coming from the left answered as his partner did likewise. Both sets of police cautiously advanced toward the elevator bank, checking each corner carefully before proceeding.

They met in front of the center elevator. It was sitting quietly, wide open. One of the cops crept inside and inspected the floor, then spoke into his walkie-talkie. "There's blood. Either the victim or suspect is wounded."

"Understood," the officer on the other end said. "Fan out. Don't let them out of the basement."

The cops split up again - two down the central hallway, to explore and branch out before going on to the rest of the basement, and one in each of the stairwell hallways.



The policeman that went to the right paced back and forth in front of the stairway for several minutes. Finally the walkie-talkie crackled; he was the first to answer. "Anything?"

"Nothing yet," the cops exploring the basement reported. "What's the ETA on that backup...?"

"Another ten minutes," the officer on the ground floor said.

The policeman by the right stairwell signed out. He hated waiting like this...

"Help!"

The cry came faintly from further down the corridor, away from the elevators. A woman calling. "Help me, please!"

"I can hear her," he quickly called into his walkie-talkie. "Circle around to the right. I'll see if I can keep the suspect's attention..."

He walked toward the cry, holding his flashlight and pistol tightly. This was it.

At the junction in the hallway, he paused, listening. Then he cautiously peered around the corner to the right again, further into the basement - yes, there was blood on the floor here. This was the way they'd come.

He looked down the dark hallway ahead, lined with steam pipes and old boxes. He reached for his walkie-talkie and brought it to his mouth.

"They're further in the basement. I'm at the junction on the right, will wait for backup, over."

Only static answered.

He frowned and glanced at his walkie-talkie -

The antenna had been cut off.

He never even had time to turn around, much less cry out.



"Sir, we've... oh god. We've found Johnson," the message came over the walkie-talkie in the hand of the officer upstairs. "He's been... cut in half..."

"Get out of there NOW," the officer growled. "The backup will be here any minute, and there's an ambulance on the way..."

The officer signed out and turned around to address Katie. "Ma'am, I'm going to have to ask you to go to the conference room now..."

Katie was nowhere to be seen.



A chill ran down the spine of the policeman guarding the left stairwell. "I'll wait for you by the elevators," he called to the other two cops, almost running down the hall to wait in that well-lit area.

Just as he reached it, the lights in that corridor went out.

He snapped on his flashlight, quickly panning it around the room. Nothing.

He turned back to the elevator, craning his neck to see the lights of the side halls. A shadow moved in the hall to the right.

"Chester, Smith, is that you?" he called, shining his flashlight in that direction.

The flashlight beam glinted on metal.

He could see what looked like a heap of black material, possibly with a person underneath, topped with a grotesque latex mask. It was holding out what seemed to be a ridiculously oversized pair of scissors. The heap of material shuddered, then began to move towards him. The giant scissors opened and closed.

The cop drew his pistol. "Freeze!"

The figure shuffled closer, making a sort of gurgling sound.

"Stop, or I'll shoot!" The cop realized that his words had no effect, and began to fire.

The bullets didn't seem to have any effect, either.

He couldn't back up fast enough, and kept firing. Two of the shots caused the figure to stagger.

The scissors suddenly moved with blinding speed, and the pistol stopped firing. It fell to the floor with a wet-sounding thud.

The cop screamed, looking at the bloody stump that now ended his arm.

The scissors flashed again. He stopped screaming.



The other two cops were nearly running as they came back to the elevators. "Mark? Mark!"

One of their flashlight beams caught the severed hand, and followed the blood to what lay beyond...

"We have to get out of here," one of them - Chester - snapped, grabbing his walkie-talkie. "Two officers down, we need that backup right now! We're coming up!"

The other cop, Smith, made a move for the open, lit elevator that the suspect and his hostage had come down in. Chester stopped him, and pushed the button to call one of the other two elevators. They stood back to back, Smith shaking badly, waiting for the other elevator to arrive.

Both of them jumped at the elevator's chime, but piled in as soon as the doors opened. The elevator barely rested in the second basement for a minute before it was headed up again.



Several carloads of police began to pile into the front hall of the hotel, stomping snow off of their boots. A detective forced his way through. "You!" He called to the officer standing nervously in front of the elevators. "You're in charge here? What's going on?"

"We've got two men down. I've ordered the other two to pull out, they're coming up in the left elevator now."

"The ambulance was five minutes behind us," the detective said. "The roads are awful. We almost lost control coming down 579..."

There was suddenly a burst of shouting and gunfire from the left elevator shaft. Almost in unison, all of the police in the entry hall stiffened and drew their weapons.

The elevator chimed, and the doors opened.

It was very red inside; the light was flickering, damaged, probably from the gunfire.

Something rolled out, across the carpeted area in front of the elevators, down the three steps to the entry hall, and came to a rest near one of the new officers, who began to gag. It was Chester's head.

The hatch to the top of the elevator hung open. Smith's legs dangled from the portal.

The detective, now in charge of the situation, lowered his weapon. "Oh boy."


Disclaimer: Final Fantasy VII, its story, and characters (particularly Sephiroth) are the property, copyright and trademark of Square Electronic Arts L.L.C., and no ownership or claim on said property, copyright or trademark is made or implied by their use in the work(s) of fan fiction presented here. This fan fiction constitutes a personal comment on the aforesaid properties pursuant to doctrines of fair use and fair comment. This fan fiction is non-commercial, not for sale or profit, and may not be sold or reproduced for commercial purposes. The same goes for Clock Tower, Tekken 2, Soul Blade, Star Trek, Dark Shadows, Lost in Space, Pepsi, and any other games, television shows, movies, etc. mentioned in this fanfic: all belong to their respective owners. Clock Tower, its story, and characters (particularly Scissorman) are the property, copyright, and trademark of Ascii Entertainment.