Cloud Strife felt his eyelids open slowly of their own accord. He looked around, first to the left then to the right. Everything was tinged in a green bubbly haze that obscured his vision and made him nauseous. He forced his eyes closed; the world was starting to spin.
"Cloud…"
He heard someone call his name faintly, distantly, as if from behind something thick, like crystal or glass. He twitched his head once in response and the voice called to him again.
"Cloud… can you hear me? It's me."
That voice, he knew it. It was soft and rich and full and deep and everything he had dreamed about for so long—it was Tifa's voice. The heavy lids slid partially open, allowing him to look out before him into the greenish-blackness that had always surrounded him for as long as he could remember now. The only thing he knew was this odd-colored prison and Tifa's voice. She had come to visit him again.
"Everything's alright, Cloud. Everything's okay. I'm here now."
A hand reached for him and he slipped into unconsciousness as the slender fingers skimmed against solid glass and stilled.
"He's absolutely extraordinary," the woman said as she stood, still facing the containment tube Cloud Strife had been placed in almost twenty years ago. Behind her, she could feel rather than hear the slow, methodical shuffle-drag of the scientist's footsteps as he paced the length of the desecrated altar, strewn with wires and tubing and cables.
"You, my dear, are absolutely extraordinary," he giggled. "You, my perfect creation. My beautiful soldier. You are my finest work—he is just a failed experiment."
Her crystal green eyes flashed at his words but her voice continued to carry an even, steady tone: "Thank you, Master."
"Sir!"
They both turned to the third member of their underground crew, a tall man with a shock of red hair tied back in a lengthened ponytail and dressed in a snappy blue suit, minus the formality of a tie. His collar was undone and so were the cuffs of his sleeves. Despite his disheveled appearance, his black shoes were spotless polished mirrors.
"Reno and I have found the cause of the disturbances from last night," he announced, as a proud child would announce to their parents good news from school. "It seems his son and a woman traveling with him have taken shelter in one of the abandoned houses in the city."
"Finally," grunted the skinny, hunchbacked man. "Why on earth did he take his sweet time coming?" He limp-dragged his way across the stone altar and down the constructed metal ramp, hands clasped loosely behind him as his head bowed in thought, oily strands of black hair falling out of the haphazardly-secured tie and along the sides of his angular face, making his jaw stand out prominently. The younger red-head opened his mouth, decided he valued his life and bypassed the comment he was about to fling out, choosing to prompt an order instead. He hadn't learned nothing in the past thirty years.
"What would you like us to do about it, sir?"
"Bring him here," Hojo ordered, turning to Reno as his eyes glimmered in psychotic glee. "I don't care what you do with the woman, but, bring his son here to me." The Turk nodded and disappeared as quickly as he came. The white lab coat flowed like a bizarre cape flourish as he whirled to the woman standing by Cloud's containment pod. "Experiment 819720—Codename: Ayden."
"Yes, master," she straightened immediately.
"Prepare for our reception with our…guests. Make sure he is not found."
"Yes, master," she repeated. He left the central altar room and shuffle-limped his way to the short hall leading to the crudely constructed bedrooms. She watched him go and then turned her attention to the pale man floating silently in the green mako liquid, tubes and wires crisscrossing his bony frame. She shook her head, lowered her eyes, and reached out with both hands, her face remaining expressionless as she uprooted the entire casing from the stone platform and slammed it against the ground. With an explosion of green glass, he tumbled limply out of the containment unit at her feet, heaving and coughing and gagging.
He retched, thin, hot, runny brown liquid that made his throat burn and the smell made him want to puke again. He rolled onto his back, only half-aware of what he was doing, convulsing against the cold stone of the floor. Ayden reached down and grabbed him by the back of his blond head, feeling chunks of hair and skin come off his skull effortlessly. His eyes were rolled back so only the whites showed and low, wheezing-moaning noises issued from his throat. Ayden dragged him along the stone altar and down the metal ramp, ignoring the screams of pain and the disgusting ripping sounds as skin and flesh tore away from his body. She pulled him down the hall and around to the crystal staircase, where a metal elevator had been erected just beside it. She threw him inside; he hit the opposite wall with a loud clang. He whimpered. She entered the elevator and threw the switch. The gears turned and the cage began to rise.
"Tifa…" he slurred.
Reno cocked his head at Rude, confirming silently with his eyes. The bald, aged man nodded and they crept inside the stone shelter within the overhang of the cliff wall. On the lower platform was a motorcycle: black, silver, and sleek. Reno's eyebrows shot up in appreciation. Rude rolled his eyes, though it couldn't be seen behind his thick sunglasses. That was one of the perks for working with the same partner for so long: you began to memorize each other's moods, mannerisms, and gestures and know what each meant. Reno knew this would be the last assignment the two of them ever did together: with Shin-Ra gone and Rude getting into very old age (Reno had asked him once exactly how old and he had gotten shot at), the man was soon to be retired. Which was fine. After the Meteor incident all those years back and with this job now, Reno didn't blame him either. Hojo wouldn't need them after the final stage of his plan anyway—that bitch Ayden was meant to be his whore and bodyguard for the rest of their damned existence. For a moment, he wondered why they had even rescued Hojo from the debris of Midgar and nursed him back to health. Why had they—including Elena at the time—agreed to extract revenge on Cloud and his friends? Why did Hojo have the prototype murder Elena after his teammate had voiced her feelings on the experiment; This is wrong, and you know it! No one should be put through this kind of torture! She should have been allowed to rest in peace like anyone else! I quit! I can't do this anymore—I won't help you destroy his body or her soul any longer! And they had never seen her again after that night, but both he and Rude knew what had happened. Hojo had looked so smug afterwards. It was the only time Reno had ever felt like disobeying a direct order. But, here they were, to get rid of a girl no older than twenty, and capture a boy who had grown up with no parents because of their employer. What a sick and twisted life.
Rude flanked him to the staircase. He went up first, electric rod in hand, his thumb hovering over the 'on'-switch. There were two figures huddled beneath an off-white animal fur blanket and he didn't blame them—it was fuckass cold. He signaled Rude to the left side as he circled around to the right. The older man withdrew a pistol with a silencer locked onto it; not that it mattered here. No one would hear it, except for them. He was used to gunshots. Whatever.
He held up three fingers. They both stopped at their respective edges, weapons out. Reno flicked his fingers up and down successively: one, two, three. His thumb jammed down onto the red button as he drove the metal spike deep into the sheets and there was the zipped, whispered sound as the silenced gun fired its rounds into the mattress. With any luck, the two hadn't shifted positions in the middle of the night and they hadn't just accidentally killed the boy. They both reached down to pull back the fur blanket.
Caleb dropped from the alcove above and knocked both men to the ground. The empty pistol slid away into the darkness and the tazer weapon clattered noisily along the loft floor.
"Go, Angel!" he shouted. She ran out from beneath the staircase and vaulted onto the bike, hitting the started at the same time. The engine roared to life as Reno and Rude both struggled against Caleb's surprising strength. He dropped the crystal-lined blade to the backs of their necks as Angel shot out of the alcove and up the path, further into the city. "Who are you?" the blond youth snarled, grazing the razor-sharp blade against the napes of their necks, effectively trimming the small hairs and withdrawing a startled yelp from the red-head.
"We're the Turks—an old Shin-Ra organization."
"The Turks…" he mumbled.
"Heard of us, I see," Reno grinned then proceeded to eat dirt as Caleb drove the blade down once more, ensuring they couldn't move a centimeter without some nasty damage.
"Where is my father?"
Reno raised an eyebrow: "What would you do if I told you? There's no helping him now: Hojo's got him, and he's dying."
Rude, whose glasses had fallen off in the attack, looked over his shoulder and the sword at the younger version of the ex-mercenary they had captured. "We're always for hire—we only work for the ones with the most tempting offer."
"And how did Hojo hire you? Money?" Caleb snarled. "You kept my father imprisoned for twenty years just so you could have some money to make yourselves comfortable?"
"We desecrated your mother's tomb, while we were at it," Reno added thoughtfully, and realized that he still had to watch his big mouth because the blond was looking very angry and very, very murderous. He quickly pulled himself together: "Under Hojo's orders. He's used her body for the experiment he's conducting."
"Experiment…?" Caleb's eyes widened but he didn't dare loosen his hold; he was a smart boy.
"We'll strike a bargain right now," Rude grunted, his doughy face reddening from lack of air. "Our lives for the information you want."
"You'd betray your own client?"
"We're Turks, kid. We follow our own rules. But we can't do that if we're dead."
Caleb's eyes flickered from amber to lethal red, and both men thought they were going to die despite their efforts. Then, he was helping them up, the sword laying against the wall beside them. The young man stepped over their sprawled bodies and collected Reno's weapon, then went back into the dark corner to retrieve the gun. The two older men sat up and rubbed the backs of their necks, Rude placing his sunglasses back on his face. Caleb sat on the fur-lined mattress and after a moment of silence, he tossed the weapons back at their respective owners. They caught them easily and without him having to say anything, they put them back into the folds of their suits. They had a new client, and now it was strictly business.
"Tell me everything," Caleb ordered. And they did.