From Sixth, really early: ShiAne: Don't tell me my descriptions were so blah they reminded you of bad 60's special effects? I don't know if I should take that as an insult or an…insult. That kinda makes me feel…sad. Unless you didn't mean anything by it, then that's okay. Or if you did, then I guess I should take it toward motivation to practice writing even more. Either way, hmm… Haha, movies.

From another Sixth: I changed a lot, or rather I put another spin on things, starting with last chapter. Why did I feel like he had to lose an arm? Because oh, I don't know. So many people see the arm as just a glove you can remove when and wherever. But, well… shit… DoC. I need to check that out again real quick. Or whatever, it's done. And years from now I may refine this again.

Thank you.

Blood Feast

Chapter 13: Futures Uncertain

The attendant blushed hotly at Vincent as he sat there in a state of undress. The gunman himself wasn't exactly happy about the turn that his affairs had taken.

He'd lost an arm.

Here he was now, cooped in an examination room in Kalm's tiny clinic, with this man-child fidgeting over the bandages wrapped around his stump and chest. As if things weren't awkward enough, this complete stranger had a grand time getting an eyeful of all his old scars, where flesh had been sliced away and re-grafted, numerous dashes lined his limbs at vital points from sutures long removed, a string here or there of single, double, and triple digits inked permanently into him.

Every time he had to expose himself like this, to doctors and all their hapless little lackeys, it was another nail in a coffin begging him back to another aggravated siesta. This sort of attention just wasn't for him.

"Ah, uh," the boy stammered, affixing staples to the bandages. "So, the docs may or may not have already told you, b-but their guess as to why your arm just fell off is some… some sorta weird case of muscular dystrophy. From the chunk we had to amputate, their biopsies surmised that… all components needed for the skin and muscles' basic functions were simply… removed, leaving a husk of dead cells. Literally, that piece was just a husk, dust. No traces of it ever having been a part of something living to begin with were present."

"Uh huh," Vincent said absentmindedly.

"But why the dystrophy happened is, is anyone's guess. Well, you'd know, sir, because you were there, right?"

"Unfortunately."

"Care to talk about it? I'm all ears."

"No. Get on with it."

The boy looked dejected, but continued his work until every wrapping was secure. With a sullen nod, he'd discarded his latex gloves and moved to leave the room.

"Wait," Vincent called. "Do the doctors have the results to my other tests?"

"Oh?" The attendant stopped and puffed. "Uh, sure. They're waiting with Mr. Tuesti at the hotel."

"What about… him?"

"Him? Y'mean the… the other guy? He's in containment at the hotel, too. It's funny how he keeps turning black, though. It's… weird."

Once the boy took his leave, Vincent dressed in silence albeit with some effort. Though his claw had been unwieldy, it offered up more support than a stump, a lot more. Now there was nothing. Gripping the air where he expected a limb confused him, irked him. Until he got a replacement, the gunman would have to wean himself on the fact that he was down one arm. And who knew what else.

What happened?

Twice, he'd forgotten. Except for a dull throb, he felt nothing that indicated he was missing a limb. There was no pain. The weight of it still hung at his side. But he knew it was just a phantom. So, all the way to the hotel, Vincent maintained a sour face. How long would it take to get used to this? To grasp nothing, to reach at nothing.

Reeve met with Vincent on the porch whom had a phone pressed to his ear. He murmured in soft tones before dismissing the person on the other line and slipping the device into a pocket, forgotten. The former ShinRa executive waved him nearer as he grabbed the front doors. "So, how did it go? Wouldn't you rather rest first? Your surgery was only yesterday."

"I'm fine," Vincent said. "They told me the reports were ready."

"Yes… They're in my office."

"And him?"

"He's been situated in the parlor. We'll get to him in a moment."

Reeve led his companion to the back office and seated him. Vincent had made an attempt to cross his arms before he caught what he was doing. Hesitantly, he tucked his stump back into the folds of his cape. "So, what do you have for me?"

"Well, at one point things began to get a little complicated, as I had to fly in a couple of specialists. Your blood tests more or less accurately reflected previous documentation. The chimeric constitution of your cells, Jenova acting as the bonding agent, and so on.

"One specialist ran a series of simulations on your blood and cellular makeup and the other drew up your spiritual mapping. The additional blood tests concluded that the bonding caused by Jenova's cells, and the cells themselves, was indeed entering a state of decomposition—the reason for the 'smell', as others have put it—which would have likely caused your entire cellular structure to split."

Vincent grunted. "That basically means… my body would have come apart at the seams?"

"Basically. After that happened, if given the chance? If not outright death, I shudder to think."

"What about this 'spiritual mapping' thing?" he asked.

After a good bit of pacing, Reeve placed himself behind the desk. He leaned forward in that large, leather-backed chair, his chin resting on his hands. Following a deep breath, he started, "It is a… somewhat obscure method originally developed in Cosmo Canyon some decades back. You recall those shady machines present during your first trip to the clinic? They calculate the approximate, ah… How did they explain it? The approximate frequency, length, resonance, whatever comprises the Lifestream used to make you… you."

"And?"

"Your map was a horror film in waves," Reeve answered, chuckling. "In all seriousness, amongst the most important details, your map was nearly pitch-black, devoid of a frequency, and had little resonance. It was stagnant."

"Chaos."

"A plausible deduction."

The gunman sighed and pinched at the bridge of his nose. All this technical gibberish, while not far from his understanding, seemed like too much needless fluff in expounding his situation. He looked over at Reeve and glared. "So… where does this all leave me? Have you taken another test or… mapping? Things have been a bit fuzzy the past few days."

"Blood test, yes. The mapping procedure is a little sophisticated so we'll forgo that, for now."

"Verdict, please," Vincent pressed, having grown impatient.

"You might not feel it now but every cell in your body has grown restless. I simply can't explain the rest. So, the verdict? Mostly inconclusive. I think we need more time to further ascertain your condition, see where everything goes from there."

Vincent exhaled and got to his feet. "Meanwhile, I could turn to mush or worse any day now."

Or could I, he thought.

"Some optimism might help things along."

"I'm going to go check up on him" was all he'd said before waving Reeve off and stalking out the office towards the parlor down the hall. The gunman had encountered the dining room first, where a family of three sat, fussing over bread and broth at the table. They hushed at the sight of the tall dark gunman, but a simple acknowledging nod dispelled their apprehension. He glided towards the parlor doors in the rear that were drawn closed with a "Do Not Disturb" sign dangling from a handle, accompanied by a note scribbled at the bottom discouraging all but authorized personnel.

He tapped on the door then tried the handle. Luckily, it wasn't locked, so he slipped inside thusly. Vincent grimaced from where he stood.

Yatsui was bound to a gurney tilted up at a slight angle. Like Vincent, he'd also been undressed at one time to be examined, but at least someone had the decency to put his pants and waistcoat back on while the rest was neatly folded and placed on a chair next to him. His face, at a glance, was a mask of something unidentifiable. The man's eyes were glued open from the tar oozing out of their ducts, the sclera stained, clouded over with black. His cheeks were both streaked and threaded with the stuff, as well. It stunk, probably much like Vincent did to monsters. He looked a mess, a stark contrast to the sterile purpose he usually sported.

Yatsui's voice cracked suddenly from his dirty mouth, "You… have arrived."

"You look foul."

He gaped.

"So, this is what you wanted?" Vincent scoffed. "You leave me maimed and possibly on the verge of dissipation long before my time. And here you are. A sorry sight."

"It will pass," he susurrated. "It will always pass. But…"

The gunman's eyes drifted to Yatsui's bare chest, hands, and feet. Threads of black pulsed faintly there, spreading out in thick branches then just as quickly shrinking. Was something at war within him? Had he really taken Chaos or Jenova, both or whichever, unto himself? Were they fighting for dominance in their new host? Vincent gripped his shoulder, glowering far harder that he should have been at the moment. But it wasn't as if Yatsui's eyes heeded him. No, they kept boring holes into the edge of the ceiling, unblinking, unmoving.

"But..."

"You're an asshole."

"I had bitten off… more than I could chew. This thing is… oh so strong…"

Hey," Vincent snapped. "Why don't you explain yourself? What's going to happen to me?"

"You are free," said Yatsui, as if those three words were all it took for perfect peace of mind. "Let, let your body adjust… as mine will."

"Bullshit, I lost my arm."

The pale man gaped again and a long croak streamed out. Discomfited by the noise, Vincent twisted in the opposite direction, thumbing his chin in tart deliberation. He wondered if Yatsui's 'purifications' had always ended up this way. If that was the case, he pitied him. He asked for this every time, the end result leaving him a gross heap scratching feebly for coherence.

"I just… wanted to see you one more time, Vincent Valentine. You are, you are a survivor. Just give it time…"

"I feel shortchanged here. I was shortchanged. Robbed. By you. My body. I don't care about Chaos or the others. Or… could it have been the pound of flesh I've owed since this entire thing started with me joining ShinRa?" He hated reflecting on these things trying to distract him from Yatsui, the bastard. How could he feel saved? Despite the reduced function of that arm, he was prepared to keep all that its existence entailed, his entire body intact with all its distorted patchwork and deadly caveats. Wasn't he? He was ready for forever in the body of a monster. Right? But now…

"That look," he wheezed, though his eyes hadn't budged even a millimeter. "For now, you see… injustice. Later, it will be your breath anew. Fresh, sweet, tenfold deserved."

Vincent's lips flattened into a thin line on his face.

"What have I more to say? I suspect… not much more. So I should take my leave."

The gunman turned back. "Strapped down like that?"

"I could have… vanished at any time," he told him, darting his tongue over his tarred lips. "I wanted only to see you once more. With that fulfilled… I bid you adieu. If we see each other again, it will be too soon, much too soon…"

Vincent blinked suspiciously. The gurney emptied in an instant, with the rattle of buckled restraints. Yatsui's body had gone up in thin air, his robes and shoes, too. The only trace that stayed was the human shaped stain on the white sheets covering the gurney. The gunman bristled, slamming his fist on the wall behind him. "Damn it," he'd muttered. He was hoping the man would have been brought to justice for doing what he did. But if he really took Chaos and the other monsters with him, then… That was probably going to be punishment enough, wasn't it? Vincent himself didn't fall into perfect harmony with the beasts Hojo—and Lucrecia?— had first transplanted into him. He had suffered an untold number of hells just to be able to rein them in long enough so that he could put himself to sleep, crushing potential rampages before they even started. He went through too many changes just to keep his sense of self, his own thoughts and feelings, from being drowned out by the fiendish dissonance rooted in the back of his skull. He sacrificed basic human privileges just to continue on without causing any pain beyond what was necessary.

Yatsui had all of that to deal with now. Alone. Of course, he wasn't human. So, would he have been right to take over? Birds of a feather tended to flock together, after all, as the nonhuman things they were. But what would he and Chaos do together? Him and Jenova? Vincent hoped that this ordeal wouldn't give birth to another world crisis. But the notion was just too tempting.

Vincent pulled a chair against the wall and slid his body into it. He slipped his fingers up under the band around his head then yanked it off, causing his hair to fall more freely over his cheeks.

"What the hell do I do now?" he sighed, leaning forward on his knee. His eyes roved across the plush, patterned carpet beneath his heels.

If this was the end of it, would he do what he planned all along?

Could he take the next step, even if he was a little handicapped?

"What else is there, but to live?"