Colors of War, Chapter 11: All You Have Left
Two months after the fall of La Contresiera, the Turks finally got back in gear, with half a year left till they were free of Shinra. Things were tense within the offices. With the previous batches of recruits recovered and promoted to the working force, the unexperienced outnumbered the veterans, and Diera was not enjoying the responsibility of keeping her fellow greenhorns in line, because all of them were older than she was. With her time tied up in the normal surveillance and contact coordination work that had been newly redistributed among the surviving veterans, even poking her head out of her cubicle to yell for coffee was a chore, never mind breaking up the inevitable skirmishes that resulted from the meeting-up of several warring factions among the new graduates.
"Revenge is a dish best served cold," Arvill quoted dully to her when she complained at the next staff meeting. "We wouldn't be able to stage any kind of prank right now, anyway. The mass retirement cost us more than we originally thought." And don't we know it. He crossed his arms as she sighed and put her head down on her own arms, echoing the beaten sentiment that filled the rest of the conference room.
"Damn, why can't we just kill the lot of them?"
"Don't be an ass, girl, the public backlash…"
"I think they'd cheer you in the streets, Uncle Iri."
"That's why you haven't been promoted enough for your opinion to count," he retorted with perverse satisfaction. Diera gave him a single, disgusted look before consciously straightening her slovenly posture. Their relationship, not that there had been much of it in the first place, had soured to the point where their bickering permeated most of their conversation. Nobody felt up to taking them to task, even though they acted like juveniles. It took more energy than they had.
Paul Jennings, head of the Medic Department and interim leader of Biological Research, was perhaps the only one among them who looked like anything remotely resembling serene and well-rested. He did not, however, attempt to scold Diera or Iridalan. Just because he could, didn't mean that he thought it was necessary. He had more pressing things to worry about. Such as Shinra's Scientific Research Department, headed now by Kurayama Hojo, who had taken over the Department after the… unexpected demise of Gast. The Turks had expected Hojo to make his move after Gast fled with his Ancient wife, but they had not expected Hojo to somehow manage to kill every Turk attempt to infiltrate the 'recovery' SOLDIER detachment sent to retrieve Gast from Icicle Town.
They hadn't expected Hojo to kill Gast and take the rest of his family, either.
Sometimes Diera truly thought the Turks had, like La Contresiera, seen their glory days past long ago. Everything had gone so far astray from the paragon of efficiency and knowledge that the Turks had used to be. But it was out of her hands now- maybe it had never been in her power to do anything- and she had to square her shoulders and concentrate on what Jennings was saying.
"Shinra is pushing for the privilege of nominating Turk and SOLDIER recruits. In addition, Hojo has started to request that his first experiment be returned for follow-up tests. So quoth I," he added, nodding to a thunder-faced Diera. "His words, not mine."
"I want that man," she muttered, grinding her teeth in a display of very unladylike emotion. "I want him dead. He totally wings me the wrong way."
Jennings gave her a long, unfriendly look. "You have no respect for the sanctity of scientific advancement," the medic sniffed, though the barb was completely lost on Diera's sudden sharklike humor.
"Oh well, by all means hand me to him. I'll show him what Lord Death looks like…"
Iridalan's fist slammed the podium, once, and she flinched. "That's enough!" he snapped, earning startled looks and several reproachful glares. "Let's get to the meat of the matter. We are not going to give anything to Shinra that we don't have to, and unless Shinra produces someone really stunning, we aren't going to take their bloody suggestions either."
"Well then," a silky, faintly nasal voice interrupted from the doorway, "would you consider this stunning enough for reevaluation of that comment?"
Diera's head had turned before the strangers had begun speaking. She'd heard the beat of unfamiliar footsteps several moments before they arrived. And no newly promoted greenie would dare to approach the Conference Room before the red lights were out (signaling that the meeting was over) so it must be strangers. The steps had been unhurried. Her gun had been in her hand as she stared up at the interlopers.
Valkrin Scarlett, Head of Shinra Weapons Research and Development, lounged indolently against the doorframe, neckline as plunging as ever, framed by a tall dark-haired man dressed in flowing black leather. (Even though leather was not supposed to flow that way- was it calfskin?) Her artfully made-up face was twisted by gloating triumph. "Aren't we lucky that we have a brilliant scientist on our research team?"
"Good afternoon to you, too," Iridalan gritted, teeth showing briefly as his lips tensed. "Diera, ease down. Scarlett? Get out."
Diera did not lower her gun. She had settled into her preferred sitting stance, and it would have been a pain- quite literally- to lower her arm, only to have to whip back again if anything got out of hand. Though things were already looking out of hand. Scarlett's dark shadow had one hand upraised and facing towards her, metal shining over his leather glove, green pearls flashing in the light of Corel Base's old electric lamps. Both of them were glaring at each other, recognizing the real threat. Scarlett began to pale as she realized how close she was to the front line, but the woman had guts- she stayed where she was, trusting her bodyguard to protect her.
"A Barrier won't hold me off for long," Diera said coldly into the standoff silence, cocking her Valkren with her thumb. It was an unnecessary, overdramatic gesture, but it was also terribly effective. The sound it made was metallic and very, very final. Scarlett's brunet shadow didn't look very intimidated, though. Iridalan's eyes narrowed, to nobody's approval. Jennings was looking as if he wanted to strangle his Leader for even thinking of giving the blonde bitch (as most of them had labeled Scarlett) any leeway at all. Diera was still glaring at the man, who was glaring back. Mutual antagonism- or perhaps just two wild animals sizing each other up. Highly likely, though highly unflattering. "Are you her bodyguard?"
His lip twitched in the suggestion of a sneer. "No. I happen to be the candidate she was sent to present."
"Good," Diera smiled cheerily- and shot him.
Faster than thought, he spoke a curt syllable, and blue light flared, catching the bullet. It still hit him low on the chest, inches from his heart, but only hard enough to maybe bruise; Diera looked vaguely disappointed that she hadn't at least made some sort of a hole on his person. Scarlett looked like she was going to have a heart attack- the bullet had bounced harmlessly off her candidate barely half a centimeter from her neck. Iridalan, on the other hand, seemed even more thoughtful. Jennings glared at him. "You cannot be in your right mind, if you're considering him," the medic growled. Diera's hand jerked up and she squeezed off another round, which took him squarely on the jaw with more force; the Barrier was fading, and this time she left a large purpling mark on the tanned skin. The blond didn't even flinch. "All right, so he's good, but the consequences-"
"Oh, shut up if you're jealous," Scarlett snapped, stalking over to the podium where Iridalan stood. "Look, if you're going to be a mule about it, just take him on probation, however long it takes to convince you that he's the best SOLDIER you'll ever come across. And then think about this; we have the technology to enhance more qualified SOLDIERs to match this standard. All the company wants is to have a token representation of our capabilities-"
"Do not test my patience, woman," the Leader snarled, mini-rifle aimed squarely at her diaphragm in an abrupt, rough movement. She blanched and walked backwards, matched step for step by the irritated, seething Turk, whose only change in aim was to straighten out his rifle, so that it would make a clean hole through her solar plexus instead of blasting her brains out. "I have taken so much shit from your darling President. I won't take your spy, and you can forget about threatening me in my own offices."
Scarlett's blond shadow seemed to think otherwise. "Ice!"
Diera twisted and ducked under the heavy metal stands of her lectern as ice cracked into being above her, spraying the vicinity with shards of ice splinters and causing the others around her to jump out of their seats to safety.
I hate to think this, but he pushes all my recruiting buttons.
I'm crazy. And if I don't concentrate, I'm also going to be dead. Cautiously scrambling to the end of her row, Diera peeked above the desk ledge… and immediately threw herself down the theatre stairs as lightning lashed down where she had been, reaching for her with hungry golden fingers. Grateful for the carpeting, which cushioned most of the fall, she rolled, curling, digging through the battle fever for the words to activate the single materia she had been allowed to carry so far. "Frog Song!" she shouted, and the yellow materia in her gun burst into gleeful golden light.
The room was suddenly filled with a lot of croaking.
--
"That was so juvenile," Iridalan grumbled, typing furiously on his newly updated Luminos V0.2 computer keyboard. The Turks had cutting edge technology. Even Shinra was a few blocks behind. Only SOLDIER itself came close. Pride aside, he was currently writing the recommendation for Ragna's induction into the main SOLDIER force, and Diera was slouched on a couch opposite him with her own laptop handy, listening to him grouse with only half a mind.
Ragnarok. That was who Tall, Dark and Dangerous had been introduced as. Something about the name niggled in Diera's memory, but she couldn't put a finger on it, which was suspicious in itself. The Mako enhancements had touched her in a way she had not mentioned to any of the endless plethora of Shinra scientists who masqueraded as medics passing through the Corel Base. It had given her speed, higher endurance, perfect night vision and a regrettably sharp sense of smell, but it had also sharpened her brain somehow… given her photographic memory. (She'd once thought it to be the perfect cure for the wasting sickness that all older people seemed to fall prey to.) Not a good idea to mention it to Shinra, though. Better they should underestimate her.
Ragnarok. Some sort of ritualistic significance? Checks on Cosmo Canyon mythology turned up discouraging answers. End of The World. Period. Yikes. But Turks had gone through people with weird names. Just look at Cavall, he was named after one of the postures trained Chocobos could be persuaded to affect… and he had created the Turks. So, no shit, it wasn't grounds for immediate dismissal. Yes, she was still looking for an excuse not to hire him on SOLDIER. Unfortunately, she was coming up short. Of all the people who had been present at Scarlett's little introduction, only she and Ragnarok had remained humanoid. The rest had taken on the forms of upright frogs, croaking indignantly at her as she stared at an utterly unscathed Ragnarok.
Bloody bastard had a Ribbon on him, the sneaky little genius! She couldn't help but admire the obvious detail that had gone into his personal armoring. Not many people thought to guard against the more ignoble spells that Enemy Skill materia could store. He could go so far in SOLDIER. She still thought he was a git, but who was asking her? Based on talent alone, she threw her vote his way. Based on gut feeling? Sack the man. But again, nobody was asking the most junior (age-wise) member of their (default) senior force. Being young had it kicks, but did people have to act so snotty about it?
Ragnarok. No last name. No history. Fresh out of Shinra's labs.
Suspicious as hell.
"Uncle Iri, you need me for anything else tonight?" she said, setting her PC to power down. "I still have some stuff I need to get done."
He barely looked up at her. "Give them hell for me, imp."
She grinned. This was the Uncle Iri she looked up to. "Yes, sir."
--
Squeezing into the innocuous lab-boy suit was hard after three years and a massive height difference (as well as the onset of puberty- thankfully, there was little evidence of mounds growing from her chest) which forced the Turk to rethink her infiltration strategy. Hmm.
She discarded the lab suit as too troublesome, and picked up a janitorial suit instead. Slipping quickly into the heavy coveralls smelling faintly of sweat (filched from a laundry by the enterprising younger Turks) and twisting her thick, black hair into a firm, if slightly bushy ponytail, the Turk practiced a sullen, line-jawed middle-age-crisis look until she thought she had it up to speed, then pulled a thick gray woolen cloak from under her bed (shaking it out and sneezing faintly as a copious amount of dust was dislodged) and firmly covered herself in it, fastening it at the neck and using one hand to hold it shut.
Weapons had been added long before; a dirk to each thigh, easily placed for a downward draw via the knee, the slits so far down that nobody would ever bother to look. Her Valken was in a bellyband, nestled neatly in the spoon of her hip, for an easy draw between the heavy folds of her utility vest. She still felt conspicuously underdressed, but stealth demanded that she keep the clanking to a minimum. As it was, anything with the kind of hearing she enjoyed would be able to hear the steely slide of metal on leather with every step she made. Here was to hoping that Hojo hadn't modified a few Dobermans.
She threw together a saddlebag with some cash, extra firearms ('picked up' from the company supplies) and a few changes of clothing should she ever need to make a hasty exit, then slung the thing over her shoulder and hurried down to the local stables to cadge a mount from the Corellian keepers.
"Haven't seen one of yours around for some time," the burly lantern-jawed bird handler grated amiably as she saddled a black bird (kept for senior use only). "Summat big happened lately?"
"Ah- times do change," she agreed evasively, cinching the breast and girth bands firmly. In some part of her newly mature mind she decided that this must be why her uncles and aunts- her colleagues, she reminded herself firmly- had developed an annoying way of not-answering questions. Must have something to do with covering up embarrassing mistakes. "Uh- how about here? Shinra's been lobbying for a reactor here, right?"
"Shinra!" The dark-skinned man hawked and spat disdainfully to the side. "Dirty rat bastards. They'll never build so long's Dyne's around, I tell you."
"Dyne? Dyne Holland? The miner who married… Eleanor four years ago, right?" Her brow wrinkled briefly as she checked the information against her earlier recollections. The handler was nodding affirmatively, so she let the memories slide again. No need to expend energy. "No wonder he's so against the reactors," she added, hoping that her memories were as accurate as she thought they were. "All the miners will be out of jobs if Shinra builds their reactors."
"Aye, that's just a wee problem when most of the men here are miners, ain't it?" The handler made an indelicate sound that sounded like a cross between a chocobo wark and a dragon's belch. Whatever it was, it virtually reeked disdain. Diera filed it away for reference, since Iridalan was easily irritated by such sounds. It would be useful for fun later. "Shinra says they'll give us jobs, but it'll be a place of machines that need trained people. What can a bunch of old blackers like us do? Nothin', that's what. Bastards."
Checking that the halter and reins were secure, Diera buckled her saddlebag to the back of the saddlepad and climbed into her saddle, shortening the reins firmly as the bird danced in place, anxious to be free. "Well, I wish you all the best of luck- but don't feel too bad if they build anyway. Thick forests like the Corel Range are like Gongaga, hard to come by- Shinra can't pass up a prime location like this. If you have to sell out, though, tell Dyne for me- sell it so high, Shinra won't believe it." They grinned at each other in perfect understanding, then the handler threw the stable doors open wide and Diera loosened the reins, allowing her mount to thunder dramatically into the mountain wilderness.
--
Shinra may have had many offices, but its main lab, not the largest but the most intensely worked, had only ever been and would only ever be the one located in the basement of the Shinra Mansion.
With the fall of La Contresiera, Nibelheim had become one of Shinra's most rampant outposts. A massive reactor had been built in the lush mountains, and copters whirred periodically to and from the town and the reactor. Security was tight, but not that tight. The cleaners weren't monitored that tightly. Shifts were changed far too often for real relationships to form, and so she ran less risk of getting busted by security there.
SOLDIERs were all over the place. She thanked her lucky stars that she wasn't highly ranked enough for anyone to recognize her, all the while wondering why they were so much in evidence. How had Shinra managed to negotiate such a thorough contract with Commander Kingston, who had a mind like a steel trap? Iridalan was a long shot, yes, but Kingston? She hadn't really met him directly, but the recruiting Turks virtually sang his praises every time she tried to find out about their ultra-macho sister company. Or would that be 'brother' company? She smoothed mirth from her face as she grabbed a cleaning cart and, twisting her features into a sullen, dissatisfied glower, dove gleefully directly into the fray.
Getting into the lab itself was a bit of a chore, since Hojo seemed to be almost fanatic about the sanctity of his lab. Fortunately, not even Hojo was dumb enough to keep important documents in printed form around so many potentially destructive compounds. He was dumb enough, however, to keep his logs recorded on the mansion's self-contained intranet. It made her life so much easier. She chortled mentally to herself as, shutting herself in a dusty, empty room, she extracted her laptop from the rubbish compartment of the cleaning cart and set about hacking into the system.
She avoided trying to second-guess the scientists' login passwords. Deduction was not really her forte. At least, personal deduction wasn't her forte. Instead, the Turk cracked out the Piranha Virus, a particularly nasty invention which was said to have been invented by Uncle Iri himself. It short-circuited all sorts of security systems, making them open completely to the owner of the key only. Guess who had the key?
Watching with a grin as a thumb-sized fish with huge spiky jaws floated around on the laptop screen, Diera hummed softly to herself under her breath, breaking into the intranet, combing the file paths for Hojo's logs. It wasn't that hard to find them; Shinra's naming system was nicely tidy, and quite logical. Hojo's stuff- as well as other scientific reports- were under the 'BIOTECH' branch, so she just downloaded the lot into her laptop, with an ear out to note the clamor generated as computer systems abruptly froze or shut down on their own, courtesy of the Piranha.
With all the ruckus going, it was a safe bet that she would be able to look around a bit more. Now, to create more diversions… A truly evil grin asserted itself. The sound of a frantic howl was music to her ears as the flick of an enter button activated the lab sprinkler system and destroyed any exposed samples Hojo and his cronies might have been working on at the time. Ah, how she loved that sound. There never was enough occasion to hear it.
Shutting off her laptop, the 'cleaner' wrapped it in a nondescript gray cloth and stowed it in the rubbish bag again, then unlocked the door and hurried down to the basement. With all that water, someone would be needed to clean it up. And so she was allowed free rein as long as she kept her head down (couldn't chance anyone recognizing those eyes) and mopped assiduously. It wasn't a handicap, though. Turks had long ago mastered the art of looking around without looking up. And boy, did she have stuff to look at.
Here was evidence of human experimentation. Suspended in huge tubes of glowing green Mako were naked men and women, all ranging from ten to fifty-odd years of physical age, in varying states of health and awareness. Some had their eyes closed, hair drifting slowly around their head and shoulders. Others were half-awake, swimming in the suspension like sleepwalkers, and still others stared blindly ahead with eyes wide open at some invisible horror, nearly bulging out of their sockets, whites tainted silvery green through the haze of mako. A mass of tubes and whirring machinery ran the whole thing, apparently isolated from the computer system. Diera studied the web under lowered eyelashes, scrubbing away, tracing them to a large lever-operated brass monstrosity behind the whole lot. So they used simple machines, not computers, to control these sets of equipment. Hmm. Better not sabotage this. What if the whole lot of them died? She wasn't that eager to kill them, not after La Contresiera, not with full awareness of it. If it had been an accident…
One tube caught her attention. Set apart from the others, it held a fairly young ash-blond man, naked like all the others, floating in a cloud of long silver hair that gleamed pale green in the thick Mako. He seemed to be frowning in his sleep, pale forehead creased into a mask of concentration. Or at least that was what it looked like, anyway. She worked her way over to him, carefully not turning her head up, but committing his face and form to memory. He looked like Ragnarok's white mirror image. This was, pardon the Junon term, getting fishy. Very fishy. Time to split and run.
Mopping her way back to the cleaning cart beside the door and grinning mentally as the sprinklers obliterated all traces of her labor, Diera shoved her dripping mop into the squeeze pail, mumbled to herself about getting a fresh pail, and escaped the creepy dark wet basement.
Things hadn't fallen into place at all. She'd just found more pieces to her puzzle.
And Ragnarok had a lot to answer for.
--
A/N: So here's Seph! And Ragnarok. Don't worry too much about Ragna. He's mainly there to flesh out what will happen later. And yes, he is a bastard. Like Silk, he likes showing it. That means that I like him a lot. Mwahaha. I want reviews! (rampages) I can't write without reviews!