The door to the control room hissed open as Fujin entered. Quistis removed her glasses as she looked up at the scowling silver-haired woman. Fujin crossed the room and threw herself into a chair, breathing heavily. Quistis waited several moments before speaking.
"I've just finished reading your latest report on McMurdo. He's quite strong-willed, isn't he?"
Fujin's scowl deepened. "FRUSTRATING."
Quistis glanced down through the window, looking at McMurdo, slumped down in his chair, happy in unconsciousness. Quistis massaged the bridge of her nose as she weighed her options. After careful consideration, she accessed the secure line on the control panel, dialing Squall's office. He answered at once, appearing on the screen before her.
"Yes, Quistis?" as usual, his voice betrayed no emotion. If he desperately wanted to hear some good news, he certainly didn't show it.
"We seem to have reached... an impasse with McMurdo," she replied, matching his lack of affect. As head of Psychological Operations, she had a duty to provide her commanding officer with intelligent, well-reasoned information, and to do so without emotional bias whenever the situation demanded it.
"An impasse..." he repeated, nodding slowly. "What do you recommend?"
"We have tried some of the standard tricks. I have a more... extreme idea in mind," Quistis said, her stomach starting to churn as she spoke, "but I thought it prudent to get your authorization first."
In Squall's eyes, for a moment, Quistis saw a flicker of doubt. She saw his eyes cast about the room, as if looking for someone to guide him. The moment passed, and Squall focused his attention on Quistis.
"We need that confession. Use whatever means necessary."
"Understood," she said. Squall nodded and the monitor went dead, leaving Quistis to stare at the blank screen. Quistis looked down at McMurdo again, wishing the boy would come to his senses and offer up a confession in the next few moments.
"QUISTIS?" Fujin asked. "IDEA?"
Quistis sighed. "When I was finishing my training in coercive questioning, I noticed that, aside from a few... tricks... we had no real standard system for interrogation."
"SYSTEM?"
"Right. There was no method, no process to follow. So, just out of curiosity, I thought I'd do some research into the appropriate methods, and try to find a routine we could use, one that would allow us to break ninety-nine subjects out of a hundred. But... I never thought we'd actually use it. It was just an academic exercise. I didn't think we'd ever see it in action," she repeated.
"NECESSITY," Fujin stated, glancing at McMurdo.
Quistis rubbed her temples, trying to push back the pounding in her skull. She knew the agony her words would inflict on McMurdo, but she pressed on anyway.
"I'm only doing this because we need to know who convinced him to shoot the Headmaster," she said. "Someone very persuasive wanted him to kill Cid, and whoever that is, McMurdo is still afraid of him. We need answers, and this is the only way. Under any other circumstances, this is too brutal, too barbaric. I never meant to put these methods to use."
The words rang hollow in Quistis's ears. She could hear her empty rationalization.
"Think of this as a long-term plan. Use your best judgment on when to proceed and when to hold back, since you know him better than anyone else does. With that in mind we've already accomplished the first step," Quistis said, her voice slipping so quickly and easily into its instructor mode that it almost frightened her, "which is to abduct the subject without warning, and refuse to answer their questions. You then isolate them in a cell- or dungeon-like environment and remove their clothes. Following that comes humiliation and degradation. Everything about his condition, his weakness has achieved that end"
"The next step is where we have to vary the routine. The next time you see McMurdo, it's pain without warning. You ask him no questions, you give him no answers. Just hurt him. However you want, for however long you want. It's entirely to your discretion. Make it painful, and make it humiliating. Emphasize your power, and his weakness.
"We've also set ourselves in place for the third step. There's a reason this place is called 'The Dark,' and my research is it. We've been stripping him of his day/night cycle, which is psychologically devastating. Everyone's body assumes that they'll get so many hours of light, and so many hours of dark. If you remove that balance, it's surprisingly disorienting. We've left him in the dark for quite some time, so now, let's turn on the lights full blast. He'll enjoy it for a time, but it won't last for long.
"The fourth step is the most unpleasant, but it should prove very rewarding. From here on in, you control when he goes to the bathroom. You must also be present when these activities are performed. This helps erode his sense of privacy.
"Now, he will inevitably soil himself. The pure shame of sitting in his own waste should be incredible, and he'll probably become quite motivated to obtain permission to clean it up. That feeling is one he won't have had since early childhood, and it should make him feel quite vulnerable.
"Fifth, no more intravenous feeding. You bring the food, you bring the water. You also control the amount of food and water. It ebbs and flows at your whim. In this way, not only are you interrogating him, you are also his only lifeline: he is dependant on you.
"Sixth, punish him for no particular reason. If he speaks, if he doesn't speak, whatever. In the beginning, he'll try to figure out the reasoning behind the punishments, but be sure to keep them random. In the end, he'll have to accept that he will be punished whenever you choose.
"Seventh, train him to ask permission for anything everything. Every behavior. This is self-explanatory. The more he's accustomed to adhering to your will, the sooner he'll confess.
"Eighth, establish a routine of regular punishment. This will let him know what his new life is going to be like if he doesn't tell you what you want to know. Every day, same time. No matter what, don't let him miss a punishment. It's crucial that you never vary the routine.
"Finally, you are to become his only connection to the outside world. Any news he gets goes through you. Any word of his family, his friends, whatever. It all goes through you."
Exhausted, Quistis rested her forehead on the palm of her hand. She couldn't recall a time in her life when she'd felt this awful, this ashamed of herself. She slowly opened her eyes, happening to glance at McMurdo's dossier, resting in front of her. The boy's series of photos – taken at intervals: his entrance to Garden; his inauguration as a junior cadet; his graduation to cadet status; the final photo, of him imprisoned in the metal chair below – all seemed to stare back at her.
She couldn't take it. "Damn it!" she swore, grabbing at the folder. She clutched at the paper, nails sinking in at the header marked, "Do not spindle, fold, or mutilate," as she clenched the papers in her fist and threw them towards the trashcan. They fell several inches short of the mark, causing her to swear again, louder this time, "Damn it!"
She suddenly remembered finishing her report on coercive questioning, and her excitement at presenting her instructors with her findings. She remembered, too, that Cid had read the report himself, and found it so impressive, he took her out to lunch in Balamb. At the time, it seemed like a reward for academic performance. Now Quistis had a sneaking suspicion to the contrary.
"Damn it!" she swore a third time, pushing her chair away from the table and stalking over to the trashcan. She picked up the scattered, crumpled papers as best she could with shaking hands and threw them away. "Damn you, Cid!" she shouted, kicking the trashcan with all of her strength. "It was just supposed to be a term paper, you bastard!" She continued kicking the trashcan until she'd dented it beyond recognition, only stopping when it slid away from her.
Breathing heavily, Quistis turned and looked at Fujin, who sat in her chair, watching the pancake of metal at her feet settle into its place on the floor. She looked up at Quistis with concern on her face.
"OKAY?" she asked.
Quistis focused and recovered from her outburst, taking several deep breaths and centering herself.
"Sorry," Quistis said, trying to force her heart rate back to normal. She waited until she could trust her voice not to quaver and then spoke again. "I'm not normally like this. But things have been very hard lately. We've had... some disturbing developments at a very high level in the organization, and it's taken a toll on all of us."
Fujin nodded in concern. Her worry for Seifer had deepened of late, so Quistis's words came as no surprise.
"UNDERSTOOD."
Quistis, feeling almost steady on her feet again, took another deep breath. "I don't feel much like continuing, Fujin. Why don't we call it a night?"
Fujin nodded and started for the elevator. As she walked past Quistis, she put a comforting hand on the blond woman's shoulder. Quistis heard the whispering sound of the doors moving, and then she was alone.
* *
Squall stretched out in his bed, eyes closed, willing his muscles to relax. Under the current circumstances, he'd found it difficult to relax, and hadn't managed to make his way to the training center nearly as often as he would have liked. Free time had turned into a myth among the high-ranking SeeDs, doubly so with Squall.
The sound of running water, the faucet in the bathroom, fell silent. Squall listened to Rinoa's soft footsteps as she crossed over to his bed. He didn't need to open his eyes to picture her making her way across the room. She slid into bed beside him, placing her head, as she always did, directly over his heart, so she could listen to its rhythmic beating. Squall allowed himself a contented smile, enjoying the nearness of her, as he ran his hand through her raven hair. With his eyes closed, he felt weightless, the two of them floating aboard the Ragnarok, with nothing to come between them.
"Where are you?" he heard her ask.
"Sorry," he answered, glancing down to meet her dark eyes.
"You know, Squall, I've always wondered, why did you come to Garden?"
"Because I was put here." He answered the question without having to think about it.
"That's not what I meant. Why Garden, why SeeD?"
He hesitated for a second. "It was the easiest choice. Cid put me here, I stayed."
Rinoa looked up at him with an exaggerated frown. "Don't lie to me, Squall Leonhart. If that were the case, you didn't need to go through all the trouble of becoming a SeeD. But you did. You picked the most difficult weapon, got into a rivalry with Seifer, and clawed your way to the top. That's not the path of least resistance. What were you really after?"
"I... wanted to make sure I could take care of myself. So that I wouldn't need to rely on anyone ever again."
"Because, when Ellone left the orphanage..."
"Right," he said.
Silence for a few moments, punctuated only by the soft piano music floating from the stereo.
"While I've got this window into your enigmatic mind, what would you do if you ever left Garden?" she inquired, shifting her weight a little, and propping herself up on one elbow.
"Why?" he shot back.
"Play along, Squall," she replied. "What do you dream about? If you didn't have to run Garden, what would you be doing?"
Squall thought on this for a moment. He'd spent his whole life at Garden – a warrior by trade. The notion of leaving Garden seemed so remote to him, that he only considered the notion in his most desperate moments – moments that had plagued him with increasing frequency.
"I'd like to travel," he said.
"But haven't you been everywhere?" Rinoa asked. "I mean, hasn't SeeD taken you just about everywhere there is to go?"
"It's not the same. I go somewhere, I fight something, I come back." Squall leaned his head back and stared at the ceiling, as if he could see through it. "I'd like to get a collection of my father's travel writings and follow in his footsteps. Go through his journeys. You know, ride on a train where he rode, eat in the same restaurants, that sort of thing. I'd like to do his whole journey, beginning to end." Squall's voice picked up enthusiasm as he spoke.
"That sounds nice," Rinoa said, putting her head back on Squall's chest.
"What about you?" he asked. "What would you do if we ran away from Garden?"
"When I was young, back when my mother was alive," Rinoa said, the smile evident in her voice, "we had a summer home by the sea. I loved it so much more than my father's mansion. The mansion was such a museum – you weren't allowed to run around, you couldn't touch anything, there were always tutors and servants around to tell you what you could and couldn't do. Even worse, generals came and went at all hours, so even if you did manage to get away, someone would catch you and lock you in your room. It was so stuffy.
"But the summer home was nothing like that. For those few months out of every year, I felt just like a normal kid. So I guess that's what I'd want. Just a house, by the sea, where I could have my friends come and visit me whenever they wanted to. You know, to have a barbecue on the beach or something like that."
They talked and made love long into the night, and, as Rinoa slept beside him, Squall watched her. Even with the rest of his life crashing down around him – his mentor betraying and manipulating him since childhood, an unknown hand guiding an assassin, torture going in the Garden's basement, somehow, all seemed well.
Squall slid out of bed and dressed, moving into the hallway, back into the other half of his world, the nightmare half, where nothing made sense, where he could trust only a few individuals. The Garden faculty shuffled about the concourse, faces hidden in robes, hats, and shadows. Although Squall made a habit of ignoring them, now he scrutinized each one, trying to find the traitor amongst their number – if indeed, the traitor served on the faculty.
Squall stepped onto the elevator, inserted his pass, and pressed in his access code, his stomach lurching briefly as it hurtled toward the lowest levels of the Garden.
* *
Quistis woke to the sound of footsteps in the control room. The footfalls hit the ground too far apart to belong to Fujin. Someone else, then, had entered the Dark. Someone come for McMurdo. Quistis ignored the stinging from where her sleeping face had pressed against the control panel and in one quick motion slammed the button to turn the lights off, kicked her chair out from under her, and hit the floor.
The footsteps stopped.
"It's Squall," came the calm, measured voice.
"Oh." Her voice came out pinched, almost a squeak, and she felt as stupid as she looked.
She stood up, turning the lights back on as she did so. "Hi," she said.
Squall looked around the room, taking in every detail, eyes lingering across the control panel, as if he could memorize its functioning in one pass. He studied the smoky glass that kept them from seeing the floor where McMurdo sat, restrained. In one long sweep of the room, he seemed to absorb all he could find before bringing his eyes to rest on Quistis again.
"So," he said, "this is the Dark. I've never been inside before."
"This is it," she replied. "And, sorry about before. Today has been a little stressful for me, so when you woke me up..."
"You have keyboard face," Squall interjected.
"Sorry?"
"Keyboard face," he repeated. "You slept with your face on the keyboard. Zell used to do it all the time in class, and it left marks on his face. He used to wonder how the faculty members knew he was sleeping, since he sat all the way in the back."
"I do remember that," she smiled. Then, remembering the hour and place of their conversation, "But I doubt you came all the way down here to catch up on old times. What can I do for you?"
Squall seated himself at one of the chairs at the table. Quistis sat opposite him.
"I came down here for a briefing," he said, indicating the files spread out on the table. I want to know what you do here. You said you're going to try something extreme. I want to know what didn't work, and I want to know what you think will. I want every file you have down here."
Quistis removed her glasses from her pocket and cleaned them with care before setting them in place. "I'm afraid I can't do that, Squall."
Squall blinked at her response. "What?"
"Look," she replied, gathering her files and stacking them, "We all cope with the things we do. Sometimes it's harder than others – like today, but I'm trained to live with it. I think it's better if you don't know what steps we're taking to break McMurdo. It'll let you stay detached from the situation. And, if, for whatever reason, you ever need to deny what was going on down here, it leaves your hands clean."
"I don't want to stay detached," he replied. "I want to know what's going on. I have to see the bodies."
"The bodies?"
"Rinoa's theory of good generals and bad generals. A good general sees the bodies. Walks the battlefield with his soldiers, and takes the time to mourn the dead. A bad general is one that thinks in terms of numbers, and causalities, without ever caring how many die. I've decided I can't be like that."
"For Rinoa's sake?"
"For my sake. For all of ours. So I have to know what I'm putting you through down here."
Quistis looked at Squall for a long moment and slid the files over to him. He read them drinking in the full scope of the interrogation. Until now, he'd only seen progress reports, details couched in careful administrative terms. This changed the scope of his understanding.
"I see," he said, finally looking up, as he closed the last folder.
"And I bet you're wishing you'd never come down here, aren't you?" she asked.
"As soon as you and Fujin are finished interrogating McMurdo and Llyriance, as soon as we know who's behind the shooting, we're shutting this place down."
"But Cid..." she objected.
"Cid's finished," Squall replied, eyes flashing. "He's played us from the beginning, and look at what it's done to us. As soon as he recovers, I'm officially relieving him of all executive authority. "
"You know, it's funny," Quistis said, not even close to laughing, "I mean, now that we know everything about Cid, it makes me question every mission we've ever run."
"I know," Squall nodded.
"After all the... stories they raise you with, you just assume, that when you're a SeeD, how can you fail to do the right thing? It's automatic. You're always the good guy. They tell you that you're never on the "bad" side of a battle, but..."
"That's the past," Squall stated, as he rose from his chair. "Things are different now. I promise." He looked Quistis in the eyes for a long moment, as if to affirm his vow, then left.
She switched the lights off in the control room, gathered her files, and headed for her office adjoining the control room in Dark 2, knowing that when she woke up, she'd have to begin interrogating Llyriance. Owing to his high rank, she couldn't afford to damage him too much, so she'd have to improvise new methods as she went along. She stretched out in bed and prayed for a dreamless sleep.