ChapterOne: Watching the Minutes Go By
The blurry haze vanished just long enough from his vision for him to perceive the wan smile of the man across from him. It took a while of simply staring at that expression for his upper thought processes to kick in, but when they did, he returned the wan smile with a slight tilt of the head and a frown, as if questioning the expression on the other's face. Separated by two slim glass casings, the two men looked at one another for a moment. Any casual observer would have completely missed the unspoken communication between the two, but to the two young men, it was as effective as any spoken words could have been.
The dark-haired man, with the tired hazel eyes and the somewhat desperate smile, tilted his head slightly in a mirror to the other man's movements, raising one of his eyebrows, as if in question.
Are you okay?
The other, a man with near-empty eyes and skin so pale it seemed translucent, slowly looked towards the outside of his cell. Hazel eyes followed his gaze, and both pairs of eyes soon rested upon the hunchbacked, withered form standing beyond their glass prisons, scribbling away in a notebook and quietly muttering, ravings incoherent to all but himself.
The dark-haired man scowled bitterly, and the pale man lowered his eyes.
They were "silent" again for a few moments, before the dark-haired man cast another questioning glance in the pale man's direction.
More experiments?
The pale man seemed to consider it for a long time, before he shook his head slightly.
No. Not today.
As the hazel-eyed man watched, his pale companion closed his eyes and fell into another one of his dazes again. They were becoming disturbingly frequent these days, often spanning for several hours at a time. He came out of his dazes with a haunting, increasingly empty gaze in his eyes every time. For now, though, the dark-haired man leaned back into his cell, allowing his half-closed eyes to rest upon the pale form in the chamber next to him. All that mattered was that his friend still lived… That he still breathed, and that starvation, torture, and exhaustion would not claim him. Though he did not know it, the pale man with the silver hair watched the dark-haired man with the same attentiveness.
He did this from time to time. The dark-haired man watched the other through the thick glass, as the pale man studied one of the sweltering, ugly purple bruises on his arm. Such an ugly mark, against such perfect, flawless skin… And so brutally unforgiving… After a while, the pale man became aware of the other's eyes, and he turned.
They looked at one another.
No silent communications passed between the two this time, but beneath the cold, uncaring façade, beneath the chilling green gaze, the dark-haired man saw that his companion was suffering. His way of saying it was always so subtle, most people would have missed it. The dark-haired man did not.
His empty, expressionless gaze was his way of saying 'I hurt… I suffer.'
Sometimes he woke up, and the other was gone. The cell next to him looked so frightening when it was empty… He looked wildly around the basement laboratory beyond his glass prison, and saw nothing. No signs of torture or experimentation, no signs of his companion, or the scientist, or the strange, wraith-like man in the red cloak who occasionally crept into the laboratory. That particular man was a relic of times long past, nothing more than a servant to the scientist and his fiendishly wicked ways. The red-cloaked man wore chains, and he only appeared at sporadic intervals. He had seen the dark-haired man many times, but never the pale one.
There was some reason for that.
The dark-haired man watched the wraith come nearer to his cage, so near that he seemed to violate some kind of unspoken boundary. It looked as if he was reaching towards the control panel, as if to release the dark-haired one from his cage… But the red-cloaked wraith suddenly fainted, collapsing onto the ground and ending up in an insubstantial heap.
When the scientist returned, accompanied by two shifty looking MP's, he kicked at the helpless pile on the floor.
"…Sleep-walking again. Put him back in his coffin, and lock the door this time… Then put the key in the safe upstairs. Understand? I won't have him messing around with my specimens."
The MP's followed the orders mindlessly, without question. They lifted the red-cloaked form between them and hauled him towards the door.
He disappeared.
The dark-haired man started to pound on the front of his glass case, and the scientist leered at him. It was the last time he ever saw the strange man with the red-cloak.
A long expanse of time must have went by, because his hair was much longer, his face felt thinner, and his pale companion looked even paler. There were more bruises on his frame this time, and while they healed swiftly it was apparent that they were painful and raw. The pale man did not move often, anymore, and he spent more and more time in a deep, unrelenting haze.
Sometimes, he still glanced over towards the dark-haired man. Their eyes would meet, and an entire novel of information would pass between the two. This time, the dark-haired man put his fingers to the glass, a sorrowful expression on his face.
I would help you, if I could.
The other man's pale features did not change.
His eyes, though… The mako glaze in them had intensified.
"Specimen Z shows no reaction… No response… Nothing." The scientist's frustrating mumblings broke through the terrified haze, and he blinked up at the man, unbelieving. Sprawled upon the operation table, his muscular form stinging painfully and his eyes clouded over with a strange, white mist, he desperately attempted to straighten out his own thoughts .
"…Unlike Specimen C, who was hypersensitive," The scientist paused, holding the tape recorder with one spindly hand and looking up at the ceiling, obviously in deep thought. "…Specimen Z is most certainly immune… His natural immune system cannot be suppressed long enough to insert the foreign cells without destroying them… Although his resilience, his strong constitution and his high threshold for pain would make him the perfect candidate… Certain genetic discrepancies seem to be working against us…"
They had injected something silvery in him, and it had seared his limbs for countless hours…
But now it was calming down, and while he was weak and shaky, the pain had faded.
"…Of course, Specimen J-01 is almost completely genetically fused with the sample from Jenova… If his body were to suddenly reject the Jenova cells, the results could be… disastrous… hmmm…But creating such a situation in anexperiment could be useful…"
The dark-haired man saw those glowing, empty eyes from behind the glass prison, and knew they would be filled with pain once more.
They both slept most of the time.
Countless hours rolled by.
Sometimes, they could speak.
Not really being able to hear one another, it soon grew easy to read lips, and to simply imagine the tone that the other used. The pale man always sounded cold and flat, so it wasn't really a stretch of the imagination to know what he sounded like. The man with the dark hair and gentle hazel eyes spoke with expression, but he was too tired these days to bother lifting his voice above a flat monotone.
"…Are you okay?" The dark-haired man asked, softly, and the other watched his lips with narrow, half-shut eyes that glowed with the luminous sheen of the lifestream.
"…Yes. I'm fine…"
"What did he do?"
"…I don't know… I'm not really sure whether it was an experiment or not… He didn't say anything…"
"No tape recorder?"
The pale one shook his head.
"…He didn't write anything?"
"…It's not experimenting anymore… It's just torture… He's mad… Because in the scheme of things…" The pale man must have been pausing between words, to take breaths, and his voice must have been much softer and weaker than before. "…He is no longer important…"
"Then why doesn't he just let us go?" The dark-haired man asked, desperately.
"…Because he still needs someone smaller than him… Someone he can control…" The pale-eyed man shut his eyes, and the limpness of his features indicated that he was now sleeping.
…Or unconscious.
Shit, he was bleeding all over. The dark-haired man watched his friend closely, biting his lip and shivering, waiting as the minutes and hours ticked by. The other was bleeding from a wound on his side, a puncture caused by that damn scalpel. The wound gushed warm, red blood steadily, and it was smeared up against the glass in some places… So much blood, so much pain, and his pale friend seemed hardly conscious. Why wasn't the wound healing? Was it because he was weaker?
The dark-haired man glanced towards the scientist, who stood scribbling something in a notebook, bent low over his workings. He muttered to himself, and for the first time, Specimen Z noticed… The scientist seemed wrinkled, older, there were streaks of gray in his hair where it had been all black before, and his glasses were now thicker… He seemed pastier, more withered and hunched than before…
"GOD DAMN YOU TO HELL!" Before he knew it, the dark-haired captive was slamming his fists mindlessly against the smooth, cylindrical wall of his glass prison, screaming at the top of his lungs. "GOD DAMN YOU FUCKING BASTARD!!!!! I HATE YOU!!!! I HATE YOU!!!!"
He pounded, and pounded, and screamed, and pounded, as the scientist simply turned and watched him. A small tic of amusement spread over the man's face, and he went back to his work.
Specimen Z continued to rage, screaming at the top of his lungs, now crying hysterically. The man standing on the other side of the room paid no heed.
The pale specter in the cell next to him continued to bleed, but his eyes opened, and he studied his friend with growing unease. Finally, he rose weakly to a sitting position, and began tapping against the glass with a weak desperation.
"…Za… Zack… Please… Don't…. He'll…"
It was too late, and the dark-haired man was too enraged to hear. The scientist smirked as he took notes, a new idea coming to mind.
I'm so sorry… So, so sorry…
Among all the hysteria, the raw, unrelenting agony flooding each of his limbs, he repeated it over and over again. He knew his outburst was the cause of this, why they were now both floating, suspended, in a tube of glowing mako. The immersion burned into his skin like liquid fire, paralyzing all forms of conscious thought in his mind… Except that mantra… Over, and over…
I'm so sorry…
He did not dare open his eyes, could not open his mouth, tried to distance himself but could not… Suspended in the glowing green, struggling against the haunting specter of his own insanity, fighting to keep his head above the water… God (if he existed), was there no way of blocking out the burning pain, of simply pushing it aside? Would he ever get used to it?
Somehow, he didn't think so. When he tried thinking of something else, his mind came up with a blank. It had been so long, he realized, that the outside world was nothing but a distant, meaningless dream. He thought of the Promised Land from time to time, that old fable his girlfriend had told him, but even that did not console him enough to lessen the endless torture. His body remained suspended.
His mind remained caught in a continual, frozen scream of agony.
He ran his fingers along his face, found that it was unshaven. He must have been young, so long ago, when he had first came into this place… Back then he couldn't even remember being able to grow a beard. Now he was well on his way, as a thick stubble had sprouted all over his chin and his cheeks. What was he now? Did he even know how old he was? He could not remember his birthday, certainly, but time was meaningless where they were. If he could only recall the date that he had fallen into this mess… That this had all began…
Must have been a winter month, because he remembered the cold.
Must have been some time ago… At least a year, he decided, at least a year.
He hoped it was only a year, because something told him that any longer, and the world would move on without them.
It probably already had. He reached up, touched his hair, and smirked. The long locks were now at his shoulders, and he could see a slight hint of a reflection off the surface of the glass before him. His face was definitely older now, and the mako glaze in his hazel eyes was more pronounced. That happened to SOLDIER's when they were near death – the mako glaze would become almost painfully bright, as their bodies rushed to heal in a desperate bid to survive the onslaught. His body was starving, that was plain enough. His face was gaunt, his arms looked thinner than he remembered, and he did not think he had the strength to remain standing on his legs for any length of time. He had not walked, or ran, for as long as they had been in this hellish prison. The musculature on his legs, as a result, had faded away, but so had the rest… No need for the muscles, no need for strength anymore… Even the mako struggled to keep him conditioned.
The other man looked like a pale shadow of his former self. He did not have even the slightest hint of stubble on his smooth features, probably never would, and nor did he look older…
Far more than just one year had passed. In the time they had spent here, the dark-haired man knew he had gone from a teen to an adult, but the other man had not aged at all… Looking at him, as he laid in the glass chamber across, it was apparent he had changed, yes, but he looked almost younger than he had before. His body seemed so gaunt and wasted, it had given him a slim, boyish, almost androgynous look, as his wasted muscles stretched across protruding bone and his long hair grew to frame either side of his face with thinning, silken locks. Because of starvation, his hair – one of the most striking things about his appearance – was falling out. The dark-haired man didn't really think that his pale friend cared, but it was sad to see his once thick hair and how his scalp could clearly be seen through the thin remnants.
How amazing they both must have been… Once real, live, vital humans… Now sad remnants of what humans were supposed to be.
"…He's not here anymore."
The pale-man mouthed.
His dark-haired friend looked at him for a long time, before he frowned.
It was true: they had not seen the scientist for quite some time, but they had seen his lackeys. Was it possible that the scientist had left? That bigger and better things were now his concern?
If so, then did it mean that they were left here forever, meaninglessly, to simply die when the time came?
The man with the red-cloak had disappeared a long time ago, back when the dark-haired man's hair had been much shorter, and his body had been more substantial. He had been locked up somewhere, and there was a good chance that the poor, sad apparition of a man was dead now. They were going to meet the same fate as he.
He stared at his own fist in shock.
What he had just done was unbelievable, but even more unbelievable was the fact that it had worked. The man assigned to feeding them laid crumpled along the ground, his jaw completely shattered and his mouth hanging half open, gurgling blood out of his throat. The tray rested nearby, and the sparse victuals were strewn about the floor beneath.
Slowly, he tottered to his feet. Just like he expected, his legs no longer worked properly, but they were strong enough to stand and remain standing on for long enough to get his bearings together, to realize what he had done. He had just came damn near to killing one of their captors, and there was no immediate repercussion. The old scientist had been missing for quite some time, obviously moved on to bigger and better things, and here he was… Finally free… Unable to even comprehend it. If the world still existed outside of this tiny basement, outside of his glass prison… Was it his time to rejoin it?
For a good five minutes he stood, holding his breath, knowing it was stupidity to simply stand here and yet unable to do anything about it. His blood rushed to his head, he nearly fainted…
"...Shit…"
Finally, he took his most progressive move forward in years. Instead of being forced to crawl on hands and knees, he stepped forth, placing one foot outside of the glass chamber. The leg threatened to give out, but he fought against the inherent weakness and moved the next leg… And the next… And then, he was standing outside of the glass chamber and looking around stupidly. As he stood, he heard the pattering, panicked footsteps of the MP's on the basement stairs… They were coming.
It was a surreal moment. He turned, about to run towards the door and escape into hiding before they could catch sight of him. But his eyes flashed back towards the other glass chamber, and he saw the other staring at him, simply staring, not saying anything. His eyes were empty.
But like always, they spoke of the same message…
'I'm hurt… I suffer… And no one notices… Or even cares…'
He'd hate me ifhe knew I had him figured out…
The dark-haired man grinned, and pressed a few buttons on the front of the glass chamber. It swung open, and his pale friend looked up at him in utter amazement. It did not take long, though, for the pale man to stumble to his feet, limping heavily on his left leg. Some time ago, they had inflicted what was intended to be a crippling wound on that leg, severing several key muscles and tendons required for movement. From the looks of things, that wound still had a long way to go before it healed… The pale-man limped heavily on it, even grimacing in pain when he took his first few steps. But the look he gave the other man was strictly business.
"…Your sword."
"Right."
All these years it had been in sight, hanging on the wall nearby. Many times, the dark-haired man had helplessly stared at his weapon, the mighty buster sword, and wished to feel the smooth leather of its hilt in his hand once more, to watch the face of the old scientist cloud up in terror as the blade descended upon his wrinkled, ugly old head… The hateful fantasy of destroying the old man, of carving him piece by piece, had kept the dark-haired captive going far longer than any gentler memories of his life before the glass prison.
He moved faster than his pale friend, for once, taking the buster weapon and moving to block the door to the basement. The first MP entered the room with gun in hand, moving too fast for his own good. The buster sword slew him in a single stroke. The next MP hesitated slightly, but the dark-haired man sprang out from behind the door and impaled him, letting his body fall lifelessly upon the hard, cement ground.
Without remorse, he kicked the body aside and turned back towards the pale, silver-haired man, watching as he slowly made his way across the basement and to one of the spare blades, lying uselessly along the floor. It was not his own weapon, but he did find one that was similar… A bit shorter, but of the same slender, streamlined make. He reached down… Closed his fingers around it… And then they opened, as if burned.
"…No… Something is wrong… I can't use this…"
"…Then leave it," The dark-haired man replied, impatiently. "C'mon. More of these fuckheads are coming!"
Sure enough, another line of MP's came rushing down the stairs, obviously alerted by the dying screams of their comrades. Feeling some of his old strength return, the dark-haired SOLDIER lunged forth and brought the Buster Sword down upon two more MP's, who died almost effortlessly beneath his blade. Killing had never seemed so easy, especially other humans… But it had been so long, and there was a dead something inside of him that longed for blood. He wanted to see those responsible die for this, he wanted to see so many people die… For what he and his friend had been through. These MP's could be the start of it… But the scientist would be next.
"C'mon." He waved towards his friend, who still walked with a noticeable limp. Grabbing the other's arm, he pulled it over his shoulder, and helped the other as they made their slow way up the stairs.
"…Is that all?"
"I guess." The dark-haired man replied. "…Didn't think it would be so easy…"
"It's almost like…" The pale one trailed off, and took a deep, painful breath.
"…Like what…?" Specimen Z asked, gently, knowing his friend was in terrible shape. Best not to push whatever feeble thought process he somehow managed to string together… He was just going to wait, patiently, for the other to gather his thoughts.
"…Nothing. Never mind…"
They emerged into one of the mansion bedrooms, forever leaving the basement behind – a place, where, certainly, their collective nightmares would return them to over and over again. The mansion itself seemed to be on the verge of decay. Long ribbons of dust fell from the ceiling as they made their way through, cobwebs stretched across light fixtures, chandeliers, railing, furniture… The dark-haired man sneezed as the dust wafted into his nose, and the other pulled a cobweb away from his face.
Both of them moved faster when they spotted the door, and when they burst through…
Specimen Z ceased to be a failed science experiment… Now he was Zackary L. Swift of Gongaga once more, SOLDIER first class… Though he no longer wanted anything to do with Shinra, or SOLDIER, or any of it…. He wanted to leave it all behind him, this time for good.
Specimen J-01, limping heavily on a wounded leg, hardly looked like himself… And it took him much longer than Zack to remember who he was and where he was from. He looked around the barren wasteland surrounding them, one hand clutched at his side and the other arm thrown around Zack's shoulders. His pale features finally tensed in a wan, tired recognition of just who, and what he was the moment his eyes found the tall, abandoned Mako Reactor, lingering at the top of the Nibel Mountains.
"Sephiroth. Let's get out of here." Zack muttered, quietly. The other nodded.
All around them, Nibelheim was nothing more than the charred, decayed skeletons of a few old buildings. There was no inn, no shop, no signs of life… It was only a ghost town, and they were now the sole living beings that remained.
"…They didn't even rebuild it… I wonder what happened…" Zack commented, after a few moments. "…Wouldn't Shinra wanna cover it up? Like they always do?"
"No… It's beenrebuilt." Sephiroth said, his voice the softer and weaker of the two. Still, his powers of observation were uncanny. "…All these buildings were burned down recently… Nibelheim was burnt to the ground a second time."
"How long do you think it's been?" Zack asked, after a few moments.
"…I don't know… But you were shorter when we went in there… and Hojo looked younger… It was a long time…"
Zack waited for Sephiroth to say more, but the silver-haired man seemed too exhausted to bother with anything else.
Instead of waiting for Sephiroth's verdict, Zack cast one last glance inside of the mansion…
I wonder… will it suck me back in?
…And then turned towards the path that led out of the ghost town and down from the foothills where Nibelheim had once been situated.
"Let's get out of here."
end of chapter one
A note from the author: hey. first time author here, and I appreciate feedback. Keep in mind its an AU (hence the seph/cloud character switch that took place) but feel free to criticize/comment/question as you see fit. And if you actually liked it, don't worry, there's much more to come.