Broken Mirror

by Mess

At the assassination of Edea, something goes horribly, horribly... right. This is the rewrite/remake of one of my old dystopian fics, which can also be found on this site.

1. Moment of Weakness

Moment of Weakness What I have is, I have a second in time. I have a split second in an abandoned building with a gun in my hand and every instinct is telling me who I am at that moment. That's what I've got left and that's all I've got left. -- Homicide: Life on the Streets *** Quistis Trepe had plenty of experience of a teacher. Eighteen years, in fact. Or maybe nineteen? She was almost nineteen by the half-formed reckoning of the Garden doctors and, make no mistake about it, Quistis Trepe had been a teacher since before the day she was born. She often told people – usually older and highly respected professors – that it was her destiny to help shape the future. That tattered old cliché read so well, an orphan's call to nurture ever-so noble in the face of their vaunted principles. She did not tell them she was lying. Nobody expected her too. Everyone lies about things like that. It didn't look particularly impressive - or stable, for that matter - to write down on her resume just how very much Quistis Trepe needed to be needed. Where would kind of lifelong obsession/reaction to trauma go? Right under Has Good Communication Skills and Works Well In A Team? Teachers are smarter than that. Or at least they should be. Especially when what they teach is terrorist warfare. Garden had an alarmingly high mortality rate. Still, the fact that she was a professional teacher not at all overcompensating for her own lack of an older female role model was probably a good thing in this situation. Hyne knew she couldn't afford to act her own age in this company. Trudging through the Delling sewers with Selphie and Zell was more than a little like shepherding cats. Cats, or maybe kindergartners. "Ugh. Look at that, Selph!" "Zelllll! That was, like, totally uncool! I so did not need to see that…or that next to it..." "W-was that a hot-dog?" "DUDE! No! Don't SAY that! I gotta eat those too, you know. Ugh. Thursday lunch is never gonna be the same after this..." "Hell yeah. I think I'm going to be sick... lemme stop for a sec." "Again - DUDE! No! Gross! Quistiiiiis... when are we going to get there?" "Now," Quistis answered, using her Teacher Voice. She was really very proud of it. The sewers around her were oddly pristine considering their nature. Azure stone and ornate gates brought to mind something almost classically elegant. Had this not been a sewer at one point? She couldn't imagine justifying the expense of creating a sewer as pretty as this otherwise. Hyne knew they spent just hiring people to clean the Garden septic tanks... Ugh. Septic tanks. This place was a gilded cesspool, and your nose forced you to remember it every once in a while. Quistis was trying to ignore it, but those two really weren't helping... honestly! Children! It would be best to ignore the pair, of course; Quistis found that many students did these sorts of things only to gain attention. It was quite similar to the process by which this sewage was getting to her. Ignore the smell, ignore the chatter, and walk. She was the instructor here - a walking, talking, and (unfortunately) breathing behavioural example. Shaking her head slightly, the former instructor motioned towards a burnished metal ladder. "We need to go up there. I suppose that I'll go first," she calmly stated, trying to keep any concern about the mission of or a certain Mr.Leonhart from infecting her voice. For her charges' sake, of course. She had to be the voice of reason to get them through this. As always. In a way this was just some warped version of the now-monotonous Fire Cave test she had been more than happy to guide dozens of students just like them through to... This was stupid. Quistis knew that there was no logical reason to not think of them as her friends. They were only a year younger than her. In the past week, however, 'they are your friends' seemed to have become her personal mantra. "Time to get out of here? YEAH!" can a high-pitched reply from the rear. Not pausing to address the pair further, Quistis began her ascent in a barely restrained hurry. They were at least responsible enough not to let themselves be left behind in this hole. The instructor had forgotten to chide herself for not thinking of them as her friends, but that was alright. These were extraordinary circumstances. She'd make an extra effort after the mission. ** A posse is supposed to stick together. That was the very definition of a posse: a group of people who stuck together. Not a duo and not a mob but a group. One like them. So they were still a posse... weren't they? "GONE," the pale woman said in what one who knew her well might have deciphered to be a lament. Fortunately for her reputation, no one really knew her all that well. Seifer had always been the most aloof of their private little clique, and Raijin was... well, Raijin was just Raijin. Meaning that he wouldn't notice depression if it bit him in the ass. Raijin was much more obvious - lolling in Headmaster Martine's plush leather armchair and generally acting as morose as he was ever likely to. Her friend was probably trying to keep up appearances too, in his own way, but it was amazing how transparent he could be for a guy with such dark skin. He hadn't, after all, said a word in nearly three minutes. That might be some kind of record. Yay. The pair technically weren't supposed to be in Martine's office. Feh. Details. The pair also weren't technically supposed to be authorized to mete out corporal punishment to students violating Garden regulations without it going through some dumbass subcommittee where the little shit that decided he was special enough to break the student codes whined about his crappy childhood until they gave him a pat on the head and a visit to the councillor. Rules were important, but technicalities were made to be broken. People like Cid got that. He knew they were efficient enough to ignore their activities, even if he himself didn't have the balls to admit it. She liked Galbadia Garden, maybe. They got the technicalities thing. None of the Galbadian students had felt up to the task of challenging the Balamb Disciplinary Committee - not like that clown Dincht was his misguided views on 'right' with his blatant disrespect for their authority. Edea's patronage and the support of Galbadia Garden's own halfassed committee were enough of a threat to gain the odd duo access to pretty much any area that they wanted. Well, okay, those and a few lurid rumours involving the mysterious disappearance of some kid who used to run around in Balamb Garden. Brat made the mistake of bumping into Raijin and little boys shouldn't run in the hallways. Last she heard he was working the Fisherman's Horizon docks doing Hyne-knew-what (she didn't) pretty little orphans did when they got their asses busted out of Garden. They'd spread the story months ago, since Seifer thought it would be useful. He was smart like that. Words, Fujin was forced to admit, were useful that way - even if they also made singular horrors like Raijin's verbal diarrhoea possible. Oh well. She was used to it. "C'mon Fujin… I know that it's weird not to be in Balamb and all, but hey, it could be pretty cool here y'know. At least we found Seifer n' he's alive and all…" Augh! Seifer was GONE. It didn't matter where the fuck they were beyond that. Whether he had purposely misunderstood her earlier comment or was simply as dense as reputation indicated was unclear. The albino supposed that it was a little bit of both. They both knew that this sure as hell had nothing to do with Balamb. Raijin was happy wherever Seifer was, and - handsome soldier notwithstanding - Fujin was in a secondary sort of love with her new home. The spartan grandeur of Galbadia Garden was so refreshing after Balamb's gaudy and useless furnishings. If Headmaster Cid thought that he was fooling anyone with babbling fountains and gold filigree he was very, very sadly mistaken. Balamb Garden was as much a fortress as this place, except her current residence did without Balamb's strange pretence of tranquility and goodwill. It took a hell of a lot more than that to fool Fujin Asher. Maybe Headmaster Cid just needed to fool himself. And a few government inspectors. Bah. "SEIFER," Fujin continued. They had a problem. Raijin needed to focus, here. "Hey, hey!" Raijin smiled, once more dragging himself into the belief that life would end up sunny no matter how the cards were played. The guy might be a little on the thick side, but her friend was always good for that at least. It was nice to know he cared. "Seifer told us to stay here n' , y'know, infiltrate n' stuff. It's not like he left us again or anything… We're a posse, y'know! S'just his dream, is all. Aren't ya happy for him? And now we don't have to take anything from, y'know, Squall and them… 'Sides, we're almost done actin' like diplomatic type-people ta Martine anyway..." "AFFIRMATIVE," Fujin answered, almost letting a sigh creep into the void during an uncharacteristic lapse of control. Plush carpeting cushioned the restless meanderings of steel-toed work boots. Raijin… Raijin just couldn't see that strange look in his eyes, the one that only Fujin would notice. Raijin couldn't see that that woman was slowly pulling him away from them. Raijin didn't GET it. Fujin knew that if he did then her partner would be much more of a wreck than she was at the moment... or at least appear to be. "Fujin? Yo, Fuuj!" pressed the dark-skinned fighter, "Edea's on the telescreen. Ya know what that means…" "AFFIRMATIVE," the albino repeated, now still and much more focused. She would be patient and follow orders. She was good at that, and there was something to be said for and insane parody of normality. A posse stuck together, and so would they, even if whatever foolish pipe-dream about Seifer had lodged itself in her soul would not be so easily denied. Certainly it would take more to exorcize than the badly kept secret of his midnight visits to Edea's bedchamber or his lengthening daytime absences. Who was she kidding? He could sleep with half of SEED for all she cared. To exorcize this thing it'd take no less than the end of the frigging world. Which was so girly. Bah. Goddamn witch. She was the biggest pretender of all, with her false love and fairytale mutterings. Her Seifer was too smart to be confused by those pretty words, wasn't he? Raijin had been swayed quite easily but... that was different. That was Raijin. Raijin was prone to that sort of thing. That was one of the reasons he needed Fujin around. But Seifer would recognize Edea's obvious manipulation eventually if Fujin had to... No, dammit! She was absolutely not thinking like some jealous scheming floozy from one of her romance novels. The soldier knew better than to let herself think that she could rip him out of his romantic dream by attacking Edea... tempting as it was. And so tonight she'd do his bidding. Not THEIRS, although the order had probably been issued by Edea, but HIS. Modus operandi. Because if there was one thing that she did know, it was that unrequited love royally sucked. ** Seifer Almasy had waited for what seemed like an eternity for this day. The day when (a deliberately ambiguous) they would cheer for him - the day when he would take his place at the side of his Sorceress just like in the legends. The day when he would enter the foreground, cut to the action, and stroll into the history reels. The day when he would become the Knight. "This is your new reality!" his mistress melodically called, cloaked in otherworldly flame and neon light. But it wasn't a new reality for him; not by a long shot. This was an old reality. It was older than him and it was older than her - it was as old as Hyne herself. It was the honour and the strength and the glory of a golden age that had lurking in the back of his mind all his life, just waiting to be unlocked by her presence. And wasn't that what destiny was? A memory waiting for you to make it? Seifer had always been the White Cross Knight, protector of his Sorceress and master of the fates of thousands. It was just that nobody else had known it yet. She was so beautiful. Sorceresses tended to be beautiful. Their power made them as lovely as it was, and their power was so lovely as to burn they eyes (or at least that what that they said of Hyne). They would be together forever, wouldn't they? She'd said as much, given him as much on what was perhaps the most perfect night of his life. No, make that second most perfect. Nothing could possibly match this debut. Their cheers and music and fireworks filled some silence in him that he hadn't known was there. For the first time in his existence, Seifer Almasy felt... whole. The Sorceress was on her throne, the Knight stood at attention, and all was right with the world. Their world. It had to be. ** "This is your New Reality!" crackled an authoritarian voice over the newly restored Galbadian telescreen network. Certainly, the last thing most of it's viewers had expected to witness tonight was the immolation of their President. But with this kind of carnival you had to expect the unexpected to keep the viewers watching. And watch they did. A New Reality it was - different if not better. But there was no time to ponder that or wallow in self-pity. More sensible things had to be done upon hearing the signal Seifer had outlined. Fujin quickly and quietly dispatched Headmaster Martine just as he darted into his office. His throat slit cleanly. The edges of this shruiken weren't serrated. He was a trained fighter, of course, but well past his prime years and not nearly skilled enough. As his broken body fell to expensive hand-woven rugs she didn't spare it second glance. Hmph. Frivolous carpeting muffled the unpleasant squelch, if not contributing anything else useful to the room. She supposed that it was dubious, however, that Martine had considered his own death by shruiken when he'd been interior decorating. No matter. This was the sort of thing that she was supposed to feel bad about later, and then Fujin had always despised pretence - even that of tactful sorrow or regret. Martine had been drafted into the Galbadian Army at eighteen, and Martine had been good. Fujin had been shipped off to Balamb Garden at four, and Fujin was better. What more was there to debate? Morality? Trying to deny the fact that she would remorselessly obey Seifer to the point of cold-blooded assassination would be as pointless and stupid as cutting out her remaining eye. She was as proud of her reputation as she was proud of his. Bah. Co-dependence was unbecoming in a soldier. And she never felt remorse, anyways. As such, the telescreen was filled only with an eyepatch and sub-zero glare once Galbadia Garden's internal closed-circuit television system was activated by Raijin. The plan Fujin had conceived with Seifer days ago was mechanically perfect, as per usual. While the few truly loyal Galbadian SeeDs spread among the Garden's general population like a virus, her voice filled the sprawling confines of the mercenary base much more substantially. The students - or, as Seifer would once have said, the 'pansies' - didn't know what hit them. "NEW REALITY." "MARTINE," she lifted a heavy, stiffened object to the cameras. The kill had been clean; nary a speck of blood or gore marred his face, so they'd no it wasn't just some random hacked-up freshman they were trying to pass as the headmaster. The kill was always clean. There had been gifted classes, and for this? She had a gift. "DEAD." "EXPLAIN." The woman's strange voice carried a variety of threat that the man who proceeded to drone on behind her would never even think to express. It was a little like an airborne plague, and a little like a raised whip, and a little like a battle-scarred wetworks agent staring down a building full of thugs and scared teenagers. "Alright, people. This Garden is now under the control of those loyal to Her Majesty's Knight Seifer Almasy, y'know. I'm Captain Raijin Kasim of the Galbadian Imperial Army, and this is your new Commander Fujin Asher. Like she said, this is our new reality. Ya have no choice in this, y'know, so don't try to make one. Now we're going to try and make this change as smooth as possible, but those who don't play by the rules here will be, y'know…" Raijin's face was so innocent.. he really did make a great liar, though it was debatable if he really considered anything that Seifer told him to do morally wrong. Why? Who the hell knew why they followed him? Raijin, oddly enough, was a complicated man. "PUNISHED," the new Commander's stark, arctic interjection rang through equally sparse halls. The gunshot of a command silenced any protest that more bold students could have mustered. Fujin clearly believed in disciplinary measures above and beyond suspension. "Now I wanna be your friend here, so, y'know, listen up. We all know that Martine wasn't the most popular guy around here what with the way you guys got shafted – y'know, only Balamb students and those who transfer there got t'be in SeeD n' all. You guys work yer asses off and just end up Galbadian Army regulars. We could've reasoned with him. Sir Seifer stands for justice for ya, n' so do we. We tried to convince Martine to see justice, y'know. We really did. But he wanted to keep you all down, y'see, so as he could take the profits from the government contract that tied y'poor bastards down. Tha's when we decided t'take matters into our own hands, ya know? Who did he think he was, controllin' th'like of us, when he couldn't even touch a juinour here on th-battlefield?" "REBEL. POWER, GALBADIA. POWER, OURS!" Yes, it really was theirs for once. The soldier's expression almost imperceptibly softened, and she hoped that show of weakness would be enough to make them see when she couldn't ignite their passions like Seifer would have. There weren't any goddamn speeches here. Seifer would have handled this perfectly, but he wasn't here. And she was. So she had to. For him, she had to let them see her, and see her reaching out to all those rejected by the fickle favour of the powers that be. They were orphans trapped in the dead-end that was the Galbadian mercenary force - too unstable or unskilled or brilliant to be of any use in Balamb, and lacking any other real home. Abandoned for scrap. And for a split second, surprisingly, those watching could see an inkling of themselves through the static. They couldn't have known that it was because their new commander had quite the close personal relationship with rejection herself. Fujin Asher didn't need pretty words. ** There is a certain state of mind that is indicative of the truly skilled sniper. It has been defined by those experienced as a pronounced singularity of thought; the ability to focus one's every synapse on a tiny speck of flesh. The young man who was currently nestled inside the shadowed cranny of a rather gaudy clock tower was all too familiar with that technique. He had, after all, been trained in this particularly deadly art since the tender age of ten. Usually it was simple for him; find a satisfactory space and wait. Crouch low despite the biting insects or the pain of cramped muscles while descending into a world where all life is a target. It was a predominantly simulated target, to be sure, but a target nonetheless. In this the professors of Galbadia Garden could truly congratulate themselves: their pupil never tired, never missed, and absolutely never failed. Unfortunately, this was not a simulation. And Irvine Kinneas was … distracted. His teachers had warned him about this kind of thing. Don't wear that silly hat or the sweat upon your brow will blind you. There is no sound, sight, or smell - only white noise, a bullet, and that pivotal scrap of tissue. And above all, Irvine, don't think about the consequences of your actions. In fact, don't think at all! Numb your mind so that the job is all that matters. Be our perfect killer, and we'll take care of you. They needn't have worried for the most part. The oppressive humidity that was typical of Galbadia, the ominous chanting of clockwork dancers, and the harsh blue neon light were cleansed from his consciousness with practiced ease. The would-be cowboy was, however, having a bit more trouble with his instructors' one final edict. Don't think about it.. just don't… Usually he could drown it out with the typical fantasies. A shapely woman in a scrap that might once been a bikini in another life, rubbing his back on the inviting white sands of… ~The beach. Matron and stark granite home behind them. Laughing, playing in the sun… running through the surf and then… "Ooooowwww! Matroooooon!" "There, there, Irvine. You're going to be fine" …the most kindly smile in the world. ~ Startled from this reverie by sudden motion, Irvine looked up to see brightly clad phantasms dancing above his head. It was beginning; the growl of long-motionless iron sounded a call to arms. Yet despite this call to duty the sniper remained motionless. Don't think. Just don't think about it. Focus… ~ "Happy Birthday, Irvine!" "I..... I wish my Mom and Dad were here…Why don't they want me, Matron?" Warmth; an embrace. "Shhhhhh. Your parents went away, but they loved you very, very much. Anyone would want you." Tears, scalding his cheekbones. He was acting like such a baby. Boys don't cry. "Really?" And, once more, that peerless smile. "Of course!" ~ "Irvine Kinneas!" This time it was the verbal which intruded upon Irvine's memories. The harsh command of his supposed commander could break through even the sniper's practiced trance. "I… I can't," Irvine muttered, not even bothering to turn and glance at a target he did not wish to see, " …I'm sorry. I just can't do it. I always choke like this." A lie, the assassin knew, but probably more palatable to his stone-faced companion than the truth, "… I try to act all cool, joke around, but I just can't handle the pressure…" One single shot. No. Women in those high-cut SeeD skirts. Quistis getting out of the shower. Selphie in a bubble-bath. Laughter. Damn, he looked fine today… Anything but… Blot out the smile. Buh-bye, Matron. No. Focus. Don't think about it… "Forget it. Just shoot, " Squall said, echoing Irvine's thoughts. In the streets below, the warm glow of fire clashed with emotionless neon reflected on the pavement. He was right, Irvine knew. This was too important for him crack now, no matter how much the supposed monster below resembled his surrogate mother. Funny, that the woman who had bandaged his skinned knees had turned out to be a Sorceress and neophyte dictator. Life was strange that way. "My bullet…. the Sorceress… I'll go down in history. I'll change the history of Galbadia… of the world!" Irvine mused, until the musing made him feel sick. She'd never smile again, would she? "It's all too much." "Enough! Just shoot!" hissed Squall, glow of unfeeling turquoise light reflected as if by magic. You'd think that a man like that would absorb such a thing. "I can't, dammit!" Irvine snapped. The cold-hearted bastard didn't even seem to care. But he had been there just like the rest of them; how could he forget Matron!?! How could any of them forget? He should be used to being alone by now: it was kind of part of the job description. Squall would have made a far better sharpshooter than Irvine. Matron…I can't… I can't… I have to focus. "Irvine, calm down, " Squall said in a more pacifying manner; truly a great achievement considering the source. " Everyone's waiting on you. I don't care if you miss. Whatever happens, leave the rest to us." "Just think of it as a signal, " Squall continued, " A sign for us to make our move." "Just a signal," Irvine repeated. ....they don't have to think about it.. not like me… ...never like me... ....just a signal… "Please." It's not me… I won't… I can't… Just a signal.. They don't have to think about it… leave it all to them... and I don't have to think about it... ...don't think about it... "Just a sign," whispered the sniper. FOCUS Turning, the gunman took aim without a second thought - firing in a release of sheer conditioned instinct. *** It is truly amazing how the very fabric of reality can bend or sway or tear the world apart in just one second of time. Sometimes dream becomes reality and sometimes fantasy fades to black. Maybe there really was a place where Sorceress and Knight could have stayed together forever, or at least for the time it took Seifer to go mad within the illusion. Or maybe he could have stayed with her only to pull himself out of the dream a changed man. Maybe could have even taken the bullet for her. Maybe he'd have died a hero. Alas, this was the New Reality, and that was not to be. Death cloaked in steel cut through gladly yielding air and, with the sickening crack of bone, tore through Sorceress Edea's scantily-clad chest. Edea - or, more accurately, her puppeteer was used to doing what was needed, and had nigh-infallible instincts even when she didn't know what was coming. Which she did. Because she knew this Time. But she had not known not to blink. "Mistress!" her Knight shouted, panic and rage clouding an otherwise ravaging intellect. This wasn't supposed to happening, everything was supposed to be perfect….. Forever. She was supposed to stay with him forever. This wasn't in the film reels or the poems or the history books. Not his history book, dammit. What the hell was going on here? "S-Seifer…." Fury and despair waged war in his gut while he knelt by his Lady's ruined carcass. The blood was seeping ever so slowly from a gaping wound just above her heart, and her elaborately feathered throne was shot to splinters. For this, there would be Hell to pay. Or maybe just Hell. "Mistress, you'll live! I'll protect you!" he convinced himself, distraught. Seifer had charisma - he convinced people of things on a regular basis. A Knight was supposed to be able to protect his Sorceress at any cost. Surely he hadn't failed? Not after it had taken so long to find her... "N-no…boy…," she croaked. Clutching her to his body, the Knight's snow-white coat absorbed her heart's blood - a metallic tang polluting the crisp night air. And maybe in the warmth of his body the Knight could somehow reclaim the shattered carcass of a lover far beyond the help of magic. Maybe he could work miracles. Knights were supposed to be able to make miracles happen. Even if their Sorceress' looked frail and sickly outside of pompous circumstances. Even if they could not make out what remnant of power and beauty had to be within one bony form. And even if the clawlike hands running across their cheeks were for once faintly grotesque instead of exotic. "Y-you're not my Ci…," rasped the Sorceress, some subtle air of cruelty suddenly missing from her crippled bearing. "Mistress?," Seifer cradled his Sorceress' head, not understanding her meaning. He wasn't used to people dying. All of his ghosts were already dead. Was he doing this right? This wasn't how the story ended. It must be his fault. Or hers. But his. What didn't he understand, that he wasn't doing this right? "And another…I must find…another… There has to be another. And she'll... You have to stop her from..." "Don't say that, Mistress. You'll live. You have to.…," Seifer Almasy did not cry, and Seifer Almasy did not fail. Not now. Not ever. "You have to stop it. I thought... but it will live beyond me, beyond time. My dear boy, you have to fix it..." Not ever. So he had to fix it. Someone else had done this. Only one other person could have done this. Seifer Almasy never failed. Except. Only one person could have done his. The villain of our piece. He should have seen it. Things had gone too well. There had to be a villain in any piece. That was how these things worked. His poor Sorceress. For her, this would be a Tragedy, then. Reformat, remix, and the puzzle came back together. His grip on her frame tightened. "Vengeance. Vengeance, milady, I promise. I'll make this world - these dogs - worthy of your memory. You don't have to worry about anything anymore." "Ahhh… there… There. She's there. My girl... all my children... they came for me. I'm so sorry. For all of you. For everything. I'm so sorry. Tell them that. " Edea whispered, once straining body relaxed and almost limp in Seifer's arms. If she heard him now she certainly did not show it. No, no. Not her. But someone would be sorry. "Goodbye…." The true Sorceress Edea died with a gentle if long unused smile. The living dream died with her. Seifer Almasy, however, would survive. One way or another. This wasn't how the story ended. Not by far. ** The mood inside Delling Gate was of a much more celebratory nature. "Whoooooo-hoooo! Booooooooyaka!!!!!! We did it!!!" Selphie squealed, hopping about like some sort of deranged rabbit. Honestly, Quistis would never understand how her students - err... friends, that is - could take everything so lightly. The instructor was plagued with worry for Squall and the sniper. She was also concerned that they get out of this mess alive. "Whoa. There's some kind of riot outside, " Zell babbled, obviously rather pumped up himself. "The army's trying to put 'em down… wonder what's up with them? They should be cheering or something," the puzzled youth continued. Forehead in hand, Quistis slowly exhaled. The pained screeching outside their little eye in the storm had made it obvious enough to her. "They were probably enchanted, Zell. It must be confusing for them to be broken out of it." Meeting his eyes, the former teacher continued, "Meaning that we have to get out of here before either the military or that mob decides that this gate would be a good place to shore up." "You're the boss!" their tiny comrade chirped, "Let's go!" Zell was meanwhile making punching motions at the air, oblivious to the drama playing out below. It must be fun to be that impractical. Fun, and painful. "Damn! I wanted some action! Oh well…" he wilted. Good. They really did need to make their escape. "Squall will make for the Caraway Manor. It's fenced in, and the General will probably have at least a few loyal soldiers there," Quistis detailed, drawing out her whip. "That means that..." "Back to the sewers? Eeeeeeewwwww! Majorly gross!" "We don't have a choice, Selphie. Now...." ~FITHOS~ Before she could further advance her point, even though it was probably futile to explain anything to this lot, Quistis' train of thought was interrupted by the tendrils of a whisper that crept into her mind. This didn't make any sense. The dancers were out of commission by now and… "What the…" ~LUSEC~ The cacophony grew louder, a dozen voices in dissonant resonance. Definitely not the dancers. They hadn't been half-bad, or half so... eerie. Who in the world would be singing at a time like this? "Instructor Trepe? You okay?" Zell asked, slipping into a more customary form of address as he scrambled across the rough sandstone floor. Strangely light-headed, his teacher fell to her knees. No. Can't black out. Not here and not now... They had to get out of here. Squall… Squall might need her! He'd never needed her before… ~WECOS~ The words were nonsense babble. Yet. Too perfect and too wrong, they covered something worse. Those all-important words suspended over the Abyss. It was so dark... ...I have to... I have to be there... ~VINOSEC~ Their voices seared themselves into her skull, drowning out any remnants of rational thought. They also camouflaged the concerned panic of the blurs which were Zell and Selphie standing over her. …have to... have to… think… …think… ~FITHOS~ …where…? ~LUSEC~ …who…? …somebody… needed… ~WECOS~ ...who.. what... am....I..... ....I...? ~VINOSEC~ Somewhere between pain and exhilaration an ancient melody swum into the woman's stream of consciousness, knitting together a soul rent by raw power. Pulsing, crackling, and relentless as it reached a crescendo, the primal beat could become the only focus for her fragmented synapses... And the beat was the world. And the beat was in everything. She could FEEL it all make sense. ~FITHOS LUSEC WECOS VINOSEC~ .....fithos....lusec.......wecos......vinosec? It meant nothing and everything. The sense it made was strange and terrible. All that mattered in all the world, fithos lusec wecos vinosec. And the sonic assault screamed victory as she joined it. fithoslusecwecovinosec? ~FITHOS LUSEC WECOS VINOSEC!~ ~FITHOS LUSEC WECOS VINOSEC!~ And with an unseen surge of energy, fade to black.