Chapter 21

Hungry

            "History admires the wise, but it elevates the brave." – Edmund Morris

The battered, brown, old Shinra freighter flew low across the desolate landscape. The pilot did not know anything except the coordinates that he was supposed to take his cargo to; as long as he got paid he could care less. The freighter and its pilot had seen many years, both being rough and a bit unreliable. As they flew along an engine briefly died, taking the ship into a drop on the right, jostling its cargo. But the pilot quickly corrected it, nothing new.

            For the freighter's cargo this was all quite new though, and a bit unpleasant. Vice President Rotterdam and a hired bodyguard sat precariously in the cargo hold, trying not to get squished against the walls by any wayward boxes. Rotterdam's discovery a few days ago had driven him into a new level of fervor. Now that he knew the truth, he just had to prove it, and somehow he knew that Lircos was the place to start.

            So the very next day after his late night of poring over Nairne's files, he'd quietly found a pilot and a bodyguard; both with no love for Shinra, and no reason to betray him. He'd also left a message for Reeve, telling him the whole story, and leaving it up to him whether or not he wanted to help. As he quickly looked over at the bodyguard, he was startled to see that the man was staring right at him. The man's name was Emilio, no last name that anyone knew of. He was a former Shinra soldier, who'd been discharged for accidentally paralyzing another man in a fistfight. Whether or not it had really been accidental was a fact that no one knew.

            Off in the distance a ghost town sat, silent and lonely. Only a few mauled buildings stood now as a testament to a previous way of life for a group of common people.

Just another byproduct of war.

            "Approaching landing coordinates, hold on tight." admonished the pilot, although both of the passengers already were holding on as tight as possible.

            It seemed as if the ship almost accelerated as the ever-closer scenery came towards them. Suddenly a jarring thud resounded throughout the area as a cloud of dust rose up.

            They had arrived.
****

            It had all happened so fast.

            The battle, the losses, the retreat. Damn, the losses. To be slaughtered so easily, to have to limp out in the most shameful way; it just wasn't right.

            And now we were holding a funeral, a mass funeral for seventeen of our own, seventeen. The worst part was, we hadn't recovered any of the bodies. Those fucking Wutes are probably doing some voodoo ritual to 'em now.

            For lack of a better place, we were having the funeral outside on the main road. A small podium had been set up for Apollo to say his spiel from, along with a few folding chairs, not many were needed with our sharp drop in headcount. We'd all been ordered to wear our good uniforms, which usually wasn't too fun, but today nobody was complaining. Everyone in the camp; cooks, techs, custodians, were all present. Somehow they'd all known at least one of the casualties.

            Personally I'd only known two of them well; Cyril and Nairne. Cyril had only been around for a couple of weeks; but he'd been in my wing, and that was enough. Nairne had been around even before this whole mess, and sure he was an asshole, but he'd been a half way decent guy deep down.

            As I slowly made my way to a chair I saw Hector and gave him a nod, now wasn't a time for conversation. I grabbed a chair in the back, so I could get out quick once this mess was through. After a few minutes of some more arrivals, Apollo entered from the edge of the road.

            He wore his usual red uniform, spotless of course since he never did any work. His mustache had been trimmed just for the occasion, and I could almost detect some sort of perverse smirk on his face. He didn't seem like he had any notes prepared, guess he's just gonna wing it. While the last murmurs died in the crowd, he reached the podium and cleared his throat.

            "Good morning."

            Great way to start a eulogy, there's nothin' good about this morning buddy.

            "It is a tragic event that brings us together today. The battle over Chamuri Base took seventeen of our bravest, most valiant pilots. And it may seem that their deaths are in vain, for the area still remains in enemy hands. But our friends would not like us to think of it that way; instead we must realize that they made a difference by killing Wutaian fighters. And every fighter we shoot down brings us one step closer to victory."

            What a load of bullshit. Did he copy that from the 'Official Book Of Meaningless Crap To Say At Funerals' or something?

            Ten minutes later he'd listed the name of every dead pilot, spouted some more meaningful crap, recited a poem and informed us that there were pictures of all the dead people in the mess tent that we could pay our respects to.

            Thank you Reverend Apollo.

            Just as I thought this was all wrapping up, he threw us a curve ball.

            "I have one more announcement to make, it could be considered a somewhat bittersweet promotion. As you all know, Commander Nairne of Eclipse is dead, and thus Eclipse needs new leadership. After reviewing many factors, I have decided that…"

            Congratulations Thanton.

            "Lieutenant Highwind is going to lead Eclipse Squadron. We will deal with the formalities later Highwind. We are now taking a day of leave to mourn, thank you."

            Ah shit.

            Commander Highwind? I was damn happy with lieutenant. This just isn't right. First off, Thanton deserves this more than me, and Nairne had to fucking die for me to get this.

            I just sat in my chair for a good five minutes and stared into the dark sky, some idiot had decided that two in the morning was a good time for a funeral. When I was done everyone had left, and Apollo had taken off in his personal fighter.

            I need to get really drunk.

****

            Over the expansive plains, and a few mountains, quite a different gathering was taking place. The streets of Wutai City were filled with people, young and old. A few were mourning, but on some level everyone was celebrating.

            Though it was very early in the morning, the city was still beautiful with its many ponds and natural features. Lamps had been strung along every building, along with colorful banners and decorations. All soldiers in the city were present, including pilots. The center of it all was the main building of the city, where all of the government and military functions were carried out. The pagoda sat in the background, a place of solitude, not for mass celebration.

            And like Apollo, Godo found himself speaking in front of a large crowd, the entire population of Wutai actually, trying to come up with something inspiring to say. He wore his usual plain robes and was flanked on either side by General Staniv and Colonel Daegon.

            "Citizens of Wutai, we have finally had a victory in this war! The battle at Chamuri Base should be the first in a series of victories. Thanks to Colonel Daegon and his pilots, as well as Major Podran who is still at the battlefield, we can once again hold pride in the Wutaian name. Our country is in good hands on the battlefield while this war rages. We will take back and defend what is ours! Now the day has just been born, take it to rejoice and celebrate!" he exclaimed.

            The crowd erupted in cheers with the uplifting speech.

            Lord Godo made his way down into the crowd; he liked being with them in times like this. He regretted having elaborated so much in the speech though; he knew that this very well could just be a lucky break.

            The war was far from won.

**

            Five levels below the main streets of Wutai, a low moan of pain echoed through the prison hall as a man woke up. He had instinctively curled up in a ball and huddled in the corner of his cell. After a few seconds his eyes acclimated to the dim light, and his muscles slowly relaxed. As he cautiously sat up, the pain hit him like a sack of bricks. He felt bruises all over his body, along with a few broken bones.

            A quick look at his surroundings showed that he had been moved back to his original cell; a slimy, sparse, depressing little place. No food had been left, no painkillers, no new clothes, and no bandages. When he'd been captured he'd only been a pilot in the air force for a day or so, it just wasn't right.

            But they were convinced he was holding back, convinced enough to beat him senseless to get it out of him. He would probably die in here, after enough blows to the head he would one day never open his eyes again. Escape was close to impossible, especially in his physical condition. It had to stop, had to end.

            Suddenly a quiet shuffle brought his eyes up to the door; where a tall Wutaian man with a practical set of black robes stood. He'd seen him before, when he'd first gotten here. The name eluded him at the moment though.

            "I am Staniv, we've met once before Mr. Clifton. I have little time, but I need to ask you one question. It had been bothering me ever since you get here." he whispered, eyes darting around furtively.

            "If I answer, can I have some food?" asked Lennie, desperately hoping to gain something out of this.

            "Um, yes you can get some food. My only question is, how long had you been in your air force before you were captured?"

            Lennie considered not answering for a moment, but decided it was a fairly harmless question.

            "A little more than a day."

            Staniv's eyes sunk in dismay, Lennie could not tell why.

            "Then it is true, you do know nothing, you have no reason to be here." he murmured to himself.

            At this Lennie's eyes lit up like a puppy at a homeless shelter when prospective owners came in, would this man help him?

            "I must go, good day." he briefly before turning around and walking quickly down the corridor.

            No, no help today.

****

            After only five minutes in the ruins of Lircos, Rotterdam had developed a new level of hatred for Shinra. In the weeks since the attack, bodies had begun to decay, buildings had fallen down, and the stench of death was in full force. None of these people had done anything to harm Shinra, they'd just been the unlucky ones whose town had gotten drawn out of some sick lottery.

            It was unbearably hot out, but they were in the middle of nowhere Rotterdam reminded himself. He soon discarded his suit jacket, while his bodyguard Emilio seemed content in his thick, leather clothes.

            Rotterdam didn't know quite what he was looking for, there had to be something though. He knew what had happened, but he had no solid proof. Shinra could say it was all just speculation on his part, and he'd have nothing. He'd brought along a tape recorder in case anyone was still around; it had been said that there were no survivors, but that could just be another Shinra lie.

            For another good fifteen minutes they cautiously searched the town, observing everything they could. Rotterdam had begun to wonder if there was anything new to be found, when Emilio drew his gun and ushered the vice president to some cover.

            "See something?" asked Rotterdam in a whisper.

            The other man nodded quickly.

            "Should we leave, or…?"

            He was shushed by Emilio.

            Having given up talking, Rotterdam looked around to see that they were in an old general store. Most of the roof had collapsed though, leaving only a small space for them to hide in. A brief look through a broken window showed a dusty, deserted town of ruins; no movement at all. But he was wrong, for a few seconds later, Emilio fired a shot from his small pistol, and a body fell into the street.

            Giving Rotterdam a "stay here" hand signal, Emilio quickly ran out to retrieve the body. A minute later he was back, and a slowly stirring person lay on the floor between them. The body belonged to a middle aged man, bruised and battered. He had dirty, dark black hair, and a scruffy collection of facial hair. He wore the tattered remains of a Shinra flight suit and had what looked like a broken leg from the gross angle it was positioned at. It looked like Emilio's shot had gone through the man's left shoulder, where a large amount of blood was now emanating from. From a bright red mark on the man's head it was apparent that Emilio had knocked him out with the butt of his pistol to be safe; he was almost awake now though.

            Oddly enough the pilot remained entirely calm as he looked up at the two Shinra men. He had the look in his eyes of someone who could care less what your intentions were, as long as you were human and could provide some social interaction.

            "Who are you?" he asked flatly.

            Emilio gave a nod to Rotterdam, designating him the official answer man.

            "We're with Shinra, but…"

            Wrong thing to say.

            The man suddenly broke into a spasm of anger; kicking, thrashing, yelling.

            "Shinra! You bastards put me here, quick recon mission my ass. I always wanted to get my hands on one of you suits, now I got my chance." he said angrily, almost hungrily.

            Within seconds the man was too strong for Emilio's grasp, even with his one bad leg and ruined shoulder. He'd produced a jagged piece of thin metal, probably off his fighter, from his flight suit and wielded it clumsily, eyeing Emilio.

            "You corporate fucks thought you could just use us for your will, thought we'd never ask any questions. Thought we'd be dead by now. Might as well be after that freighter came and took us out. Got Tom right off, practically had Walt. He was all broken, I got hungry a couple days ago and finished the job. It might be barbaric, but when you're out here it's the only way to go. Now once I kill you, I'll be set for a while, can gain some strength and get back to Midgar…" growled the pilot, pure fury in his eyes.

            Suddenly he lunged at Emilio, catching him by surprise amazingly. The pilot managed to pierce the skin over Emilio's stomach, but before he could get too deep the bodyguard had brought out his gun and pointed it at the man's forehead.

            "Drop it now." he said, referring to the make shift knife.

            Rotterdam stood in a corner, hoping that the man would drop the knife, things would be so much easier. Instead the man made as if he was going to put the piece of metal down; but as he became bent over at the waist he rammed Emilio in the gut and knocked him backwards. Emilio was only off balance for a moment, but that was just enough time for the pilot to drive the knife up under the man's rib cage.

            "Shit." whispered Rotterdam under his breath.

            After surveying his kill for a moment, and retrieving his knife, the man turned to face the vice president.

            "Look, I'm the wrong guy to take your anger out on. I didn't even know about your mission. I'm against Shinra too, that's why I'm here, I…"

            "Save it for Satan, he'll hear your pleas while you burn in hell."

            With that the pilot charged Rotterdam, who reflexively fled out into the road. As the pilot kept coming he suddenly slowed, and then dropped to the ground. Rotterdam saw a small hole in the pilot's back, which was the exit point for a stream of blood that ran down his flight suit to pool up in the dirt road.

            What the…

            "Mr. Rotterdam."

            He looked up a bit to see a woman with six Shinra soldiers standing atop a building. The woman wore red clothing and held a small pistol, probably silenced.

            "Ms. Scarlet, how are you today?" he asked just to irk her.

            "Mr. Rotterdam I have no time for pleasantries. I am here to tell you that this is your final warning. Meddle in business that isn't yours anymore and I will make your life miserable. The situation involving that pilot is none of your concern. Now take those bodies with you, and go back to Midgar. And remember, we are watching you wherever you may be; there is no escape." she threatened acidly.

            Her work done, Scarlet turned to leave, surrounded by her compliment of soldiers. A few minutes later, a brand new Shinra freighter lifted off and accelerated towards Midgar. For a few minutes Rotterdam just stood there, shocked, in the middle of a ruined town, a dead body on the ground to his side, sand blowing around him.

            Once he'd snapped back to reality he pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and dialed his pilot.

            Definitely time to go home.

****

            A ways across the Wutaian plains, where sand changed to grass, two men stood stoically, not a word passing between them. One man bore a clean-cut head of brown hair, which seemed unmoved by the wind, while the other's long, white hair was blowing around a bit. General Sephiroth had been waiting a good five minutes for Admiral Apollo to arrive, and all he could do was realize that Apollo was just that much more of a fool to not be on time for such an important meeting.

            A transport had dropped its passengers, including Sephiroth off in the middle of the large area and departed. A bulky transport was much easier to spot than two, soon to be three men. As a few more minutes passed, Sephiroth's Turk bodyguard that he'd gotten for this meeting pulled up the sleeve of his blue jacket to glance at his watch. The general had barely moved himself, content with waiting in his green, Shinra uniform.

            When Apollo's small, custom fighter appeared over the horizon, he was ten minutes late. Once he'd executed a quick landing, the admiral hopped out of the fighter after stowing away his flight gear. He wore his usual red uniform, and walked with a hint of superiority in his step over to the two men. He stopped a wary three or four feet away from Sephiroth, and gave the Turk a look suggesting that the meeting was private.

            "Hello General Sephiroth. I do apologize for being late, our funeral proceedings ran a bit later than expected."

            Sephiroth decided that he hated the man even more in person.

            "Your lateness is not as important as the plan we are here to discuss. Operation Thunderclap requires the air force's cooperation." Sephiroth said, emotionless, though he spoke of the deaths of countless Wutaian people and the end to a war.

            "That shouldn't be too hard to do, our schedule is fairly open. And ending the war is definitely the highest priority." Apollo quipped with a fake chuckle.

            Sephiroth was getting the impression that the other man was hiding something.

            "There are some details to be worked out still though…" Apollo continued.

            Sephiroth just nodded.

            "Like command of the operation, I think we have different people in mind."

            "Oh?"

            "Yes, for example; you aren't quite the man for the job." Apollo said, an intense glare in his eyes as he discreetly reached for a pocket in his flight suit.

            The Turk had of course been listening the whole, and this drew his attention.

            "Not quite fit, so do you recommend I be removed from command?" asked Sephiroth curiously.

            "Exactly." replied Apollo, as he brought a small pistol up.

            Before the Turk could do a thing, two bullets had entered his chest. Apollo quickly turned to Sephiroth, who still just stood there, staring at the man. But within seconds of the Turk's body collapsing to the ground, a bullet shot through Apollo's left eye and went out the back of his head.

            Sephiroth stepped back just enough to avoid the spray of blood; and moved his head to see a second navy blue clad figure emerge from the tall grass, a thin sniper rifle in his hands and no hair on his head.

            Though Apollo's face had been ruined, his trademark handlebar mustache still remained. It was the last surviving, distinguishing feature of a once great admiral; though marred by his own blood.

            With a nod to Rude, Sephiroth turned to call a transport.

            A legend had died for supporting a cause he so truly believed in, but to many it was seen as the wrong cause. To many it was seen as treason, and treason was never looked upon well. And that was how Apollo would forever be remembered, as a traitor, not as a war hero, but as a dirty lover of the enemy.

            The sun had yet to even hint at coming up, and with that the great sun king really was dead, for the sun no longer deemed it necessary to shine in his presence.

Note – Don't really know why this took so long, guess I'm just lazy. Some of it was kind of tough/boring to write so maybe that's why I avoided it. Chapter 23 is as much of a mystery to me as it is to all of you, since I only mapped out up through this chapter. But don't worry it will come in due time.