---
Seifer stepped from the train's metal stairs, and into the cold Trabia night. He cracked his leather-gloved knuckles. The ruins of a Garden and the struggling city around it were barely lit, nestled within the shadows of a tall mountain ring.
Mikael Midas followed his steps, and glanced back at the heavy-armored train car. "You go around pullin' that kind of crap," he said hoarsely, "and your friends'll smell us from a mile away."
Seifer sneered a laugh. "Midas, you're dead wrong."
Midas cocked an eye, as another train blasted through the station behind them. "How so?"
"They're a bunch of frickin' losers. Washed up." The hyperion-emblazoned trench coat blew behind him as he spoke, combatting the loudness of the mighty train. "They haven't fought a decent battle in two years. They're not junctioned, and none of 'em even get sent on missions anymore."
"Hmm," nodded Midas. "I thought they were good SeeD."
"Were good SeeD. Were. Trust me, you're taking this way too seriously."
Midas shrugged. "I'm just goin' on what I was told, that's all."
"Yeah, well they told me that Aren Bowes is a skilled soldier."
It was Midas' turn to scoff. "Maybe if you're a rookie GDS trooper." He proudly thumbed his chest. "I've been around a little longer than that. I'll break his neck like a toothpick."
"See? Never trust another man's account of the situation. Especially if he sits at a frickin' desk all day reading papers."
They stepped from the side of the tracks, and headed for the lonely ticket window. Seifer glanced to Midas, and grabbed his white jacket by the arm. "And Midas," he raised an eyebrow.
Midas raised one back, and stared defiantly.
"You question me one more time, and I'll break your neck."
The blue-haired assassin nodded, and Seifer released his arm.
---
] Xann Avenue
] Garden District
] Trabia
Quistis slowly opened the door to Selphie's little apartment. Light flooded into the windowless cell of a bedroom. Aren Bowes sat with his back propped against the small bed's headboard. He was still clothed from the previous night, in black pants and a deep crimson sweatshirt. Selphie lay asleep and lightly smiling, wrapped in the bed's blankets, with her head against his chest.
Bowes lifted his head and looked into the soft light, and Quistis bit her lip. But this time around, the young man seemed more inviting. His grey eyes, however thin, were not threatening. "Good morning," he whispered, with a nod and a quick smile.
"Hello Aren," said Quistis. "Sorry to wake you. But Irvine's outside, and he needs to see us all right away. He said it was urgent."
He nodded, and gently ruffled at Selphie's hair. "Hey," he nudged her, "come on, wake up."
Selphie took several moments to shake the sleep off, but Aren seemed wide awake, and more alert even than Quistis. Wow, she thought, and I've had a few cups of coffee too! Guess he's a morning person.
She led the two down a series of steep, cracking wooden stairwells, to the lobby of the abandoned apartment that was Selphie's residence in Trabia. Quistis opened the creaky old door, and they stepped into the early sunrise of morning.
Amid the broken concrete of Xann Avenue were three low, bulky Screamer cycles. They were longer and wider than any normal motorcycle. In fact, one was longer than two street bikes placed end-to-end, and a Screamer was wide enough to take up half of the Trabian street. Its two tires were thicker than even those of the Dollet Mili-Car transports. Thick metal armor extended around its tightly enclosed cockpit. It rode only inches off the ground. It was an intimidating vehicle, even dormant. Quistis had heard of the craft, and even seen the scaled-down Screamers once used by the Galbadian Army, but never one of this size and presence.
The three Screamer pilots stood by their rides, with metal-plated suits and squarish helmets. They peered at Quistis from behind long slits in the silver masks. Irvine stood beside them, and waved with a smile for her to approach.
Quistis turned to her friends. Selphie was as puzzled as she, but Bowes' face was lit like a halogen floodlamp.
"Who are they?" asked Quistis.
"Terran soldiers!" replied Bowes. "Where'd they come from?!"
He led Quistis and Selphie to Irvine and the soldiers. Irvine gestured to the center pilot. "These gentlemen would like a word with you, Aren," he said, rather dramatically.
The soldier's slit-eyes filled with a blue glow. "Aren Bowes?" he called, with a deep and echoed voice. "Aren Bowes, Tenth Screamer Division."
"I am," nodded Bowes.
The soldier brought his arm quickly up. He held a flat-ended handgun, and squeezed the handle with a metal glove. The gun cocked itself, with an efficient click-click.
Bowes raised his own hand, and opened his empty palm. A powerful screech pierced the air. The Screamer pilot was knocked forward, and the handgun flung away. Bowes grasped it tightly. He brought it to his chest, and quickly manipulated a few buttons on its side. The three dormant Screamers buzzed to life. Long weapons pods slid open from their sides, and pointed at each of the soldiers threateningly.
The once-attacker rose from the ground, and stood still for a moment. But he suddenly curled forward, laughing with his deep metal voice, and slapping his armored knee. Irvine did the same. Quistis squinted nervously, and ushered Selphie behind her.
The soldier pulled off his square helmet. His pale head was bald and lined with white scars. Eyes were big and beady and stared imposingly at Bowes, set back behind sharp eyebrows. A thin and pointed nose pointed his way.
And below the man's nose was a sight that made Quistis gasp. His lower jawbone was exposed. The mandible hung, glistening white, from a series of wires and tiny hydraulics that attached to his fleshy cheek. His smile was grotesque, as his upper lip slid across metal teeth encased in the jaw bone. Quistis lowered her eyes and coughed uneasily, squinting with an uneven frown.
But Aren burst into a shout. He threw the pistol to the ground and ran for the disfigured trooper, grasping his arm and patting him on the back. "Snap!" he cried. "Hyne, I can't believe it!"
The man laughed his deep laugh and bearhugged Bowes. "Aren, you son o' the sorceress!" he growled. "Aw, Hyne man! I can't believe you ain't killed yourself! What wit' you bumpin' into walls an' all that!"
Aren scoffed, grabbed the bony jaw and gave it a tug. "Yeah? Well at least I can chew my food," he laughed, and shoved Snap away. Irvine chuckled and shook his head.
This is sick! thought Quistis, wheezing and holding her stomach. She turned around. Selphie seemed to share the sentiment, covering her eyes with a grimace.
Bowes shouted their way, and insisted they come. His grey eyes adjusted frantically as he spoke. "Snaps, these are my friends Selphie and Quistis. And ladies, this is the bravest Screamer jockey in the Hyne-forsaken world! Me and Irvine fought alongside this guy a thousand times!"
The newcomer gave a surprisingly calm hand to Quistis. She focused on the handshake; only barely looked up as he introduced himself. "Snap Gesson," he called proudly, "at your service as long as you ain't shootin' at me!"
Quistis took surprise, as Gesson turned to Selphie. She stared his horrid smile full-on, and gave her winningest back. They stared down for seconds; far better than Quistis could have stood. And to her dismay, it was Selphie who firmly grasped Snap's arm, and gave it a vigorous shake.
"Great to meet you, Mister Gesson!" she said, admiring his weapon-laiden battle armor. "Wow, Aren's got the coolest friends!"
Gesson laughed heartily. "Yeah, well he's sure known for it in Terra, that's for sure. But that's a story for another time. An' call me Snap!"
He set his fellow soldiers at ease, and started down the broken Xann Avenue with the party of SeeDs. "We've got some catchin' up to do, man!" He pounded his fists together. "I finally made SVM Commander! Just in time, too, or I wouldn'a been able to come on this mission!"
"Hey, congrats!" replied Bowes. "How come you're up here, anyway?"
Gesson lowered his voice a bit, and stopped in the street. "It...it ain't government business. I used my position to pull some strings. Kore sent for ya'."
"Master Kore sent for me?"
"Sure did. I can't say much here. But you ain't safe, Aren. You or your buddies. You gotta get out of this town, and I mean now."
Irvine thinned his eyes. "Snap, are you saying there's a hit on us?"
"It's a little more than a hit, bro," Snap returned with a chortle. "What'd you do, kill an ambassador or somethin'?"
Selphie glanced to Quistis, and cocked her head in confusion. Quistis shrugged.
"Oh," Snap halted himself. "Before we get too far from the bikes. Almost forgot." He raised his hands, and cleared his throats. "This is an official high-security escort. Please hurry to the screamer pilots as quickly as possible, women and the unarmed first. The pilots are here for your protection; do not be afraid. You will be taken to a place where your safety can be guaranteed."
He turned to Bowes. "How'd I do?" he asked.
"Very professional!" said Aren.
Another glance from Selphie, and another shrug from Quistis. But she thinned her eyes this time, and stared at the newcomer with concern.
---
