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.

2. The Wrecker

The Wrecker The author would like to acknowledge the makers of comic book villains and superheroes, those who invented, or at least popularized, the notion of a normal, mild-mannered person tranformed into mutant by freak accident, with the mutant thereafter driven by a strange hybrid of the most rancid bitterness and the most outrageous hope to do very, very odd and silly things, many times in the name of Good. -- A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius, Dave Eggers *** Fujin should have seen it coming. Miles, yards, years away - she should have noticed. There were no excuses. Even if one of her eyes happened to be ... gone, she refused to be a liability. On a mission, you've got to expect to be caught off guard. And yeah, she guessed that was a contradiction, but contradictions were a hazzard of her business. No matter what trump card you've got up your sleeve, some other joker's probably got half a stacked-deck up his boot. Reserve troops, secret passages, hidden caches of aura, the new and improved tech-of-the-minute…. whatever. You don't deal yourself into the mercenary game without knowing shit was bound to happen. The telescreen cameras cutting out on the Witch's procession was the most minor problem imaginable that could come up during Edea's prettied-up coup. Anticipating flawlessness was unrealistic. There was really nothing to be worried about. Right. Hyne, SeeD missions were worse that standing in a parade, and they'd sat on tons of those. Granted, Seifer hadn't often been alone then, but he was competent. He was the best there was. (By now Seifer might be on fire. Of course, being Seifer, he wasn't on fire. He stocked enough Firas to prevent that, and he didn't usually need protection anyways. She knew that.) Technically Fujin Asher was no longer a mercenary. Nope. Not her. She had truth, justice, and the Galbadian Way now, except for the part where she wasn't Galbadian. Hell, if you wanted to get really technical you could probably say she'd never been a mercenary at all. It'd just always been what she'd expected to do after spending her few years as hall monitor in a school where the students regularly brutally maimed very large and wicked beasts as a daily workout. What else was there to do? That was all any of them were trained for, really. Merc or prof or SeeD corps. It was competitive too - there were too damn many of them. What did the world need so many highly trained combat experts for, anyways? Hadn't all the combat ended years ago? (Dammit, of course it had. There was no one alive who could take on Seifer and win without a small army, and nobody had that kind of firepower now except for the Gardens, the Galbadians, and Esthar. Galbadia was his Witch's now, the Gardens were neutralized or too far away to intercede, and Esthar didn't give a shit. Nobody would attack Seifer who could win, except for maybe Squall, since he seemed to be predisposed to that kind of thing. Was that it? That was it. Why would the cable be pulled out? Squall. Bloody Squall. Fuck. Now Squall'd probably ruined everything, since EVERY FUCKING THING came back to Squall, and right now he and Seifer were probably having kind of climactic carnage-laden duel between nemeses and Fujin wouldn't be there to patch Seifer up after they inevitably beat the crap out of each other and both of them would probably die of blood loss. Fuck. FUCK. If she'd thought it would make Seifer any less bitter and obsessive about their rivalry she'd have tried to introduce Squall to the sharp edge of a buzzsaw long ago. Maybe then they could all move on with their lives. This rivalry thing was irrational. Right now, she was being irrational.) Her original train of thought had led to mercenary work since at least that field could be thinned out in dubiously legal ways without anyone important caring. There'd been a time - long long ago, and fuzzy and absurdly far away - when she'd let one of her best and only two friends talk her into joining the school Disciplinary Committee so as she could learn how to kick the asses of her competition before they even graduated. Raijin too. After that they were going to go freelance, but then. Then she sees her friend turn into this guy. This guy that makes her think about stuff, like dispossession and justice and personal freedoms and using the power of their generation to make a world that'd never create a brood so screwed up as they were ever again. And he just had to be all charming and her friend and make so much goddamn sense some of the time (expect for those times when he'd made no sense at all, but all that planning and thinking and talking made him look so very alive that it didn't matter. Alive being what he was, right now, as opposed to dead in some ditch while Edea shacked up with some prettyboy as his corpse cooled.) Ah, how a mighty career in wetworks had fallen when Fujin Asher just had to go and take up with a visionary. There was no question now, though, that she'd stick by him. (He'd be all upset if his plan didn't go right. Seifer was nothing if not a perfectionist. Fujin wished there was something she could kill for him to help out with that - she wasn't very good at this emotional crap. Hmph. Maybe she would end up gutting Squall after all. A thought.) Still, she liked to flatter herself and think that she could have been one of the best. Seifer'd never have done, though - Garden was right about that. If this Commander thing she was doing right now was ill-fitting on her, having Seifer auction off his services would be like sticking the man in a tutu. So they'd been afraid of letting him in SeeD, letting him be a leader. Heh. As if he could ever not be a leader. As a merc he'd have ended up leading some romantic rebel band conducting guerilla strikes for justice from the wilderness because he'd disagreed with an employer and had ended up making a scene. It would only have been a matter of time. Seifer was special, and Seifer had a plan. That was why she was here. Seifer only made plans when they were capital-I Important. (And capital-R Reckless. Or capital-D Dangerous. Augh!) Still, it was more than a little strange being here and dwelling on the state her existence, or whatever you wanted to call it. Fujin was trained for action, and this? Wasn't. She was a Commander now, not a mercenary, and Commanders had to expect obstacles entirely different from hidden laser security systems. This kind of ignorance was a new and unwelcome burden, like an itch she couldn't scratch. And all she could do about the situation (both situations) was dwell on it. Even that authority wouldn't allow her to will her annoyance into corporeal form so that she could punch it in the face. Of all the goddamn things that could have gone wrong with Seifer's Important Plan, the albino would have never thought that it would be boredom and technical glitches. (Seifer had better not be bored right now too. Just occupied and too busy for his friends in a non life-threatening way.) For some reason things had actually gone pretty smoothly. The students were docile if untrusting while under lockdown. Smart kids. It was to be expected if they'd made it this far. The first thing that an orphan learns is what to do when they pawn you off; lie low and hope to whatever hell you believe in that your new guardian doesn't crawl into bed with you that night. It hadn't happened to her, but there were stories… bound to be, with so many homeless kids around after the Estharian War. Too many. Enough to be expendable. Enough to scare every kid in a twenty-mile radius when you saw the look in their eyes. Between the armed guards and the threats, these kids knew the score. Oh, the Headmasters claimed that these were schools like any other, but Fujin knew better. What the hell kind of parents would pack their kid off to become some teenage commando? The albino had to give a hand to Headmaster Cid for that… at first glance one wouldn't expect the man to have the audacity to take advantage of such an unethically cheap source of military strength. (She was an idiot. Seifer was strong - certainly stronger than she was. He was a big boy.) Then again, at first glance one wouldn't think that Headmaster Cid would have the balls to choose Balamb's paint color. Fujin found herself currently staring at her refection in the overly-polished walls of the Garden's largest auditorium, and thinking foolish, overly-analytical thoughts at that. The room's color had faded to the cold impartiality of gunmetal now that she'd sent the loyalists out with orders to keep things quiet. Normally she would have liked that sort of thing; been relieved at a break from the white noise of Raijin's prattle. Now, however, was not very normal, and it was too damn quiet in here. Fujin was pacing again, for her body needed something to do even if her mind was forced to remain idle. (.... Seifer is FINE, moron. Stop being such a bloody girl.) And so it did. She certainly didn't want to give in to some nonexistent weakness, make a mad dash to Martine's office, get an outside telescreen feed, and obsessively check for his presence among the inevitably joyful revelers at the Sorceress' coronation. A gnawing worry was not getting a strangle-hold on her heart. Seifer was a great fighter, he could take care of himself…. even if she didn't know what the hell he thought he was doing being an hour late. She wasn't worried. Nope. She was worried about being a Commander since she hadn't been one before, that was all. That was all. (He'd be fine, and that was all there was to it.) Of course, one more hour and Fujin would drag his scrawny ass out of there if she had to fly the bloody Garden to Delling herself. There was not telling what that Witch would do to her friend. Pace. Pace. Pace. .... (...) Goddamit... where the hell was Raijin!?! Fujin needed something to kick. NOW. *** "Lotsa ya should have been transferred to Balamb, ya know." "What?" "I said that lotsa ya should have been transferred to Balamb. For tha SeeD test. 'Cause, like, ya look like ya could have made it, ya know?" the bronze giant smiled, looking up from the kid in the front row to scan the small group of children that'd been gathered in the lecture hall to hear him. "Yeah. Yeah I could so! Ummm.. mister..." "Raijin. My name is Captain Raijin. Hi everyone!" "Oh. Hi. I'm Ray," the brave little kid stared up at him, flanked by others of a less courageous temperament who were seated in the row behind him. The room tittered with laughter at his audacity. "Do you have any other questions, Ray? Any of you? I know this' gotta be confusin', ya know, but ya don't have to be scared to speak up." Seifer'd told him to look after the little kids, and he was right. Raijin might not be a very smart man, but he knew enough to get the little guys to leave Fujin well enough alone. Fuuj didn't like kids, and kids... didn't like Fuuj. To put it mildly. "Mr.Raijin... what's going to happen to us?" "Well," he scratched the back of his neck, recalling when he'd been just as little and not-knowing was the worst thing in the whole world. Not-knowing where he'd go, or if they'd let Fujin come with him, or if his parents were alive out there and looking for him but they couldn't find him and it was his fault. Stuff like that. It was hard being a kid. "You'll all stay here - no worries there, ya know. Yer classes'll start up again once we've checked out yer teachers 'n stuff, even if the older kids start workin' for the Galbadian Army as special forces. See, I have this friend..." "The scary lady?" "Awww.. she's not so scary. She just acts tough, " he winked conspiratorially. "But no. Not her. I have another friend who's a Knight, ya know." "A real live Knight!? Ch'yeah, right..." "Cross m'heart and hope to die. A real live Knight just like on th' story reels. He's gotta gunblade an' everything." "How come the Knight isn't here? Not that I'm scared, or nothin', " Ray cast a concerned glance at a pretty little girl in pigtails, and sat a little taller. Aaaaw. "Well, it's sorta a long story, but that's okay. Me an' him an' Commander Fujin are a posse, see..." "What's a posse, Mr.Raijin? "It's kinda like bein' best friends, but best friends in the whole world. When you're in a posse, ya do what's best for the posse. Like, telling each other the truth, and bein' loyal an' stuff..." the mass of children looked kind of reassured, which was a start, he guessed. Wasn't as if he'd really practiced this or anything. All in all there were about three hundred primary school kids in Galbadia Garden, and the thirty of them he'd gathered seemed fixated on his every word as he stood on the stage in Sub-Auditorium C. Seifer had said that talking to them in small groups it would be the best way to avoid panic. He'd also called them stupid brats. Seifer was funny like that sometimes. "Would you guys like t'be in a posse too? If ya want, you could have your own posses, ya know. I wouldn't mind. Or maybe your posse could be th' whole Garden. 'Cause bein' in a posse, that's about caring about somethin' and protectin' it, and I know that ya all care about your home and your friends, right? Does that sound good?" The majority of the youngsters nodded. Cautiously, true, but... "Posses do things that are, like, noble an' knightly an' stuff too sometimes, " Raijin parroted his missing buddy. Seifer'd told him kinda what to say, and kinda hadn't. Seifer didn't quite know how to say things right for this. Not that Raijin'd ever say so. "Now, the guys that were here before.. they didn't have a posse." "Where did Headmaster go, Mr. Captain Raijin, sir?" "He want away, ya know? 'Cause he wasn't like a Knight, or in a posse or anythin'. He didn't have anything to protect but his profit, and that isn't good enough fer this crew." "Mr.. Captain Raijin, can I be a Knight when I grow up!?!" "Captain Raijin, does this mean that I don't have to take math anymore?" "Captain Raijin, can lights-out be later now that..." The crowd had formed into a large chorus of 'Captain Raijin's that Raijin figured he'd just wait out, so it took some wild gesturing on the part of an older - and loyal - student to capture his attention. The Captain had been half-daydreaming since he didn't have the hear to shoo the kids off. Nice day, cool boat, and some sweet, sweet silver Delling pike... "Captain! They're getting restless down in the senior dorms. What are your orders?" The kids went quiet. Face falling after the slim euphoria of actually doing something right for a change, Raijin pondered his options. Fujin did not like bad news, and she was probably in one of her scary moods what with Seifer gone. Yeesh. You'd think she'd have a little faith. If he showed up to see Fujin with bad news even if she wasn't in one of her scary moods then she would kick him. Raijin didn't like to get kicked. Sooo... "Ummm... go tell Commander Fujin, ya know? I'm busy," he said, smiling genially. "Yessir." Wow. Cool. He didn't actually have to go tell Fujin OR get his shin kicked. Maybe Seifer'd been right about this Galbadian thing after all. He was kinda bright that way, ya know. *** They weren't the two most stealthy people on earth, so getting around the Galbadian army wasn't gonna be too hard - especially with a comatose body suspended between them. Therefore, again with the sewers. Ew? Zell wasn't exactly sure what had happened to Instructor Trepe, but he did know one thing. They had to get to Caraway Manor. Why? Because Zell needed Squall to tell him what the hell he was supposed to be doing about this. Good ol' Squall... he always came up with a plan somehow. Not that he needed Leonhart to hold his hand or anything. Yeesh. Right now he woulda settled for a familiar landmark. Man, he should've been paying attention when Instructor Trepe led them over. This whole thing reeked in ways above and beyond the obvious. "Zellllll.... are we lost?" Selphie's trademark whine emerged from behind him. "No!" the martial artist yelped. As if he was going to tell Selphie that Quistis was the only one with a clue how to get back. His shoulders were aching by now; the girl behind him really wasn't suited to carrying heavy loads what with her being so short and all. And the pain wasn't the good kind of aching, either. Like, when he was using the punching bag that Ma gave him for his birthday, that was good pain. Pain like that built nuscles, and was garunteed not to kill you while it made you stronger. This pain though... his ligaments just hurt like hell. If he pulled something he'd be useless, and damned if he was going to get pulled out of the action at this point. Seemed like Caraway'd need all the help he could get, and Zell was spoiling for a fight. Grandpa would have told him to work out more. It seemed as though they had progressed back to the same waterwheel again. Well, if you could call that water. Putrid sludge was more like it. Pretty nasty, really. The smell had been okay before, but now that Instructor Trepe was injured it was so nasty that it wasn't even funny. Panic tends to clear the mind, at times. Saving Quistis' life and getting out of this mission alive was quite literally on Zell's shoulders, and that just wasn't cool. Not at all. In fact, it hella sucked. He had just wanted some action, for crying out loud! He knew that he wasn't the leader type - leave that to his buddy Squall - and this just wasn't what he was supposed to be doing. Zell was more than happy being Backup Muscle Guy. Plus, SeeD missions were supposed to be, like, exciting and adventurous and stuff. And he was supposed to get to practice all of the wicked-cool moves that he'd been learning. Nothing in the academy's lectures had mentioned anything about tromping around in a Hyneforsaken sewer with his comatose teacher. What if she died? Hyne... Dammit, this really really really sucked. "Zelllllll... aren't those the stairs?" *** Madmen were a fixture on the streets of Delling - as ordinary and unremarkable a tourist attraction as lamplight or asphalt roads. They came to the capital from all five corners of Galbadia in every conceivable size and shape and mental state to huddle on streetcorners, cry apocalypse, panhandle, and otherwise harass those good citizens who happened to be wealthy enough to pay them to go away. All in all, not a very impressive lot. Seifer Almasy was an exception - but then, Seifer had a knack for being exceptional at most anything he put his mind to. Enraged madness really would fit the bill after his Sorceress' death. Rage is the anesthetic of choice when your world falls apart. The former Knight's subconscious had learned that much from Fujin years ago. So what's one more madman preaching revolution from on top of an abandoned packing crate? When that madman's Seifer Almasy, a whole damn lot. Of course, it helped that his coat wasn't in tatters, and his abandoned packing crate was an imperial parade vehicle, and he was carrying a wicked-looking modified bayonet. But. Nevermind that. He was being inspirational here. Rising from the ashes, from the depths, just one more crazy on the streets of Delling... except this particular former Knight was going to drag himself up from scuzzy anonymity to save the world. Wasn't that a romantic dream? He'd had to come up with it on the fly, and the last one was still wreaking terrified horror and self-recrimination on Seifer's emotions, but for now it'd do. Former Knight? No fucking way. There was a new order to create, wasn't there? In her name - or, more accurately, in her memory. This was her New Reality, and as long as it was with him? She was too. What kind of a world was it where the fairytale couple didn't live Happily Ever After, anyways? Her blood spelled his warning. He'd failed - miscalculated - and she'd had to show him the error of his ways. Seifer could handle that. He'd been so very, VERY stupid, and Hyne if that didn't smart. Yet... this had been a lesson meant for him, hadn't it? Why else would a Sorceress choose to die is such a simple, senseless way? In her blood he was new baptized. He had his orders. He knew his mission. Everything that had come before was prelude and posturing. Seifer Almasy was a made-up name anyways. Not his. Not for him. Just whatever some flunky filling out a register conjured up on the moment's notice after he'd been presented with his fifteenth urchin of the day. In her blood he was new baptized, his name infused with meaning. She'd given him his meaning, and he swore that he'd never forget that. Her kingdom come, her will be done.. "ENOUGH!" Turning from his mistress' body, Seifer raised his weapon and fired a troika of warning shots into the air. Those who stood loyal with their comrades (not his mistress - only HE could claim that honor) turned at the noise. Scarlet on their nightsticks, scarlet on the concrete, scarlet ran through the shrieking of their herd of lost and broken lambs. The soldiers themselves were far too worked up for this even to be considered a riot, their stark Galbadian uniforms often playing victim to humanity's crush rather than vice-versa. Seifer could see it all from his perch behind the protective bonds of a deathtrap. The float had been locked into the gateway, transforming Sorceress, Knight, and guards into little better fish in a goddamn barrel. he was lucky he still had his own life. That was clever. Garden-variety clever. Fuck. That had to be it. It had to be Squall - certain as the sea. Only Squall was worthy of the blood of a Sorceress. Only Squally and his whinging self-absorbed apathy, everything wrong with modern society crystallized into one deadly package, could even hope to challenge a Knight and desecrate his Lady. He should have noticed something before, but Seifer'd just had to be dicking around instead of eliminating the threat... The time for action had come, and he'd missed it, but maybe it wasn't gone quite yet. "You! Open that gate!" "Ummmm....." a guard posted by the winch paused. "NOW!" Seifer had a gun, and Seifer seemed to know what the hell was going on. That was more than the rest of them could admit to possessing. Morover, he had that way about him. His charisma made the lunatic seem possible. Seifer Almasy was a man on a mission, and his missions were your missions wether you liked it or not. "Get the fuck moving! What did I tell you? Open the gate and we'll break through the crowd to the palace! Why are you defending this useless piece of trash? You afraid some pansy civilians are going to hit you with their purses? For Hyne's sake..." Actually, the confused mob looked rather... vicious. Not that Seifer couldn't handle it. "N-no sir?" the guard who was listening to him hesitated with agreement. Wrong answer. The rest were just staring. Worst answer by far. "The Sorceress is dead. This is just the shell of her, it doesn't matter. And the president is gone as well, so you'd better listen the fuck up or we're all going to be crucified by Carroway and his cheap-assed mercenaries." "Who the hell is that guy?" one of them asked. Belligerent fool. "Are you questioning me!?" "That I am," one of the faceless minions, smirked. "You heard me the first time. Who the hell you think you are, prettyboy?" "He's right," called another. "Edea's dead. You got no hold on us, punk." Belligerant, idiotic fools. They should have known better than to antagonize a superior officer - especially when that superior officer was Seifer. "You get this straight, soldier," Seifer frowned with suppressed emotion, and the errant soldier yelped as his gloves caught on fire. It wouldn't break through the leather... yet. It was too easy to point his gunblade at his head. Time... to make an example, "because I'm only going to tell you once before I kill you: Edea isn't dead. Edea CAN'T die. That isn't how this works. Hyne is Edea is someone else out there because the Sorceress is more than one woman - she's beyond any stupid shell. The Sorceress is will and force and cunning and the LAW and - most importantly of all - the Sorceress is forever. Beyond you and me and all this shit. So me? I'm not betting on Carroway. He'll be out on a new coup in a year. And I'm sure as hell not betting on this rabble. They've got no frigging clue - they'd get themselves conquered in a week bitching about their petty problems in some stupid democratic assembly, and they'd be too busy not taxing themselves to pay you. Me? I'm placing my bets on something bigger and better. I think there's something greater in store for this country that those little men with their little political games. Something more than this cynical political assassination bullshit that took Edea's leadership from us, because fucking Carroway decided that as a General he just didn't have enough toys to play with. Look at what he's made your city - your people - into! Nothing but stampeding cattle." Outside the cage there was screaming. A window smashed. A baby was crying. With Edea's control over their higher functions gone there was nothing left but what pathetic beast bared fangs within - flee or fight. His audience was listening. His was the fire of intellect and purpose - not only the voice of reason, but the only voice at all. "So no, I'm not going to do the moral relativist bullshit thing and work 'only for me' because somehow being apathetic and selfish makes me jaded and experienced and worldly. That's fucking stupid. Nor am I going to run to Carroway with my tail between my legs. I was - I AM - her Knight, Seifer Almasy, and I've got a greater purpose than that. I'm betting on a revolution. I'll bet everything I have. My life, and all these others besides. Because she's out there somewhere, my Sorceress, and I'm going to FIND her. I'll find her and make this nation worthy of her name." His gun had left its deadly pose as he'd taken to impassioned hand gestures. The soldiers did not seem to mind. "So the question becomes - are you with them? Are you with him, hiding in his mansion instead of taking on Edea himself while SeeD brats do his dirty work, not even cleaning up his own goddamn mess like a man with some balls? Are you with the fucker that's abandoned you to this? Or are you with me?" The man's fire went out with a whimper, while the surrounding torches flared up. Seifer had always known he was melodramatic - in point of fact, he'd strived for it. Melodrama was the only way to really live. One more time, now. "Are you with me?" And they looked back out. And they looked back in. And they didn't look at the man beside them. And saluting broke out in the ranks. Seifer nodded, half-smiling. "Then let's get the hell out of here."The almost-ancient gates once more rattled into their accustomed resting place. Not the most graceful of calls to arms... but considering the circumstances it would have to do. Before he'd been doing this all wrong, and she'd had to show him that. Who had he thought he was, that the world would come to him on a platter that easily? The Knight? Maybe. Maybe he could call himself that, even if he wasn't yet. The Knight had to prove himself to make the name worth anything. He had to be worthy. There was something seriously wrong with this world, these... people, acting like animals, with no fucking clue about honor or loyalty or acting like a goddamn human being should. The best thing that'd ever happened to their sorry asses was dead, and all they could do was bleat like sheep. Slay the Dragon. Save the Sorceress. THEN live Happily Ever After. This joke of a society - it made people like fucking monsters. Ergo. Slay the Dragon. He could do that. *** "Irvine... we have to get out of here." The words reached the young man's ears and, instead of being processed as was their due, seemed to fade into thin air. "You were successful," his companion continued, "Our mission is concluded. We have to get out of here." He wasn't stupid. The message came out load and clear. Yet still, he sat immobile. Waiting. Maybe he was waiting for the red-clad soldiers wending their way through the mob to reach him and tear him all apart. Or maybe, just maybe, he was waiting for his mother to get back up and say that this was all a game just like when he was little. Or maybe he wasn't. Maybe he just wanted to die. He was a mercenary. He did know they'd die if they didn't leave... or at least he knew at some level. But then, what did he know? "I-it wasn't supposed to be this way," a muttering, scattered to the wind. Before he... before her... it had been a warm night, before. "What are talking about?" Squall said, and another cool breeze paid homage to the north wind. Squall did not understand or care, because Squall didn't want to. That was good. Irvine deserved that. He deserved... no he didn't. He couldn't have done that. He couldn't.... "It wasn't... it was just a signal...just... just a..." And when the blood ran down her dress she was smiling. Smiling. Smiling. Why were they screaming? "Pull yourself together. We have to leave before Seifer gets here." "Do you remember her smile, Squall?" his voice cracked, broken. "Why are you..." Squall said, exasperated. Even the unflappably efficient Leonhart had his limits. "You don't remember," the sniper rasped. "YOU don't have to remember, do you?" "Squall... they're coming!" Practically dragging the shell-shocked assassin away from his perch, Squall nodded to his second charge. "Whatever. Let's go." *** Rinoa followed bad news like a storm followed a calm. So she should have been there, because as bad news went, this was approaching awful. The President was dead, the Sorceress was dead, and the streets were in chaos. Hyne. The first thing that General Carroway had thought to see when he entered his office, fresh from a rather alarming message delivered by one of his soldiers, was his daughter. She was inconvenient that way. Probably demanding to be let out, or using that devastating look on him which he'd never really been able to figure out. Even her mother, the great and worldly Julia Heartilly, couldn't put one past his baby girl Rinoa's tried-and-true puppydog eyes. He'd have to stand firm, though. Great Hyne - those friends of hers. Mustn't forget to keep them away from it all as well if he could - he had a feeling that things would end badly. Especially if his daughter were involved. They were just from two different worlds, and his daughter didn't seem to understand what he was protecting her from. They came from a cruel place, and even if she managed to survive there once those orphans realized how little she needed to be there they'd get resentful, she'd be a burden for trained soldiers, and... Did she think he didn't know about her carrying on with that Almasy boy!? Honestly. He had nothing against SeeDs in general, but his girl didn't seem to realize that boys from the wrong side of the tracks came with more baggage than their 'cool' clothing and interesting scars. Rinoa didn't understand war. And if Robert Carroway had his way, she'd never have to. Only love can break your heart. As such, it would be an understatement to say that three teenage mercenaries covered in filth were a bit of a... shock. A worrisome shock. If they'd been gone at some point, Rinoa had probably followed them. She was like that. "What the..." He'd told her to stay home! What did she think she was doing!? Rinoa - an amateur at best - could have been killed by... and those SeeDs were completely irresponsible, going off without his orders! "General Carroway, sir," a boy, blondish and underwhelmingly attired, addressed him while plopping a human-shaped load on the divan. A very expensive divan. Which was now covered in slime and dung and the Guardian Forces knew what else. It was fortunate that General Carroway was of military stock in the grande olde tradition. It kept his emotions in line. "What's going on here? And where's my daughter," the pitbull bark of a man as used to giving orders as breathing made its entrance. This couldn't be happening again... "Answer me!" he had, of course, the requisite matching gaze of iron. Standard equipment, don't you know. Perhaps his disposition was not such a blessing after all. "We.... the Sorceress is dead, sir." "I know that! Now why isn't Rinoa with you!?!" He had no time for this.. why must the girl always run off at the most importune moments!? The government was falling! He didn't have time for this... childishness! "Please... Instructor Quistis here is in helluva bad shape. You've gotta help her. We don't know what happened. She's been out a real long time, and her eyes have gone all freaky, and she just collapsed and we didn't know what to do." "We thought that Rinoa was with you," the conscious girl added. Mentally cursing life, his daughter's flighty temperament, and humanity in general - the officer sharply turned away. "Well go and..." An anonymous underling, clad in the ubiquitous Galbadian red, moved to interrupt. "Sir! The Sorceress' guards are moving to shore up in Delling palace! Lieutenant Xen asks for your orders, sir." "Dammit..." the older man growled, holding back his more... ungentlemanly sentiments. "You! Call someone about the girl... and if Rinoa comes back send a messenger. I've got work to do." Once again, Rinoa Heartilly had abandoned her father. And once again, duty called far louder than any mewlings which might cross the chasm is his heart that was Julia Heartilly. Some days, he didn't blame either of them for not loving him *** An hour and a half. He was supposed to have called her back. And hour and a half ago. If Raijin had gotten a message and not told her, she'd carve out his intestines with a rusty spoon. "Commander Fujin? Ma'am?" a generic soldier poked his head about the entryway. "SEIFER, CALLED?" that was as anxious as Fujin was going to let herself get. Even asking the question was about two degrees beyond acceptable limits of humiliation, but... "Ummm.. no Ma'am," the messenger seemed to physically shrink. "DISTURB, WHY!?!" his commander snapped in return. "We seem to have a problem with..." "RAGE!" Something lacking in Siefer-related content was definitely on the 'not wanting to hear' list. Problem!? What, did they not like the food or something!? What were their stupid little problems compared to... That was it. Am hour and a half. Who knew what had happened to Seifer in all that time? Fujin had to do something. "GARDEN, FLY," she demanded. "I'm sorry Ma'am, but there seems to be a bit of a situation on the dorms. Some of the students..." "GARDEN, FLY!" "... are getting unruly Commander Fujin ma'am. I'm sorry Ma'am, but you might want to get down there. We're having trouble containing it. Some of them have set fire to.." She glared. He finished. Fuck. There were now two options to be considered. The first was, of course, to get her ass down to Delling and make sure that the third member of her posse wasn't the main course in some kind of magical sacrifice or whatever the hell Sorceresses did in their free time while they weren't fucking with her friends. The second would be not to disappoint him when he got back... Inaudibly sighing, Fujin grabbed the front of the unfortunate private's uniform. "TAKE," a hoarse growl emerged to to swipe at her inferior. "TAKE NOW." The students of Galbadia Garden were going to pay for this. Dearly. *** There was something too organic about Delling Palace - all curves and veils and tendonlike arches. A beast of the ocean depths, perhaps, flowing blues and greys and translucence forming an ethereal sort of skeleton where perhaps a garden might have thrived. Too static for life, and too flowing for death. A clever deception by a clever man, that.  Well, at least he must have been clever at some point.  Now he wasn't even a meal for the flies, having been vaporized for all to see on national television.  A blemish on the life of a man who'd fought against the most advanced empire of the modern age and lived to tell about it. It must have made him cocky - dealing with a Sorceress was never too healthy for unworthy mortal men. Still, President Delling's palace was something special among the baubles of the tyrants of the day - a brilliant facade.  It was deceptively far removed for the inferno depths of Galbadia's subterranean political prison, and gated away from the writhing hordes who didn't need to know that Galbadia had a subterranean political prison. It didn't hurt that any dictator worth a damn armed his stronghold to the teeth. There was a spiral stairwell in the forum of the building, and it seemed to be the only escape from a suffocating crush of human bodies.  Humidity of breath and scent of battle took on a life of its own, an entity thriving on the tattered mass whose very presence contradicted their surroundings' gentility. It was odd, then, that only one man stood on that stairwell. A tattered sort of man - worn and bloodstained white - who could on his better days burn brighter than the sun.  "Alright. I want company one to get their asses to the rooftop and man the rail guns - and for Hyne's sake flow that goddamn clock the fuck up. Second company is searching every goddamn corner of this place for our gunmen, and if you even think about killing them I will personally hand your ass to you. You find someone, you report to me. Third company - you're at the breach.  BARRICADE is the word, people. We're not getting through this alive or in control with just some pansy sniping, and if these people manage to seize the palace and start a revolution none of you are getting paid.  The rest of you get your asses to the walltop.  I want a sentry every ten meters.  Is that clear? " Silence reigned, but for the screams of rioters caught in magical insanity, breathing, and the rustling of clothes. Not too enthusiastic, but at least he'd pulled them all in here. Goddamn pansy morons couldn't even take direction... The crowd blinked. In unison. Quite the achievement, actually. "Look, does anyone else have the balls to get up here? I didn't think so. So get your pansy asses out there before that mob tears us apart!" And lo, order ensued.  Almost mystically, really. Of course there were the usual rumblings of discontent, but one did not make it into Edea's guard without knowing the ways of the wolf pack.  Subordinate creatures, the lot of them. Well, that and the tiny matter of not wanting to die. The smell of charred flesh wafted through the windows. None of them could afford to be too disgusted by that. "Do we have any tech people here?" the leader's voice, that of one Seifer Almasy, didn't sound like it should have that kind of power. It was too sedate for people to notice that little touch of madness that made him as eccentric as any great leader. Said voice halted a surprisingly large soldier in his tracks - brave soul. "Sir?" it took him a minute to fight through the crowd. "Congratulations, you're promoted.  Now get on the line with Carroway and ask him where the fuck his people are!  I'm out of here." The man nodded, more than a little cowed by the one turning away from him to climb the steps. "Sir? Where..." the refrain continued, this time a bit more unsteady. "Rooftop, " Seifer clipped his words. "And I shall address you to General Carroway as..." the man was either extremely competent, or extremely stupid. Given the rather disconcerting gleam in Seifer's eyes at the moment, most likely a bit of both. "Sir Seifer. Stop wasting my time," the Knight drawled. "But.. sir, the sorceress is dead..." apparently stupidity had won out as motivating factor. "Did I not just give you a direct order?" his commander breathed a question, narrowing cerulean eyes in impatience before continuing his ascent. Seifer didn't need to wait for the answer - there were important things to be done. Fucking pansy.  No wonder these people needed a man like him to fix things for them. "... no sir. Sorry, sir..." The foyer had emptied itself of infection, leaving but that one fragment stranded on perfect steps.  The veils on the walls, alas, ,has met their fate at the hand of overzealous soldiers. The acoustics of the empty chamber, however, served to carry one Knight's footsteps over the cacophony. *** If Delling Palace might easily have been mistaken for a Garden, then Galbadia Garden should have been a fortress rather than a glorified dormitory.  A pity, really.  Fujin certainly wished that it was.  If it were a fortress it might be full of professionals rather than a bunch of heavily-armed case-studies in the effect of post-traumatic stress syndrome on adolescents. Never mind that two out of three misanthropes would have dubbed the albino the same. She, at least, wasn't so deluded as to think that the death of Martine would be a great time to attempt to hold some kind of teenaged-rebellion-turned-protest-turned-kegger.  Obviously, the students of Galbadia Garden doubted her ability to kick their asses. A tragic flaw on their part, really. Bah.  Students.  She could deal with students if they didn't respect her enough yet to act like soldiers even in their mutiny. Such a tragic mistake on their part. "RAGE!" Soldiers for example, would have taken an aggressive yet defensive position upon the entrance of a hostile force smaller than their own into home territory.  The could have organized some sort of blockade maybe, or if mercenary they could have performed a nasty little guerilla ambush.  It was the trademark of inferior forces everywhere, naturally, but at least it would involve a force.  At the very least they might have traveled in packs for safety, guarded their backs, or developed some kind of convoluted escape plan through ventilation ducts and/or easily locked passages. When Fujin and her group of higher-ranked student loyalists stormed through the hallways to the entrance of a now thoroughly-wrecked cafeteria, the general populace didn't bat an eye. It looked like a tornado had recently been interior decorating, rather than any sort of organized defense perimeter having been set up. If they couldn't take her out, then she deserved their respect, dammit. It appeared that the new Commander had a problem.  A very loud, somewhat drunken, and altogether disrespectful problem.  Apparently, being... "nice" to them hadn't worked. Telling them what was happening and asking them to have some fucking slef-discipline hadn't worked. Did they think she wasn't serious? Dare they assume that because she was only a year or two older than them (if that) they could take control away from her? The most annoying part of the whole situation was that she knew exactly how it felt - that burning desire to be in control of something.  It must be an orphan thing. Unacceptable, that depth of feeling.  That was best left to Seifer. Disciplinary Committee Tactic One: act to impress. The worst thing that can happen to a glorified hall monitor is to lose face. "RAAAAAAAAAAGE!" Thereby came the sad, swift, and sudden downfall of three kegs of beer liberated from the kitchens.  Poor things.  They couldn't have seen the triplet Thundaga's heading for them. Shards of hot metal hit a couple of students, who squealed in the background as a raging torrent of beer thundered to a temporary life. Now, apparently, she had the class' attention. "INSOLENCE!" Unfortunately, her intimidation tactics had a rather unanticipated effect.  Said effect being very little of one. The students seemed more confused than anything, and some of them appeared to be... laughing at her? Stifling giggles in the crowd?  These ill-trained, sheltered, pansy students dared to laugh at her!?! And what moron had decided to have a party in the middle of a freaking war zone?  And what the hell was this? Why, the frightening realization that she had no mouthpiece, of course. "Heya, look at the freak." "Whassamatter, 'Commander' - cat got your tongue?" "I heard she's retarded and can't speak and shit." "I heard her parents were brother and sister and that's why she's crazy looking and..." Even her own men were... laughing. Not that she hadn't dealt with this before. It'd always been like this, for her, until Seifer. Looking at her, laughing at her, judging her, measuring her into some small and twisted fragment of herself that she wasn't, except to everyone but her she was, so which was the more real of the two of those? The formerly confident soldier swallowed, and rediscovered the feeling of wanting to shrink in on herself. Seifer wasn't there. Neither was Raijin. Fujin was the center of attention and that was never a good thing. She was supposed to be invisible. It was metaphorically appropriate, no? And so, before a crowd of dozens of red-clad teenagers (and the hundreds more she'd had patched through on telescreen, so they could see her triumph over their fellows and know their place), Fujin Asher was faced with a decision.  It was the kind of decision that changes things, like the wings of a butterfly fluttering to create a storm ten thousand miles away.  Certainly it was a decision that belonged more in some kind of television special about personal growth to be shown after school hours.  It was something so apparent in it's alteration of reality that it blew the concept of chaos theory right out of the water. This wasn't the Sort of Thing Fujin Did. She didn't like all of those people looking at her. She... she... she killed people, swiftly and silently, or she kicked them in the ass because they'd crossed Seifer or the rule books or whatever, but she didn't... it was just, he'd always been there. It wasn't her job. If she was going to make a decision like that, she'd always figured it would be a life-or-death (or life-or-Raijin, or life-or-Seifer) situation. Not something stupid and trivial like this. Except... maybe it was a life-or-death situation, after all. You don't have to have your heart ripped out or your brains blown away to stop living. But. Seifer needed her. So. Something had to be done. So. Her job was to be his enforcer. So. In order not to fail him, she'd have to... enforce. So. Fujin was afraid that they were going to have to SHUT UP. "Do you find this situation amusing?" Her voice was scratched and bleeding into a growl. It was angry and raw and neglected, kept under lock and key beneath the floorboards like all ugly things of which she knew. It was low and chilling. It wasn't quite human and it wasn't quite right, but it was, for once, just what she needed at the moment. The threat lurked within her words like a snake in the grass - sinewy and hypnotic. Seifer had rhetoric, but she didn't. Fujin only had fear. The fighter knew very well that there were worse things to have watching your back in a firefight. "This is my Garden. I am your commander, not your mother. And you will respect me," said, her tone dead. Seifer's way hadn't worked for her. She'd done the speech - had Raijin preach ideology. If that didn't work, Fujin would have to. 'demona it's mine. give it to me The air was resigned to her bidding. It had been imprisoned for too long in whatever negative space her Pandemona shackled all the winds - their spirits broken. She would grasp the ephemeral and subjugate it to her will. Power like that only came easily to Sorceresses. It wasn't meant for the likes of her. A hundred misbehaving students and her ad-hoc disciplinary mob were slammed into the corrugated steel walls of the Galbadia Garden cafeteria, the break knocked out of them and stolen that it might converge and work her will. It lifted the oversized, sharpened shruiken ring she carred and set it to revolving around the room like a buzz-saw. Several students lost the tips of their tresses, or had the fronts of their uniforms slashed open. The former kegs, now charred, were sliced and diced into shards of their former selves. "I'm was from the Balamb elite, so I know the secrets of the Guardian Forces. And I've been policing the likes of you for years. You would be well advised to TAKE me seriously," they could hear her steadily over the whistle and the rush. Many of them couldn't breath, but that was none of her concern. A wall of rubble scraps was slowly being formed in the vortex to shield their reddened faces from her. "I am your Commander, not your Headmaster. I don't give detentions, and when I give an order I expect it to be carried out. I will have DISCIPLINE." Then, after catching her weapon, she let it all... drop. "I expect this to be clean in two hours." Then Fujin turned and left. "UNDERSTOOD?" She took the choking as a yes. Disciplinary Committee Tactic Two: if you want someone to not do something ever again, you have to give them a damn good reason not to. That reason should ideally be you. *** "Sir." An orderly, upon entering General Carroway's office, would be immediately struck with the implicit neatness of the place.  It wasn't quite sterile, really, but... very much starched. It was rather alot like Robert Carroway himself. Back strait, eyes forward, the military ideal - that was the rule of the day.  The Rule of Law. "I'm somewhat occupied here. Is it Rinoa?" the beaded man, obviously fatigued, propped his head up only by force of an iron will.  Carroway been working out troop movements for most of the night. There had to be a way to impose martial law temporarily without sending the people of the city into a panic - he just had to find it. Preferably without having to station a jeep full of ground troops on every major streetcorner. "No, sir.  We're recieved a communiqué from Delling Palace.  Seems that they've holed up under a... 'Sir Seifer Almasy', sir?  Apparently they're trying to subdue the civilians by force." "Almasy.. did you say Almasy?" the question in his voice was uncharacteristic.  Uncertaintly was as out of place on him as candle-light was in the study of one of the most modern buildings in Galbadia.  "Yes, sir." Again somewhat jarringly - given his usual unflappable manner - the general appeared mildly frustrated.  Not a good sign in a man who'd acquired most of his frown lines at war with the Estharian Empire. "One of Edea's lapdogs, " the general offered by way of explanation. "That's the last thing we need." "They're requesting support." ".... Withhold.  And have our men withdraw to circle this compound. I want barricades on Moravia Street and Beecher Avenue." It was the general's job to be decisive, and decisive he was. He'd spoken the truth - the last thing they needed was for some upstart Sorceress' lackey to make a grab for power at a time like this.  Madman. If he wanted to start a civil war, Carroway would give it to him. Robert Carroway had given up too much for the army - nay, the nation - for anything else to be acceptable.  After all, Rinoa was out of his grasp. *** Squall had said that they needed to run, so they ran. Irvine wasn't quite sure why, anymore. In the beginning Squall had practically had to drag him. He couldn't stop looking at... No. "Squall... I need to rest. My feet hurt." Irvine Kinneas heard the girl's soprano through a fog of silence. Not that it really was silent, but the pained screaming of the panicked mass below them had become something more then a little like white noise. Or maybe Irvine Kinneas was just on another frequency from the rest of the world altogether. This mad dash to safety didn't seem quite real. And neither did she, so his gaze did not map out imagined curves as it might once have with skill and an intense desperation. She couldn't break the silence. She was nothing - outside the forgetful little world they'd manufactured which Irvine could see but couldn't quite break into, with nothing to remember or forget. How had they done it? Why had they cast Matron away? Couldn't they see? The stars were staring down at him in silent secret judgement and they saw everywhere and everything. Where they were, where there were no memories, maybe there were no stars as well. Won't they let me in? Won't you? I've been good, Matron. I promise. I've been good. It wasn't my fault. Not ever. Focus. The girl was breathing heavily - obviously unsuited to combat.  She smiled at him.  Or more accurately, at Squall Leonhart.  No matter. Irvine's body ran on reflex. She smiled.. why won't she stop smiling at me? Matron, please... don't you believe me? I can show you, if you like. "I'll be alright, though! We're only a neighborhood away from home. Then we can get cleaned up and figure out a plan," the blue-clad girl chirped.  Her hair was black as night and she was smiling. Still smiling.  He could taste her smile. It stuck on his tongue like nicotine and ashes. The stars were cold, and watching. Constellations have no faces. Matron had no face now, either. I can show you. That... I would never hurt you. Squall. Squall said that he would do it. Squall said. This was Squall's fault. So we'll still go to the beach, right? "You alright, Irvine?" Rinoa interrupted, apparently undaunted by her ordeal or two hours of playing hide and seek along the rooftops of downtown Delling. "Stop that!" the sniper snapped. "Stop what?" the girl's brow creased in confusion.  Rinoa was one of the more naive souls to grace this particular rooftop.  And her voice... She was really being very nice to him. "You... it's.. just stop it! I don't want to hear it! You don't speak anymore" Irvine managed a growl, raising his rifle into an instinctive block. The air was closing in on him. She had to shut up so he could get his shit back together. But it wasn't anything he could just explain. Poison-tipped, armor-piercing bullets rarely are. Their fearless leader Squall was, as usual, oblivious. He'd been paying more attention to the possible motions of surrounding troops and the implications of a spreading housefire. They - they were secondary.  Just like Matron had been, apparently. Maybe it was Rinoa a bit, too. Maybe all that fire on her coal-black hair had him, everyone once in a while, distracted for that moment that'd kill him if he were in the field. The kind of moment most mercs take, if you've seen the ladies in their line of work. Rinoa certainly would have liked that, but one never really knew with a man like Squall. Just like you... so it's okay if you're gone, if she's here? That's... He tricked me. It's not my fault. Not gonna think about it. "Both of you - we have to keep moving..." Squall said apathetically, gesturing towards a ladder. He didn't seem to care if Rinoa was almost moved to tears. He was the kind of man that didn't see anything wrong with hurting men but not women. So there was no observable reaction when Irvine turned towards him, firearm raised. None of them care. But I do. I promise. I'll show you. It's his fault. It's their fault. I was just a signal, just a sign. "This is your fault!  Your responsibility!" Irvine hissed. "...What?" the response came like blood from a stone.  Apparently the impervious Mr.Leonhart could be made to react after all, even if it was pretty damn anticlimactic. "You said it. You said so yourself.  What I did was just a signal. Just a sign." Such inattentiveness was probably why he hadn't noticed something in the sniper before. Something... broken.  An air of wrongness that served as well as any sound psychiatric diagnosis and white asylum jumped to brand Irvine Kinneas Not Quite All There. Irvine was finding existance as a label to be a liberating feeling. I'll prove it to her.  I will. Then she'll stop, I know it. Then she'll smile at him. "You were the one that killed her.  Why did you kill Matron?  She loved us. All of us. She was the only one who ever loved us - you know that. She gave us a place to live, and jobs, and lives. She saved my life. I owed her my life, and you took it," and suddenly, those lips so trained for sensuality were curled upwards in a cruel parody of a grin.  The world seemed limitless - endless without her there. Without her he could stare into that abyss of her dark dark hair and see the stars looking for his next failing, his next fall, the stain in his eyes and his heart and his soul that... Squall, of course, noticed none of that. "Irvine?" he said, slowly backing away. "You have to calm down. Think rationally. The Sorceress may have placed some sort of residual hex on you before she died. You don't want to do something irrational." "It's your fault.  And I'm going to prove it to her.  I'm going to make her stop - let her rest," he'd seduced dozens of women with that smile. Men too. But none of them were Her.  That smile was love and lust and longing all wrapped in a hunger that wasn't for her - not really - but for what she represented, which was love, and to be loved, and to belong somewhere for one sweaty stupid moment that transcended bedrooms and bathrooms and clubs and lifted him into place scorching beautiful with sun and sand and sky. Irvine had been trying to find the path. Really, he had. The others had forgotten that there ever was one. And to think: once, he'd thought they'd be waiting. But he knew now. Squall Leonhart. He was the first. Always monopolizing Matron's time. Always crying off into space, never their friend, like his problems were so much worse than theirs, like he had the right to submerge the path and burn the woods and cloud away the sun with all his fucking misery when he didn't even deserve Matron and... He did it! Lock. You'll have to see what really happened. "IRVINE! Snap out of this! You're not that green. Just keep it together until we get to Carroway's." Something wet hit is chest. "I threw a Panacea at him. Squall, it's not working, so hr can't be Confused. I don't understand, Squall. I'm scared, I..." "Get back, Rinoa." Load. He wasn't going to think about that. Fire. It was loud (the thunderclap, the gasp, her crying, and the squelch of a thud after the fall) and red. Redredred. Squall had stumbled to the edge of the building and fell over and then Irvine couldn't see him anymore. That was good. He didn't smile when he got shot though, unlike Matron. Squall had never been a happy person. They promised. You always said that I should make sure that people fulfill their promises, Matron. Liars are bad. "Wh- what have you done, Irvine? Why... why would you.. he was..." a tear-stained, heart-shaped face attempted to intrude upon the sniper's vision.  Alas, it could not. "H-he never did anything really bad, he... I think I really..." And I did it just like the men in school said that I was supposed to. Aren't I a good boy, Matron? Maybe I shall go to the beach. I liked the beach, out by the lighthouse.  I liked to make sand castles. The waves were big.  And you would play with me - you looked so pretty, Matron. And you'd smile at me. Then Sephie'd dump water on my head. She was so funny. But you wouldn't smile that smile.  The other. That smile's for him. Yes. "I'm leaving now," Irvine stated, stepping up into a ledge twixt adjacent structures.  The NotThem NotMatron girl had fallen to her knees, sobbing into air whose humidity just might have a chance at matching the moisture of her tears. "I'll see you later, if you feel like coming. She'd like to meet you, I bet." Because I didn't do it. I didn't. And I'm not going to think about it. *** She was still crying when he came to find her. Or maybe someone else had found her and he was just coming, because they didn't really know what to do with General Robert Carroway's weeping daughter on the rooftop of a sub-building of the Delling Palace. She didn't know. She wouldn't have noticed. Rinoa knew that she was not a soldier. She'd tried to be - she'd really wanted to be, if only because her father wouldn't let her and she just knew that if someone did it right then they wouldn't have to end up like Daddy at all. All cold, and alone, and distant... if you fought for something you believed in and you made a difference you got to be a soldier and a human being too, right? She could have done that. Before now, she'd thought maybe she could have been a soldier. Back then, though, she hadn't really known what soldiers did. So she was crying. Because maybe she could have made him better. Her poor Black Knight. Fighting... she wasn't strong enough to do that much, but maybe if she could have saved someone as powerful and vulnerable as Squall she could have made a real difference after all. He was so hurt, so haunted, and none of them ever saw it, just like they never saw it in themselves. Because they were soldiers, and they thought it was normal, but it wasn't. And how many people like her suffere because of that? None of them had to be the way they were. None of them had to be soldiers. Maybe there was no right way to be a soldier. Maybe you just went cold and hard and merciless or you... snapped. Rinoa Heartilly didn't think that she wanted to be a soldier much anymore. That dream was breaking right alongside her heart. Snap, snap. So she settled on the concrete and she scratched her knees up and she felt the pain and she fogged her eyes until she forgot all about where she was except for the fact that she wasn't with him. She'd never be with him again. Just like with Mum. And the thing that made her saddest - made her crumble and come undone - wasn't so much that he was no longer alive, but that he'd never really lived, and she could have helpd him. For once, the spoiled little rich girl could have done some good. Couldn't they see that under all that pain there had been a good person, who didn't quite understand what was happening to him, so he decided to let nothing happen at all? It hadn't been just his looks, or the bad-boy attitude. Rinoa had done that before with Seifer, and it hadn't worked out. Squall had been gorgeous because he was damaged - like a baby bird with broken wings, his pathos brought out things in Rinoa she'd always sort of suspected she was a little too shallow to feel. None of the rest of them saw it, but she had. The way he'd look a little lost when they all talked about their friends. They way he looked like he wanted to smile but didn't quite know how. Compassion had demanded that she fall in love with him. It was easy to see how he could be so strong and dauntless and perfect, if he wasn't so frozen and ruined and tragic. Rinoa thrived on love, knew what it was like not to get it from someone you thought ought to grant it to you, knew just how easy it was to fool yourself into thinking that it didn't exist or, if it did, it was for beings lower than you who didn't understand the secret to a painless life. And now he was gone. He had been supposed to protect her, but he couldn't, and he'd gone before she could protect him. So perhaps they'd both failed. He'd never have love, and he'd never be more than a shell of what he could have been. And she'd never be his savior, so she'd never see that love returned, and what else worthwhile could a girl as sheltered and untrained as her do with her life? When he came to find her she was still crying, and she didn't notice that he was there "Rinoa?" he knelt to grasp her hands away from where they covered her face. "Rinoa, are you alright? What happened here?" When she could see again it came as a low, dull shock to her system that it wasn't her Black Knight but her White. Right. The Black Knight lay bleeding three stories below. She didn't want to look again. "How did you get up here, Rinoa? Did you see anyone? Did you see what happened to... Edea?" he drew her into a loose, gentle hug, and she wondered where the Seifer she'd known had gone. "I know you must be frightened, but I can protect you. You're safe now. You just have to tell me." Her White Knight had come for her. And before she knew it she was crying on his shoulder. She didn't want to see, anymore, and he was warm and soothing. She'd wanted to prove that boyfriends and fathers and SeeDs weren't the only ones who could dothe fighting but... fat lot of good she'd been when the guy she'd maybe been in love with's life was on the line. Things like this weren't supposed to happen - not to her. They'd called her a Princess. "Th-they came to kill her and I followed them and the gun fired and Squall is gone and I don't know what to do I can't go home I want to go home I.. it's my fault. I wasn't strong enough. He was supposed to protect me, and he warned me, but I wasn't strong enough to love him more and tell him so, so now it's all gone and he'll always be sad and I don't know what to do, Seifer. I don't know what to do." "Shhhh. It's all going to be alright," his voice trembled. Wasn't so steady as usual. Now it was certain that it was still her old Seifer, though, because all that pent-up passion was still there, and it wasn't really for her. Squall was supposed to have been the one for her. "You don't have to worry. I know it's hard, but I'm going to take care of things. I'll fix it." "Really?" "Really." "You can't d-do that. No one can." "Watch me." *** In the depths of Sir Seifer Alamsy's mind, a plan was forming. It wasn't, of course, THE Plan - the overarching story of his life that was waiting to be written. This was just a commonplace little gambit to fill in the interim. One that he had to admit was lacking a bit in class, and not to his usual tastes at all. Rinoa... poor Rinoa. Whatever she'd seen, it had reduced the delicate civilian to incoherent babbling. Seifer could understand that. She was innocent. Naive. Untouched by this world. He liked that, in a person. So he liked her. He'd always liked her, until she'd decided that she didn't need his or her father's protection and had run off to Hyne-knew-where in Dollet to try and change the world in the most ludicrous way possible. Honestly, he sympathized with the sentiment, but Rinoa or Carroway interfering in things could only lead to misguided ruin or the muddled and useless sort of government the General's generation seemed to prefer. If anything, the evening's fiascos with Rinoa and his (exposed, on an open platform, easily-targeted because she wanted a good setting for her triumphant parade) Lady had taught him a very valuable lesson: sometimes, people need to have things decided for them. It was ignoble to use her like this. But really, there was nothing else to do. There was an order of priorities here, and if he could, he'd take the stain on himself just to keep everything else... unsullied. That was the real purpose of a Knight. "Sir, General Carroway has refused all requests to establish a coordinated effort," a former member of the Presidential Guard addressed him from the foot of Edea's Throne. He'd have to keep it warm for her. Edea had been a wise woman, with her fireworks and her grand glamourous exhibitions - it really was all about image. He had vowed to learn from her example, to live as the righteous extension of her memory. " His aide confirmed that the Sorceress is indeed dead, and her successor is being held under guard at Carroway Manor until our people have the city calm down. Apparently she needs medical attention. He asks that we dispatch units to the north and eastern sectors of the city and proclaim temporary martial law until elections can be held for a new President, while his forces will move to stabilize the western and southern blocs. If I may say, sir, it sounds as if..." "Fuck that." "S-sir?" "You heard me. Fuck that," Seifer growled. "Who the hell does Carroway think he is, ordering me around!? Obviously he has his jurisdictions confused here - not that I didn't see it coming, presumptuous old men are all the same. As Imperial Knight, the Sorceress is mine to care for. Not his. Our General Carroway appears to think that he can play me for a fool and carry off a goddamn coup." Sir Almasy held the bridge of his nose before sighing, taking a deep breath, and bemoaning the fact that he was surrounded by peons with no vision and fewer brains. He needed someone sensible around. Like Fujin. Hyne, he'd have preferred dealing with Raijin over these fools. "Tell that bitch Carroway's people that I want their Sorceress, and that I expect the whole of the armed forces to be placed under my jurisdiction by sunrise." "Sir?" The aide looked started. Idiot! Those completely lacking a clue shouldn't question those who make them. "Tell them..." Seifer strightened himself, confident, "that I have his daughter." *** That night, Fujin Asher took control. It didn't quite feel right, but it didn't really feel wrong either. She didn't once more think of Seifer Alamsy that evening... except for when she did. That night, Seifer Almasy decided that something needed fixing.  That a dream was not only worth his own death, but those of a thousand others and all the armies of Galbadia besides. That a Knight - and only a Knight - could make things right. Some people were going to be less than cooperative about things, but he was used to that. That night, Quistis Trepe lay in a coma awaiting medical care. Raijin Kasim told two hundred scared young children a story about the children of a boy and a girl whose mother was a thunderstorm. Zell Dincht helped to build barricades, Selphie Tilmitt took a nice hot shower, and Rinoa Heartilly-Carroway cried herself to slumber in a locked stateroom. That night, General Robert Carroway didn't sleep a wink. That night, Irvine Kinneas lost his way. Where had the path gone? That night, Edea Kramer's body was burned to ashes. That night Squall Leonhart 's lifeblood mingled with the rainwater, his broken tangled into gutter trash as his soul slid into the ebb and flow of nothingness. But when the sun rose, he blinked. ************************ Author's note: Yeah, I know, I know... things are still bearing quite a bit of resemblance to the original Broken Mirror. I do hope that anyone who has read this before shall bear with me? Things don't really branch out plotwise to a significant extent until after the Defenestration of Fujin next chapter. That's not to say, however, that I'm not already planting certain tidbits to be dredged up later in the New, More Fully Realized Plotline of BM2.0. I'm also hoping that Seifer's coming off as much less psychotic in this version. I'd always thought that one of the tragedies of the original game was that Seifer was (for all intents and purposes) a much more proactive, socially aware, moral sort of person than the rest of the Balamb kids. His problem was more that he was an ends-justify-the-means kind of guy, and that doesn't usually turn out well even if your ends are well-intentioned. Also, he's something of an obsessive bastard. But enough about that. The title refers to Squall, Stalinist propaganda, and an obscure Canadian television series I was addicted to in the fifth grade (which was... ten years ago. Yikes! I find the extent to which I retain irrelevant details about fictional works alarming). Yes, I'm aware that Squall didn't actually directly wreck anything, although everyone else is mucking things up left and right. That's kind of the point. Gold Star if you know what I mean :)