Irvine looked over at Rinoa, pleased to see that she looked happier. Something had clicked within the last few moments, as if an internal light had been turned on and suddenly she was the Rinoa he'd first met a little over a month ago. It lifted the heavy weight that had been burdening his own heart of late.
"Remember to remove your junctions before you enter...."
"....Yes, I know, because of the magic field." She said it with a genuine smile, her dark eyes twinkling with that familiar brilliance. "Geesh, you're a nag."
"Or not. Then I can ravish you when you pass out from suppression sickness." Irvine grinned, closing his eyes in expectation of the punch that soon followed, "Did anyone ever tell you, you hit like a girl?" Another punch hit, this time much harder. He rubbed his arm, still grinning from ear to ear, "I never knew how much you loved me...till this moment. Hit me again, so I know it's not a dream..."
Rinoa glared playfully at him, "Keep it up chuckles, and I'll not only punch you but aim a nice blast of fire up your ass."
"AW! You DO love me!!"
Rinoa laughed, rolling her eyes with mock-exasperation. She'd gotten used Irvine's teasing and had only now come to enjoy the back and forth banter they had shared this entire time, "Yes, you've learned my terrible secret.....Now shut up and quit joking....we're supposed to be professionals."
They approached the main employee entrance, and Rinoa looked down at her paperwork. She had a new name she'd have to temporarily memorize, if only to get them in and out of this place as soon as possible. Any slip ups, and their mission would be far more difficult. Forgetting wasn't an option. She and Irvine quickly exchanged names, neither wanted to bumble the rescue because one of them didn't know their own partner's name. Rinoa fumbled with her ID, quickly clipping it to her jacket as they approached the door. The final touch was a badge, encased in a medium sized leather wallet. Rinoa flipped it over, examining the bright gold surface with interest.
"Check it out. We got badges....MAN! We coulda pulled someone over with these..." Rinoa said excitedly.
Irvine smiled and looked at his own badge. It was as if she'd read his mind, "Ah, yes...but the real question is. Who's gonna be good cop and who's gonna be bad cop?"
"I get to be good cop! I call dibs!"
"No way you're gonna be good cop. You don't have the charm or..." Before he could finish a sentence, she'd already hit him, "Only bad cop would hit an innocent cowboy just trying to make a point." he said, looking at her with big puppy eyes.
"Fine, you get to be good cop." Rinoa giggled, hitting him on the arm again, "Ya poozer."
"Hey, quit joking, we're professionals....remember?"
She thought of sticking her tongue out at him, but realized that he was correct. They were too close to the door to continue joshing each other. They stood in front of the door and inserted their keycards, waiting for authorization to enter. The reader beeped and expelled the keycard, followed by a loud click as the door locks disengaged. Just to be sure, they waited for the green light above the door to illuminate and then they entered. Neither knew entirely what to expect. Once inside, the guards seemed almost disinterested in the visitors that had just entered. Rinoa half expected them to rush at the door to strip-search them. At least, that's the kind of security she thought existed in prisons. She couldn't have been more wrong. Only one guard took any interest in them. He was their escort, and he blandly explained the prison rules. Half-heartedly patting them down all the while.
Once that was done, he issued them both prison identification cards, with the word guest printed in large neat letters on the front. Continuing his lecture on prison etiquette, he bade them to follow up a series of seemingly endless corridors and stairs. If she hadn't been walking, Rinoa would have surely fallen asleep. As it was, she merely drowned out his voice, silently singing to herself as she counted stairs. Eventually, he led them to a locked door that lead to another smaller guard station. Once again they were patted down, and this time told to surrender their weapons. Irvine grudgingly acquiesced, handing over his beloved rifle with trepidation. Rinoa giggled despite her own inner warnings not to, handing over her primary weapon.
The guards, satisfied now, let them enter the warden's office. The inner office was a neat affair, simple and clean. On the right were a small bank of comfy looking chairs and a table with a pile of magazines spread across it. On the left was a large artificial ficus tree, its silk leaves glowed a pale shade of green as the afternoon sun streamed through barred windows. The walls themselves were paneled with real wood, slick looking oil paintings scattered across the small space allotted. It was cozy enough that you could almost forget you were in a prison... Almost. Rinoa looked down at the carpet and at the long shadows of the bars as they crawled across it.
The secretary's kiosk stood right in the middle of this room, the entrance to the warden's office was behind her. She looked up from what she was doing, which seemed to be a whole lot of nothing. Just doing enough work to look busy, Rinoa thought, giving a little huff of annoyance. The secretary rolled her eyes, as if they'd interrupted her in the middle of doing something really important.
"Can I help you?" She asked, not hiding her absolute distaste for their presence.
Irvine put on the best smile he could manage, "Yes, we're here to see Warden Irons."
The woman rolled her eyes again; she asked snottily, "Do you have an appointment?"
"Yes." he answered chipperly, "We're the agents from Operation Parade. I believe we were expected."
Irvine flashed another overly pleasant smile and handed over their fake IDs. Sure, he could have been just as rude to her as she was to him. That just wasn't his style. He took great pleasure in being extra nice to rude people. A subtle form of revenge on his part, knowing that his amiability irritated them more. It worked, the secretary ruffled at the sheer niceness of his replies. She jabbed angrily at the buttons on her phone as she called into his office. On the phone her demeanor changed completely, from outright hostility to a cheerful kind of politeness as she told the warden of his visitors. Hanging up the phone, she gave a nasty little smile as she told them to sit down and wait.
Irvine smiled back, winking at her before approaching the small waiting area. Rinoa found it more difficult, her lips stretched into perhaps the fakest smile since she'd left her father's. She sat down next to Irvine, and began to flip through the pile of old magazines on the coffee table in front of them.
The odd thing about waiting rooms is you never feel like it's all right to talk. Rinoa had always felt the world might somehow shatter if she talked too much within the confines of any given waiting room. It was the silence, the expectation of professional appearance that drove her to think this way.
This was especially clear to her now, not only because of the dreadful secretary who eyed them even now, but that any slip-ups could case their cover to be blown. They had to pretend to be trained investigative officers that had come here to interrogate suspects. Irvine must have felt this too, as he'd fallen suddenly quiet. Rinoa missed their banter almost immediately and was seized with the sudden urge to punch Irvine, just to see what would happen. She resisted and sat down, giving her arms a little stretch to quiet her nervousness.
Irvine had already found himself a copy of Verbatim, a popular children's magazine, to read. He immediately became absorbed in it. Rinoa shook her head and sighed, looking for anything to read. She settled on Crayone, an odd art magazine that she knew about but rarely read. A few minutes later she was reading about minimalist performance artist, Kikuko Inoue, Irvine interrupted her by jabbing her side.
"What?"
"Do you have a pen? I wanna do the crossword...."
Rinoa stared at him for a moment, gap mouthed. She had an insult ready; before it could escape her lips, the doors to the warden's office opened. A man stepped out; Rinoa guessed it was the warden. He was around forty and rather overweight; his hair was dark with a very obvious dye job. Rinoa had imagined that the warden of a prison would look sterner, more professional, perhaps wearing a light gray-brushed silk business suit from some expensive designer. This man looked like any ten beat cops she'd met in the course of her life. Most of them were her father's friends from the war, or past students of his. They had jackets for their suits, but very rarely ever wore them. They preferred to walk around with their business shirts tucked loosely into their pants, sleeves rolled up, holsters and suspenders out for all to see. This was the very image of Warden Avery Irons.
Irvine jumped from his chair, shook his hand while greeting him, "Mornin' Warden, Agent Daniel Pierson, at your service."
Rinoa was up next, smiling politely and trying to remember to carry herself with a professional air. She introduced herself, "Agent Rene Summers. Nice to meet you, sir."
"Welcome, both of you. Please come in.," the warden said, still smiling as he ushered them in.
Rinoa cringed at the decor in the warden's office. It was entirely filled with the heads of dead animals, and Rinoa could feel her skin crawling as they watched her with their glassy eyes. With a shudder, she sat down next to Irvine, in an overstuffed chair that was directly opposite Warden Iron's unnecessarily huge desk. The desk fairly screamed, "I'm not impotent."
"So... Thank you so much for coming on such short notice. I understand you two were on assignment when we called. I apologize if we've inconvenienced you..." Irons said, trailing off as he looked at them, hands clasped over his desk.
Irvine looked at Rinoa, smiled and nodded, and he answered, "No... it was no problem at all. The...uh...mission wasn't that important; easily cancelled."
The look on his face was of a man who had no idea what he was talking about. Rinoa nodded quickly.
"Well...that's odd..." Irons looked down at his paperwork, riffled through it with disinterest. He stopped and gave them a dubious look, "You two were on the undercover team that was infiltrating Garden. I can't imagine that kind of thing would be all that easy to cancel. In fact, I had to pull a few strings to do so..." His eyes narrowed with suspicion.
The man was challenging them, was eager to catch them up. Rinoa called his bluff, "Normally, it would have been quite a trial to cancel. We'd only just begun our preparations when you called. So it was really easier than you'd think." She paused, and gave him a smile that was a mixture of sweetness and malice, "May I ask you if we've given you any reason to distrust us, sir? We didn't come all this way to be treated like the common criminals you house here." She slid their orders--stamped with Caraway's official seal--across the desk at him.
That was enough to shut down any further suspicion on his part. Irons began to blather, "No..no...I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, it's just...you know...dealing with the types we have here, it's only natural to be suspicious. I didn't mean to insult you.... it's just you look so young. It's been years since I was on the police force and you have to be at least 18 to join...."
"Yes, well...we're not with the police force officially. We're special ops, former students at Garden who were recruited for...our talents."
"You're from Garden?"
"Formerly from Garden..." Rinoa corrected him, "The military life didn't suit us, if you understand my meaning."
"Ah, double agents, good." Irons finally sounded satisfied, "Well, let's get down to business, shall we?"
Irons carefully and deliberately passed three dossiers across the desk. They were files belonging to the very friends they were here to liberate. Inside each dossier small pictures were paper clipped to a small title sheet. Which bore the prisoners' number, locations and general information. Under each cover sheet there were stacks of typewritten pages. Flipping through them, Rinoa and Irvine both had to hold in their amusement: Besides all the general paperwork crap, were sizeable lists of what looked to be prison infractions from all three of them.
Irons leaned forward in his chair, "This is what we've called you here for. These three are part of the group that tried to assassinate our Sorceress. We believe they are SeeDs from Balamb Garden."
Irvine smoothly interjected, "How do you figure they're from Garden and SeeDs no less? Any well-trained militia group could have organized such an operation. I don't see any direct evidence."
"Yes, well, it seems that the Sorceress's Knight, General Almasy, knows them from his days in Garden. This fact, while useful, does us little good. We need more direct evidence against SeeD; moreover, we need conclusive proof that it was they who initiated the attack on us. It will justify our plans to annihilate Garden and SeeD. You see, the Galbadian government has always been suspicious of Garden and its motives from the very beginning. The parade incident only illustrates this more clearly to us." Irons paused, "But I'm getting ahead of myself. It's imperative that we have evidence against SeeD.... concrete evidence which should convince the world of their ulterior motives. This means more than Garden taking the fall for the parade incident. This means finding out Garden's true purpose, the one they don't tell you in their brochures. The secret agenda it's said they give all SeeDs at graduation. We've already begun interrogation on one of the subjects, but we need expert guidance. This is why you've been called. Because you are from Garden, formerly, and you know their routines...You see, we've found that these SeeDs are quite resistant to most normal investigative techniques. We're hoping that you'd be able to give us the keys to the kingdom...if you will."
Irvine and Rinoa shared a wary look and turned back to Irons simultaneously. Rinoa had always guessed at the levels of mistrust within the military, but never did she think it ran so deep. Irons' statements bordered on the kind of paranoia only seen in those who believed in UFOs. Apparently the old man wasn't finished, as he babbled on about how dangerous Quistis, Zell and Selphie were. Rinoa was amused that, between them, twenty inmates had been sent to the infirmary, and at least ten prison guards had been taken out by them. In the middle of his rambling diatribe, Irons made an odd statement that made Rinoa stop and listen.
"These three, however important, aren't your real concern...yet."
Rinoa shook her head, "Wait, you said that they were the reason we're here. Warden, I'm afraid you've lost me...."
Warden Irons smiled like he was holding a very precious secret, " I'm afraid I can't say more than that. I'd like you to start immediately." He paused momentarily to hand them a small keycard with a blue stripe down one side, "This keycard will allow you to go up to level thirteen where our lead investigator is waiting. One of our elite guards will show you the way; of course...this prison can be kind of a maze sometimes. It's easy to get lost...Nice to have you aboard."
Irons got up and escorted the two of them to the door, holding out his hand for a final shake. They shook his hand in turn, both expressing how good it was to be working here and for him. It was an honor. Rinoa felt dirty as she said the words and found it hard to resist the urge to puke all over his smug, piggy face. Turning on her heels, she fingered the blue and white keycard Irons had given her before stuffing it into her coat pocket. Rinoa and Irvine shared another look outside Irons' office, ignoring the glares of the secretary. Neither of them could talk, at least, they couldn't talk about what they really wanted to. What awaited them on level thirteen? Rinoa had some very unpleasant guesses.
With calm urgency, they entered the small guard station at the exit to the administration wing and retrieved their weapons. On their way out, they were met by a short Galbadian solider. His bright red uniform indicating that he was an officer, though not of very high rank. Brief introductions were given and once again they had to endure a lecture on prison etiquette. Rinoa found it odd that a soldier was sent to escort them, rather than a normal prison guard. Though she couldn't blame Irons for not trusting them. Truthfully, he shouldn't.
The young soldier continued to babble at them as they made their way into the prison proper. Rinoa had already forgotten his name and began to zone out. She made sure to nod and hum at the appropriate spots so that he'd never know she wasn't paying the least bit of attention to him. Irvine looked to be doing the same, albeit not as well as she.
Her heels made a metallic clicking sound on the floor that had suddenly become fascinating. She stared down at her feet for a moment, stopping only inches from bumping into their escort. They walked past row after row of dank looking cells. This was a minimum-security prison, yet there were no barred cells. Large blast type doors kept prisoner from guard. Minimum security for the "political terrorist". She had heard rumors that this was where they sent dissidents. Rinoa began to count the cell doors, annoyed that she couldn't look into them properly, as they all had only one extremely tiny window. Rinoa shuddered.
On the landing between floors three and four, a klaxon suddenly blared that pulled Rinoa from her daydreaming. She looked around confusedly, meeting Irvine's equally befuddled gaze. The soldier's radio crackled to life.
"THE SEEDS HAVE ESCAPED!!"
A shot rang out and the young guard turned and slumped to the ground with a look of complete surprise. Rinoa visibly jumped, holding her hand to her heart as she scowled at Irvine, who was carelessly twirling his shotgun in one hand.
"Was that really necessary?"
"Yes. 'Sides, they were sleep rounds. He'll live." He replied with a simple grin, before he tipped his hat and jogged off, towards danger. "Comin' slow poke?"
Rinoa frowned, pausing for the briefest of moments before scooping up the guard's radio and running after Irvine. She met him on the landing on the fourth floor. Wordlessly they ran as fast as they could. Though for Rinoa it was a hard go, she wasn't trained like Irvine and the others to endure such lengthy bouts of sustained physical effort. She was by no means out of shape, just untrained. Breathing heavily, she kept her eyes trained on the hem of Irvine's coat.
On the sixth floor chaos reigned, Rinoa and Irvine could clearly hear the sounds of battle from the fifth floor landing. Despite an aching knot in her side, Rinoa ran faster and caught up to Irvine, weapon at the ready. Irvine ran towards the fray with little regard for his own life, plunging into battle without thought. He shot indiscriminately, instinctively knowing that the crowd of soldiers in front of them had their friends pinned down. Rinoa clicked a pinwheel into place, readying herself for battle. Something ricocheted off the metal of her weapon, bending the mechanism but not injuring her. She whirled around to face her attackers. A lone soldier, accompanied by two robotic assistants. Rinoa had seen the sleek blue and sliver robots, though she'd forgotten what they were called. A flurry of gunfire erupted and Rinoa dived for the ground, unable to defend herself without a weapon. Irvine pivoted quickly upon hearing the ruckus, training his gun on his new targets. Two shots and the guard were down. Reloading his gun with explosion rounds, he aimed for the robots, worried that it'd be harder to take them out. Their hard metallic shells protecting the delicate instruments within.
Meanwhile, Rinoa surveyed her situation, patting herself to make sure everything was in place. Luckily the guard was a suck shot, nothing seemed out of place. Though her situation did not improve. She was weaponless, completely dependent on Irvine to win an impossible battle. A sudden wave of nausea hit her and Rinoa shook her head, annoyed. This was the second time that day she'd felt this way. The first time was when they entered the prison itself. She had been so sure she'd de-junctioned but apparently she had done something wrong because she nearly keeled over when she walked in. Grabbing onto Irvine for dear life. He'd teased her and the memory of it made her want to hit him again. Rinoa's eyes went suddenly wide with realization. If she was woozy now, could that mean that somehow the magic field was down? If it was, she had a chance.
Still on the floor, she crawled over towards the larger battle behind them. Letting Irvine pick off the silver robots. All she could do now was hope to hell she was right. Rinoa raised herself up a little, getting purchase with her feet; she pushed off into a somersault. Tumbling forward and onto her feet, she held out her palms and concentrated. Within seconds a wall of fire erupted from her outstretched hands, the force of it sent her tittering back. Waving her arms, she fell to the floor--hard-- to watch in amazement at what she'd set loose. Her flame rippled through the crowd. Burning the soldiers to ash upon contact, and exploding their robotic assistants. Rinoa covered her eyes as more and more of the machines exploded. When all was said and done, there was very little left but flame and smoke. The prison's fire extinguishing equipment had failed partially and in only certain places could the soft pitter of falling water be heard.
Rinoa dusted herself off, surveying the carnage she'd left behind. She was really unable to discern if she ought to be proud of herself or a bit afraid. Pondering this, she felt the gentle pressure of a hand on her shoulder, which momentarily startled her. She gave a tiny squeak, and then a grunt as she turned to view Irvine's smiling face. He looked over the sixth floor, not saying a word. He whistled and shook his head, ambling over to a trio of shadows who made their way laboriously through the billowing smoke.
Reunions were had, words were said, hugs given and during the entire time Rinoa hung back. Her dark eyes peered hesitantly at her friends, undecided as whether or not it was okay to join them. She felt suddenly very alone. Realizing as she watched them that she didn't belong. Rinoa found herself unable to deal with the realities of the battle that had taken place in front of her. Killing in battle had always bothered her. It didn't seem to bother them at all. Besides that, she just felt...awkward. It seemed not even one noticed she wasn't there and why should they? She wasn't really one of them, was she? Before she could finish her next thought, the floor underneath her shifted. Shit!
She darted forward, her body still feeling a bit tired and winded. Shouting breathlessly, "This place is going into lock down. We have to get out of here now!"
All eyes were on her, looks of shock on everyone's face but Irvine's. Rinoa wondered if they were shocked because she was all right or if it was because she was here at all. She soon got her answer in the form of all five foot one of Selphie colliding into her at top speed.
"RIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIINNY!! YOU'RE OKAY!!" Selphie squealed, "When I didn't see you I got so worried!!"
Rinoa laughed, banishing all thoughts of loneliness and alienation. Returning Selphie's megawatt hug with one of her own. After Selphie let go, Zell took his turn. Wrapping his arms around her and giving her a big bear hug, ending in him twirling her around a couple of times.
Setting her down, he gave her a goofy grin, "Good to see you kid."
Quistis was the last, strolling up to Rinoa quietly. The older woman's deep-sea eyes staring out with an unreadable gaze. This was the moment she dreaded most. She could still remember the sting of that gaze so many weeks ago. The very clear feeling that Quistis blamed her for Squall's death. It suddenly dawned on Rinoa that she was wearing Squall's jacket and she could feel herself stuttering out the beginnings of a blabbering explanation. Quistis hushed her with on hand, shaking her head with a small smile. For a moment, the two young women regarded each other. Were they rivals or friends? Rinoa had never really been sure. She knew she liked Quistis. But there was uncertainty where Quistis's feelings were concerned and this made Rinoa nervous. Quistis had loved Squall, perhaps more deeply than she, and certainly for much longer. It must have galled Quistis to see Rinoa wearing that jacket. It had to. Rinoa chewed on her lip nervously, anticipating a slap. The moment passed and Quistis leaned forward, giving Rinoa a warm hug.
The blonde woman pulled away, a serene little smile on the corners of her mouth, "It's good to see you. Irvine mentioned you were a big help. Good work."
"T-thanks."
"I'm also told it was you who cast that fire spell. Seems we have to work on your control."
Rinoa blushed, "Yeah...Sorry."
Quistis shook her head, "It's all right. I'm impressed. Most first time users can barely summon a flicker. You must have some natural skill with magic. With a little refinement, you'd make a wonderful SeeD. So, how 'bout we get out of this dump?"
They all nodded in agreement, talking for a few minutes about what their plan should be. It was decided that Irvine, Selphie and Quistis all go down to prepare their way out. Rinoa and Zell jogged up to the thirteenth floor to stop the prison's secondary defense systems. Rinoa faced another long dark jog up a set of stairs. The only difference being that Zell was much, much faster than Irvine and Rinoa had quite a bit of trouble keeping up. He'd stop every now and again, the little moomba that followed him around stopping with him. By the time they'd reached the thirteenth floor, Rinoa was tired and breathless. Jogging to a stop, she saw Zell hunched over the door tapping in different combinations to the door lock and muttering to himself. Holding her aching side, she leaned against the wall for a moment to catch her breath. She closed her eyes, suddenly feeling very tired.
In the inner darkness of her mind, she let it wander. A myriad thoughts passing through her at the speed of light, it seemed quite unnatural but somehow she was at peace with it. He's here. A soft voice said, and it took a moment for Rinoa to realize it was Siren again. Who? Rinoa asked, a note of confused curiosity entering her voice. Siren gave the impression of a knowing smile and Rinoa felt her fade from her mind as she receded into where ever GFs went when they weren't being used. She was brought back to her own world by an abrupt and violent tug on her right sleeve. It was the moomba, its large blue eyes staring up at her as if pleading for a treat. Rinoa smiled, smoothing the fur on its head. She looked over at Zell, who was still struggling with the door. Shaking her head and laughing, she looked back down at the moomba.
"He's hopeless." The moomba made a little chirp, tugging again at her right sleeve several times. It stopped and looked up at her expectantly. Rinoa giggled, "You want a treat?" The moomba chirped louder this time, pulling on her sleeve hard enough to make her stumble forward. "What?" Another tug. Rinoa was annoyed now, turning out her pockets, "Look. See? I got nothing, George."
The moomba was as annoyed and frustrated as she. Barking sharply this time and running down the corridor, past the stairs they'd just come up from. It turned when it didn't see Rinoa follow and jogged back. This time it ran behind her, pushing at her legs with its nose. The sheer force of the animal forced Rinoa into a walk. It stopped, ran down the corridor again and yelped.
"You want me to follow?"
It squeaked excitedly, running further down the hall. Sighing, Rinoa followed. Who was she to disobey a direct order from an animal? Angelo owned her, why not George? Leaving Zell behind to continue his fight with the door, Rinoa followed George. A short way down the hall, they came to a rather large iron door with an odd blue symbol on it.
"This is what you want me to see? A door?"
Rinoa sighed, a frown flickering across her face. What in the world do they keep in there? She thought, before giving a shrug and turning to leave. The moomba had quieted down, only to start back up, yipping and yelping wildly. It leapt at her, frantically jumping up and down, tugging at her right sleeve. Rinoa felt her ire rising, looking down past the hole where Squall had been hit she was about to berate the animal for wasting her time. Something drew her back to that hole. The loose pieces of a puzzle began to fit together. The animal had only tugged on the right sleeve. The sleeve that had been covered in Squall's blood. She'd washed it out, hadn't she? Something her father had told her once came floating back to her. But moombas have an incredible sense of smell. They can smell blood long after the most visible traces have been washed away. They also have an incredible memory. All it takes is one sniff or taste from the victim's sample and they'll remember it. Some say for the rest of their lives.
Her eyes widened as she felt the air seep out of her lungs. With quiet urgency, she reached into her pocket and pulled out the keycard the warden had given her. Looking at it, the symbol on the keycard matched the door. Rinoa strode forward in a dreamlike state, her mind not fully comprehending what it was she was thinking. Only knowing that the answers lay behind that door. Her hands trembling, she swiped the keycard and the door opened with a nearly silent whoosh.
She stepped inside the tiny room beyond and looked around. For the most part, it was bare. There were a few shelves facing her, on them was a variety of equipment, some medical tools and various other oddities. On her left there was a rather tasteless display of whips and other devices, as well as a small door. Rinoa's lip curled in disgust. It was a torture room. She slowly turned around to see what was on the wall behind her. Everything went in slow motioned as she pivoted on the spot. Her jaw dropped, eyes widened and it felt as if someone had socked her square in the chest. On the wall, hooked up to some kind of torture device, was Squall.
Her heart was beating a thousand miles a minute, and her lip trembled. Cautiously, she set one foot in front of the other until she was standing right in front of him. Her head tilted back slowly, taking in every inch of him. Rinoa's eyes glassed over. He looked awful. Hanging there limply, his head rested on his exposed chest, which was a crisscross of cuts and abrasions, still open and bleeding. They'd tortured him. Breathing hard, she came closer and lifted his chin up, so that she could see his face. She needed to see his face. Because she needed to know if this was real, or some haunted imagining from her nightmares. Long, delicate fingers gently cupped his chin, pushing it up ever so slowly.
If there was a face to recognize, Rinoa could barely see it in the battered visage she now gazed upon. His eyes had been swollen shut, his lip cracked and bleeding, he barely looked human. Reaching up, she traced her finger down his scar, the only thing that marked him as the man she knew. Sadly, Rinoa stopped and pushed the matted hair from his face. Until this moment, she'd been able to keep her composure. This was too much. He was real and here, and god, he was alive. Broken, but alive.
"Bastards." She whispered angrily, tears coursing down her cheeks.
Rinoa stood there, her hand numbly running a hand through his hair when she heard a click coming from behind. It was the man who had done this; he'd come in through the door in the wall of whips. He studied the girl who stood between him and his subject and smiled cruelly. This was not the first time someone's friends had come on a rescue mission and found a beloved thusly. She'd make a sweet subject for his work. The boy hadn't cracked; perhaps this was his girl friend.
The piggy little torturer wondered how long it'd take her to squeal once he bit into her. The boy'd crack, he knew that. She was a pretty little thing. He pulled his handgun from its holster, clicking back the hammer and holding it to the girl's head. Licking his lips, he reached out his other hand to touch her hair. It looked so soft and inky black. His hand suddenly stopped in mid movement. The torturer's eyes widened in confusion, realizing that nothing worked. He was paralyzed somehow.
No sooner had he come to that realization, then he saw a slight wind ruffle the girl's hair. Slowly, her feet began to lift off the floor; until nothing but the very tips of her boots touched it. All around her, a nowhere wind flickered at her clothes, her hair. She leisurely turned around in mid-air, her hair lapping across her face in long tendrils. Her eyes had gone completely white and her normally expressive face had lost all emotion. She drifted towards the now paralyzed torturer, stopping only inches from him. Rinoa cocked her head, letting a dangerously playful smile grace her face. She lifted up one graceful arm, placing her right hand directly on his heart. The torturer's fear was mounting, as he looked at the unnatural siren floating serenely in front of him. She leaned in close, as if to tell him a secret.
Her breath brushing his cheek, she spoke softly, "Ut ille patitur, sic tu ipsa pateris." *
With those words a black and red explosion of light and energy erupted from her right hand. It swallowed the man and he screamed as every single injury he'd inflicted on Squall was inflicted upon him, all at once. Another surge of black and red light engulfed him, and he was thrown backwards, his body thumping against the whip wall and landing ungracefully on the floor. There he stayed, writhing and convulsing until finally his body gave out.
Rinoa sank to the floor, her feet firmly touching ground again. The wind swirling around her died down as her eyes returned to their normal color. She wavered in tired agony, all her strength sapped. She was aware that she was going to faint again and before she could think to do anything, she collapsed.
*English--As he suffers, you suffer.