Disclaimer: Final Fantasy VIII and all its characters are property of SquareSoft
Idealized by remote_mine
Shit.
It was stupid. Just...stupid. There was no ounce of 'right' or 'wrong' in it, just sheer idiocy. But that didn't matter anyway to the victims. They wouldn't know why they died, or how their loved ones would try to cope; the consequences were just plain stupid.
Damn it.
He couldn't help but stare, looking at the blood-caked floor and the scorched body parts that lay strewn, flung all over the place. The sickening smell of burnt flesh assailed his nose, forcing him to breathe through his mouth. And he was frozen in this nightmare. This nightmare was straight from hell.
Guilt lay upon him, the raw emotions building inside him as he recalled the final moments. The moments where he had been called to play the hero, because they saw him as someone he wasn't. So he stared, he stared at the guts of one particularly small victim, its life claimed before its due time.
Why me?
Debris laid around the area, embedded in human flesh, a twisted, gruesome image. A metal rod sticking straight out of an open mouth. A lifeless eye stared back at him, blaming him, accusing him of their death. One eye blown out; an empty, gaping hole while the other stared at him intensely, unblinking, unwavering. Blaming him. Telling him the truth.
The structure's foundation was strewn miles away, an empty, desiccated hole left of what was once a state-of-the-art building. A hole that threatened to swallow him into its darkness, freeing him from the pain. An offer so tempting, he nearly submitted.
And the guilt surged through him stronger than before. Their dependence on him lay heavier than before, before he watched the explosion tear through the building. Before he could see the flying chunks of human flesh, so cruelly torn from their still-beating hearts. Before he could move, the situation had turned from danger, to death.
They don't understand. They don't understand.
And he knew they would never understand. He knew they would never feel what he felt. He knew why they chose him. He knew why. He could see it so clearly like a photo in front of his eyes. Idealized. Their fantasy, nothing like the man that truly stood there.
The caked blood stood a testament to his failure. His failure, one that they thought he never felt. They thought they understood him. They thought he was the perfect soldier, the perfect SeeD. The one that would get them out of any kind of jam. Their hero.
He looked at an infant child, a broken rattle still in its hand. Bloodied fingers left red streaks where it had clasped the bottom half of the rattle. The arm was completely removed from the body at the shoulder, a stump left of what had been a functional human arm.
Never. Never, will I be used like this again.
A toy. He was their toy, their hidden ace in the sleeve holder. The one slipped in while no one was watching. A shout tore itself from his throat, echoing in its frustration. One that vibrated through his entire being freed him from the imprisonment of that Garden. He knew the consequences. He knew what was going to happen next. And he knew what he was going to do about it. They destroyed him, through and through. It was his turn, before they could take control again over his controls. Push a button, hear a beep. Pull a lever, the toy moved forward, backward, turned and did what they wanted to do.
He was no toy. No one could ever command him again.
SeeD. The definition of a SeeD: mercenary. A soldier paid to follow orders.
Paid to follow orders.
Perfect SeeD. He had been idealized. He knew what fools they were. He knew what they didn't know. He knew. And he knew what he had to do.
Taking one last look at the mess in front of him, he relived those fatal moments. He felt the agony. He felt the heat. He felt the loss. His cold exterior no defense to that of the bitter heat of the pungent, thick air due to the deaths. Because of those fools at Garden.
The accusing glares of the dead affected him no more. He felt no more pain. He felt no more agony.
He was the definition of 'The Perfect SeeD' to virtually all of the cadets and SeeDs at the Garden. Liars. Fools. Wishful thinking. They didn't know.
Those arrogant bastards behind the scenes never knew what truly went on. They didn't know how it felt to see the deaths of many. They didn't know what it was to hold a dying person as they took their final breaths.
Maybe there was a perfect SeeD, somewhere in the world. But he wasn't it. He knew it wasn't him, inside out. He knew what the perfect SeeD should have been like. Never caring, always following orders. Carried out the orders perfectly, not giving a single thought as to the consequences. The perfect SeeD. One that lived for Garden. One that had no guilt, no feelings. But he cared far too much. Every death was like a personal loss to him.
He returned back to the Garden, knowing what came next. He could already feel the faked emotion of their apologies running off their tongues, not a single ounce of compassion or feeling in them. He could already hear the half-hearted apologies and the real thoughts behind what occurred. He was nothing more than a paycheck for Garden. And he knew what was going to come after their apologies. Loss of rank, less pay. He was just a damn paycheck to them.
No more.
He walked into the Headmaster's office. He played the part of the SeeD that followed orders perfectly. For the moment, he became what they always thought him to be; he was their hero. He knew it would never last.
He reported his mission. He reported the failure. He reported the loss.
He had been perfectly accurate in his prediction of their apology. But he stopped it before its conclusion, breaking his perfect image. He unlatched his weapon's sheath, and dropped it onto the desk of the Headmaster. He tore the SeeD emblem off his uniform, depositing it in the trashcan. He walked out of the office; out of the Garden, away from where the commitment was to Garden, placing Garden first beyond all else. He knew they didn't understand what he did, but that didn't matter.
They had been too blind to see the truth; they should have known that he was not the perfect SeeD. But for one thing or another, they had refused to acknowledge that he wasn't what they thought he was. They made him a role model, an image of what the rest of the students would strive for. He was just an idealized soldier. Their actions faded into irrelevance, as he took in the fresh air away from the stench of the Garden.
He was free.
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A/N: Some things about Garden and SeeD just strike me as wrong. I mean, there have to be people with consciences in SeeD, and this is what could possibly result. This is what could happen when the 'perfect SeeD' fails in his mission and he can't take seeing all the death anymore.
bembem: Thanks for the beta-reading help! I didn't notice the errors I committed until you pointed them out. Thanks again for all the support you've shown me when I've been writing fics.