Back to the Galbadians! YAY! A new major original character too! He's got potential. I plan to put him in the plot at least two more times. Overall: my original characters in the G-Army ROCK! Enough said.

A whole lot is going on currently, can't ya tell? Whew, this chapter's the longest one I think. So far, anyway. About 12 pages on Microsoft Word. Yeah, I know. Holy crap…

Lyrics: "Still Running" by Chevelle, off of their album, This Type of Thinking (Could Do Us In)! It's an awesome song, one of my favorites from them. THANK YOU CHEVELLE! For they're so inspiring. The lyrics just fit in conveniently in this chapter, I believe!

Chapter 19: Planning Ahead

Along, you support.

Then embrace another reason to see…

Throughout the evening while Squall was promoted as a Garden Commander, a bit of activity was going on at the G-Army's new and temporary headquarters at the Deling City Bank.

Nathaniel Boone, the G-Army's top quality hacker, had volunteered to slip into the Balamb Garden's computer network to check out their suspects' students records. With all the few options they had, with the embarrassment in front of the government when Wedge called the head governor of their country (which ended up in the newspapers by now), and frustration in the search of their still missing worldwide leader, it was best to know much about the enemy as they possibly could.

Boone was around twenty-five. His dirt-blond hair was short, with a few long bangs, which were recently cut short to be at length above the eyebrows by a couple inches. A good soldier doesn't hide his eyes from his superiors. A soldier also isn't supposed to skip out on any opportunities when he sees one, and isn't supposed to hide any of their abilities either, no matter how good or bad.

His eyes were hazel. A small silver earring hoop was worn on one earlobe. If anyone took a look at this man, they'd think he was eighteen, and looked more of a rockstar type than a military type. Boone looked like a kid, but he wasn't to be underestimated with. Wedge and Biggs didn't know that, but they would soon find out by tomorrow.

The only awake man in the entire bank had been trying his hardest to hack into the firewall, which was a strong and good firewall. One by one, he was going through his many methods to get the needed information for the current commanders, Wedge and Biggs, by dawn tomorrow morning. Boone just opened up his mouth and talked about it, and then he was given a test. If he failed, he would get demoted for sure. When given the assignment to look into Balamb's student records of the names and photos printed out on two pieces of plain white paper, Boone went straight to work.

Ever since in his early teens, he'd go to the online networks of his favorite radio stations and TV stations to hack in his requests. Often, he'd get grounded from a week up to a month by his parents. Boone never let up though. He kept at it, developing his skills and just knew the precise timing and which keys to push. Developed codes and programs and saved them onto floppy disks. Saved his allowance to buy more than a handful of floppy A's. It was an art, a special gift he discovered. Throughout his youth, he got away with easily owning the internet on Gala. It was his very own virtual playground.

Boone was then shipped off to the Galbadian military years later by his stern and strict mother and father, hoping they would discipline him from his criminal acts. Unfortunately, they were wrong. The G-Army welcomed Boone's gift, and best of all, he was getting paid for it.

On his fifth cup of coffee for the night, he kept going through his old disks he's kept hiding from his damn family for years. Once a week, he'd change the hiding places, so that good old mom and dad wouldn't even notice he's had this stash. He made sure to pack them up to, knowing that they'd probably come in handy. Gee, thanks Mom and Dad, Boone thought to himself sarcastically, recalling the memories of what felt like a lifetime ago. I never knew you actually cared to shove my gift over to the army. Only, he knew better. His father kept pressing into his head about this military thing changing him "for the better." That they make him think twice and "get a life" as he insulted. Yeah, right.

In his spare time when not having to check and assemble weaponry and other stupid labor work like that, he'd always develop something new. Viruses of any sort, and encrypted codes. No one would take this pleasure away from him. Boone could get whatever he wanted, when he wanted, and not have to pay a thing, really. His share of salary was that of a low rank, and it wasn't satisfying enough to buy some new clothes and food he could just heat up in the microwave and scarf down on the go to his next assignment. So, he saved that Gil until he'd had enough to get those necessities. Everything else he cheated online to get the rest for free, using other people's bank accounts and credit card numbers to get all sorts of things: knick knacks, expensive collectables of the movies and shows on television when growing up… He's done that for years.

It's alright, Boone thought calmly while going through the next ten programs, codes, and viruses to launch into the BalambGarden-dot-net homepage. We got all night. Honestly, there wasn't anything this prodigy could not break through. The disk "Project Overdrive" could break down most firewalls, but these guys were good. He was impressed, and that hardly ever happened when it came down to the security systems. Moving it aside, he picked up a green floppy A, that had the next label, written in marker. "Apocalypse." Not one of his newest projects, but an old one that was good on some security systems. Mostly chewing them up, bit by bit, and spitting them out. It was no surprise that this creation wasn't working. The problem was that Boone never go to writing the dates on these. No, he never thought of it. Too busy coming up with one crafty computer hacker's dream after another.

3 AM in the morning, and Boone was slightly getting agitated with this complicated system. These Balamb Garden people must have thought of everything. As if they didn't have anything better to do in their spare time. The page remained the same, a window appearing with having to type in a username and password. Hyne Almighty! Boone should've gotten in by the first two hours! …But that's okay. There was still time. Plenty of time. Every other half hour or so, Boone had to go make more coffee or use the men's restroom, the public one in the lobby. The employee's one was locked, and not by computer. By under old fashioned lock and key. It was closer than the public one. Boone didn't receive that key during the night, as promised. The elite that promised it was a real jackass anyway. What was his name? Lionel? Yeah, that same suck up kissing President Deling's (before he died) ass, who found and let those kids get away…

I'm going to find you, kids. I'm going to find out who you little scumbags are. And I'll make sure to be there when we march over and arrest your sorry asses, and there's nothing you can do to stop me, Boone thought, smirking as he sipped his seventh cup of coffee with one hand, and taking in disks, typing, and pulling out the failures with the other hand. A human machine, running non-stop.

He decided to volunteer for not only the thrill. He liked Wedge and Biggs from observation. These guys didn't take crap from anybody, just like him. Most of the soldiers, the lower ranks in particular, bored him. Like that goody-two-shoes Cole Jackson. From first glance, already he didn't like that kid. He took whatever those elite ranks told him to do, and not complain. How could he not complain of having the job of moving boxes around on the streets? Why not ask for a little action for once in a while?

Socially, Boone was a loner. He's been that way for a long time, but didn't care. He'd gotten picked on and pushed around in some private school, flunking and dropping out. Before he joined the welcoming G-Army, he'd used to work at a supermarket, bagging the food for the lazy ass excuses for people who wouldn't bag the food themselves. What a lousy salary too…

"C'mon, c'mon…" Boone silently prayed that he'd be in way before the sun started to wake up. It's been hours since past the time he'd started, a little past 10 PM. He had to get into those records. He had to get the information, needed it. Or else he'd kiss his chances of being an Elite Soldier goodbye…in reluctance.

This one peculiar disk had done it. Finally! He was getting in. It was a very old, very simple programmable virus that worked as a scrambler, to make easy passes without having to try to guess the username and password. "Searching…" read the message window of one of the more modern programs. It would spread out into small Trojan Horses, scramble the system, and automatically fetch back any information that was needed to get into a full thoroughly built security system. Hah, the irony of it. Something so complex to be broken down by something so simple.

Success, we unfold.

Clutching firm,…betting he panics for sure.

"EXECUTE?" read the next message box on the computer monitor. Yes, oh yes, Boone wanted to execute. Yes, he exclaimed silently within himself. No one messes with Nathan Boone! Balamb Garden: nice try… Pleased with himself, Boone picked up one of the papers, examining the photos and names. One picture was a sketch instead of a photo, and only a first name was written down next to it. A "Marianne." Just who was this girl? Huh…oh well. He decided to look her up last.

He started with Seifer Almasy, easily finding his ID number and records. This guy looked like he owned anyone with the smirk on his face. Boone could've been just like him, if he hadn't ended up where he was. Two years ago he vandalized a car and got caught for it. Heh, busted. He kept reading, and found out that some people must care about him for bailing him out of jail over night. He printed all the information out, amused.

Quistis Trepe. An instructor by the age of fifteen, but fired a few years later do to being too emotional and having a difficult time in controlling some of her students. Especially Seifer Almasy. So, what's an ex-teacher like you doing with him? And why did those Garden screw ups let you be one at such a young age? He didn't get it. Sure, this Quistis could've been a nice girl. She looked hot too. Too bad that she was on the wrong side. He printed her records out.

Selphie Timlitt. A member of the Garden Festival Committee, whatever the hell that was, exactly. Boone wouldn't know, for he never attended a Garden. He just went straight to the army by the age of twenty, since he was a little old to be registering to Galbadia Garden. Only ages five to eighteen were allowed to register. Selphie was the head of this "committee" and part of various other activities he really didn't give a shit about. A goody-two-shoes, just like Cole Jackson, only this short chick was way more active. A pure workaholic. Wouldn't they make a sweet couple, though? He didn't understand this girl either. Hell, it's none of my business anyway. Just do your job, soldier. Baffled and starting to get tired, be printed Selphie's records out.

Next, was Zell Dincht. Martial arts expert, huh? He couldn't karate Boone's ass when he'd have a gun up to his head. Another decent kid, so it seemed. Dincht went into a bit of trouble through his semesters for a time, flunking. The possibility, according to what the staff put down, was because of the loss of his grandfather. Oh yeah, boo hoo, like he cared. Sighing, he went to file, moved the mouse down to print and went on to the next kid on the wanted list.

Irvine Kinneas… Whoa, this guy was a traitor! The alarms were ringing in Boone's head as he found out Irvine was taught to be a sharp shooter in Galbadia Garden. He woke up a little that moment. What the hell made this guy join the enemy? Some kind of bargain? Doesn't matter, he told himself, not letting his curiosity get the better of him. Click, print, done.

Last was Squall Leonhart. Like Seifer, he knew how to wield a gunblade. He passed as a SeeD. A recent update that perked Boone's interest though: he was just given the task to be the Garden's Commander. This guy had to be good then, if they wanted somebody like Mr. Squall Leonhart. In contrast to Seifer, he did as he was told. Didn't do much in after school activities but train and build up. An anti-social, just like Boone? Probably… I'd like to see the surprised look on your face when we take you down, he mused to himself, grinning.

Absent mindedly, he yawned, leaned back in his chair, staring down at the girl with no last name, who's face was sketched out. He checked the clock on the wall near the door to the office he's spent so much time in. Still early, very early. Still plenty of time to find out about this person.

In the search box, he typed in "Marianne". There were about five matches, and he checked each of them out. One was four years old, so no, exclude that kid out. Probably would grow up to be another runt among the other SeeDs that took time in intervening with everyone's business. Pathetic. A bunch of children hired to play war. It was a joke.

Say it, say it, that it's done.

I want it, want it, need it done.

Say it, say it, that it's done.

I want it, want it, need it done…

Another one on the list looked too young. The other three weren't even close to matching the accurately detailed sketch. This Marianne had no records. She must be the most badass of them all, Boone started to think. No ID number. No social security number. No previous criminal records, driver's license, library card or any identification of any kind. All of that would be on file in Balamb's student records. Damn, she was good, really good. Wedge and Biggs would agree when seeing this by the time the sun rose. But the rest of her friends were found. How fucking careless of Marianne, to be so brilliant in hiding herself alone from everyone. Maybe she didn't really give a damn about them. Maybe she only cared about herself. Careless, nonetheless, and all this information he snatched would only get herself a death sentence.

Marianne here doesn't look so tough, on the sketch. She didn't look so bad, more like scared. Yeah, this girl was scared. She had to know her time was up or something. Perhaps taking desperate measures to get far away from the others as far as possible and lie low until all suspicion blows over. Not going to work, Boone silently spoke to the sketched face of the G-Army's most prime suspect. You'll suffer, just like the rest of your little group. Either way, Sorceress Edea will be found.

Boone raised his arms over his head, stretching the muscles, then rubbed a hand over his day old stubble. Not so rough, but in a few days, he'd shave again. Boone didn't like beards. He felt he wouldn't look as good with one. Same thing went with mustaches. Maybe, when he got a little older, those feelings may change. Maybe.

Easy money, he thought as he scribbled down below the girl's name, handwritten in cursive with a ball point pen, Boone found that same pen on the table he sat in front of, by the computer in a cup. He grabbed it, wrote a little message in print, and stood out of his chair, yawning. His job was done, and now it was time for some shut eye. He walked a mile back to Deling City, using his ID card to get in, and used the elevator to get to the third floor. His apartment was among those rooms. Thinking of nothing but sleep, Boone felt he'd get some well deserved rest, knowing that commanders Wedge and Biggs would be impressed with the results he found. A small, tired smile formed across his face as he knew that he was just a few hours away to getting a high rank. He had high hopes for becoming an Elite…

Much later, after Boone retired from his overtime assignment, the sun had cautiously began to rise over horizon on the west, as if Gala's big day star knew that the G-Army were more worse now when push came to shove. Long before Edea ever existed, President Deling liked power, and lots of it. He wanted to have claim over the rural towns and cities that weren't under the law of the good willed Esthar government. It was when Sorceress Edea had decided to do some drastic action and persuasion to help President Deling fulfill his goals, because it was all part of her old plan… before the lightning storm incident happened.

Slowly, the light from the sun touched the small city, bringing the sparkle onto the shiny buildings. The sunlight began to touch and produce warmth on the streets to give the soaring birds of prey (be it a normal bird or a hybrid mutant) to ride the thermals. The early newspapermen began to rise and deliver the Deling City newspaper, The World's View. Other people awoke inside their homes, and kissed their wives, husbands, and children goodbye as they put on their work clothes and went out to ride the public transport buses to their destinations.

The buses were the most common way to travel, mostly because it never cost even one Gil to go anywhere within the city. Lots of people lived in Deling, and the bus idea had been President Deling's as a perk to make peace with the Galbadian capitol's citizens. It worked. No one had to bother getting a car, unless they wanted to.

The Galbadian soldiers, a large number of them, occupied most of the Deling hotel, low rankers and Elites mixed in. This was the reason why there was only one free room available to Marianne, Seifer, and the rest of her new found friends on the first night that Marianne spent on Gala. When they left, that one room wasn't so available anymore. Four more soldiers, one low rank and three Elite Soldiers, lived there now.

One room on the second floor was where the young and dedicated low ranked soldier, Cole Jackson, slept. Charlie also lived on this floor, but he was down the hall from his apartment. That didn't mean he had the entire room to himself, though. One other low ranker guy shared the room with him. Without much problems, Cole and his room mate, Ted Griffith, got along fine. Ted was a silent type, but not aloof or stoic like Squall Leonhart was, at Balamb Garden, the home of their enemies, to which Cole didn't know of. Ted was a kind man, and just didn't have a lot to say.

Late into the night, Jackson talked to Griffith about how loathing it was to be on duty as a lookout in the army. Most of the time, it was dull, except for a few occasional monster sightings. What kind of man, young or old, would want to just stand around in his boots for hours on end, to watch and guard a place like Deling City for the wanted criminals? Sure, there were Charlie Etchinson and Ahab Strater in his usual squad, but they weren't in much of a talking mood yesterday. Both had stayed up late cleaning up Deling's Gate on the night before the previous one. …Yeah, Ted was a good listener. A good friend.

The flat, box shaped alarm clock went off beside Cole's bed, the local oldies radio station blaring into his eardrums. If anyone from Marianne's home planet heard the fast paced, and light hearted song, the male vocalist to them would sound similar to James Brown.

"Early in the morning, I strap on my shoes! Boundin' down the stairs like a lovin' fool! Blow me a kiss, and I'll blow one back at you! Gotta get to work and-" Cole groaned softly and interrupted the loud singer by hitting the snooze button. His head seemed to pound to the rhythm of the tune, and the red numbers showed the boy that it was a minute past 7 AM. Dim sunlight broke through the window blinds, illuminating the now quiet apartment. But not totally silent, for Griffith was snoring in the background.

Cole sat up on the bed, and absent mindedly moved a hand through his messy short brown hair, which stuck out in some places, then slid out of bed. He headed to the bathroom and splashed cold water over his eyelids, blinded by the light on the ceiling. The early riser blinked his sky blue eyes several times to adjust, because it helped. If he didn't do this routine, he'd end up tripping over himself, causing a scene in front of Ted, or an Elite Soldier if he happened to come over and knock to bark out his next assignment or the same one for the day.

Awake, Jackson slapped a hand on his room mate's back, the usual. He always did this, and was his friend's alarm clock. Ted had been known to be a heavy sleeper. If there were gunshots echoing in the air with sirens blaring, he'd still be asleep without anyone to splash cold water on his back or something. Not that he appreciated the cold water method, though. "Hm, what? Oh, time to get up?" Griffith asked, at first startled, then getting the point quickly. "That's right. We're supposed to report to the bank today," Cole informed him. "Yeah," the other soldier replied, then got up to stretch and yawn. His stale morning breath escaped and the smell reached Cole's nostrils. "Um… You can go on ahead and brush your teeth, man," the younger of the two men said, waving away the odor with one hand. "Alright…" he said, still waking up.

Ted was older than Cole, about twenty. For a man at an age like that, the room mate was a quite calm and placid soldier. Cole found it odd, because the life of a soldier is anything but calm. He'd always have to have a bit adrenaline flow through his body almost every minute, because he'd never really be sure when a fiendish beast or the SeeD enemies would appear.

The lie… Want to know…

Has it met expectations so far?

As Cole threw a plain white T-shirt and a brown cloth jacket on the unmade bed he slept in, he began to think about those SeeD youths he heard Strater and Charlie talk about yesterday. Cole's only been in the army officially for a few months, and so far he never really thought about them. Knowing very little, but from what his comrade and superior were talking about, they had to be some kind of strong unit. Did the SeeD group let loose those Iguions the other night? Later after the parade, a frightened low ranked soldier suspected that the Iguions used to be two of the humongous statues on a building as a decoration in the city, and came to life (to which Cole found hard to believe, for the guy wasn't thinking clearly). It had to be his theory, or otherwise Edea wouldn't have gone missing, and the monsters wouldn't be there. The parade wouldn't have ended so horribly. Oh yes, the boy knew and witnessed that.

People screaming, running from their lives as the Iguions stomped through the streets as their big cat clawed hind feet squashed and gored some of the crowd like bugs, and shredded through the abandoned the display platforms. Cole remembered how fresh his fear was, as he felt his own skin go cold and clammy. He remembered fleeing as fast as he could from the scene, one Elite Soldier (couldn't remember which one) yelling and raging at Jackson to haul his ass outta there…

Drifting away from those memories, Cole pulled out a pair of light gray socks, briefs, and blue jeans from the dresser drawers, which the alarm clock was set on top of its wooden surface. Agitated, he quickly changed out of his old casual clothes he wore from yesterday. This morning, hopefully, the commanders that took charge of the army's massive problem, Head Commander and Lieutenant Elite Wedge, with low ranker Major Biggs, would find out what they'd know about those bastards. …Wasn't Boone supposed to hack into their records or something? That's what he'd heard Boone's room mate say to his friend. Yeah, for Boone was the only good computer hacker out of, well, everyone in the Galbadian Army. Well, that's what Jackson had been told.

Cole knew Boone as some kind of loner. When he first saw the guy and tried to say a hello, he'd get a scowl in return. Boone never liked talking to his fellow low rankers for some reason. It was like he wanted to get promoted as quickly as possible. He'd hear him complain about the labor work from time to time, and grumble about the Elites being the kings of the military. Whatever his problem was, Jackson kept in mind to steer clear of Boone, most of the time. It wasn't like he disliked the man, like how Boone seemed to dislike him. There was just uncomforting vibes that Cole felt.

He found his black and white sneakers, and put them on before getting into his jacket. Cole liked that jacket a lot, and didn't want to stretch it too much, such as bending over to tie his shoes. It fit him comfortably, and kept him warm in chilly weather. The back of it had big black and white wings, black along the top, and white along the ending individual feathers. A jacket he'd bought and had for a couple years.

When Cole seemed ready, he grabbed a dark brown plastic comb from next to the alarm clock and ran it through his hair a few times. He'd have to use the bathroom to brush his teeth, whenever Ted was done brushing his teeth and longish black hair. His superiors would have to make sure Griffith would cut off the rockstar styling hair down to where it would be tolerable and not get in the way in case of a battle or whatnot.

It didn't take too much longer, as the boy went in to check to see if he didn't have anymore bed hair, and brush his teeth, once Ted Griffith had finished. A soldier choosing to look presentable and at his best was a good one. "It's all yours," Griffith said calmly, still feeling a little weary. "I'll meet you there, at the bank's lobby," Cole said, as Griffith nodded. The man needed to be awake and alert. He needed a cup of coffee. A little tired himself, the friendly younger man would be sure to fix himself a cup as well…

How's Caraway doing?" Wedge asked his friend and fellow Elite ranker, Hobbs. By the night of the horrific disaster of the parade, Caraway was found, not cooperating much. The old general was angry, claiming that the G-Army have lost their minds! That Sorceress Edea was evil! He was acting hostile and very strangely. He tried to assault his fellow officers! Even the guard at the gates couldn't find out what the hell the matter was with him. Lt. Vicktar Lionel sent a couple of low ranks to watch over General Caraway, or "babysit" him, within his own mansion. If it were anybody that was losing his mind, it would be old man Caraway, at age thirty-seven.

"He's calm and quiet, ever since Lionel told the low ranks that told him that he was never allowed to leave his home," reported Hobbs. Wedge nodded. It seemed good enough. Sending him to the nearby Deling City jailhouse seemed too harsh. "Is there any reason why sir?" the lower Elite asked. "Nope. Just wonderin'," Wedge assured him, and he smiled. It was true. Caraway was the very least of their problems now. "There's free coffee and pastries over at the bank," Wedge kindly offered. "Sounds fun," Hobbs replied, respectful and kind in return. These two gentlemen were always formal on their duties. Neither caused problems with the other. "Good, good," Wedge approved, and started to engage conversation.

"So, how's the wife?" "…Haven't got a chance to call her last night," Hobbs responded as they walked side by side on a sidewalk, on their way to the Deling City Bank. "But I know she knows I'm fine," Hobbs finished.

They kept on talking, laughing occasionally at whatever jokes were made.

As for Major Biggs? Well, he was already at the bank, lounging on one of the lobby's big couches, sipping coffee from a small paper cup. He was waiting for Wedge, so that soon they'd go into the office they picked for a base of operations. Biggs was anxious to know if that Boone kid found anything or not about those SeeDs. He said that he could hack into Balamb Garden's security to get onto their records. Especially on the mystery kid. Marianne…something… Lt. Lionel didn't catch the last name when one of her fellow comrades tried to comfort her. That was alright though, for he wasn't there at Dollet. Lionel didn't know these kids were the same ones that tried to mess up their plans with the communication tower.

Stupid kids, Biggs thought as he sat back, holding his cup of coffee in one hand. When he thought back at what happened at the small rural town of Dollet, he felt ticked. Ticked like at anytime soon, he'd explode. But usually, Wedge would be the one to calm him down. …Thinking about the SeeDs some more, he didn't remember seeing that girl from before. Wedge thought what Lionel thought: that this Marianne girl was a civilian betraying her country. Treasonous little bitch. We'll see who she really is… Very, very soon.

By the next few moments, Wedge came in the door, walking in with Intelligence Elite Hobbs, as he could tell by his face. Hobbs was in his late twenties, like him, and had silver highlights mixed in with his dark brown hair. His olive green eyes saw Biggs and acknowledged him in a nod while separating ways from Wedge. Biggs stiffly waved with his free hand.

This morning, there was no need to change into their uniforms just yet. This was a morning to just relax for a while. To "take a load off," as his partner Lt. Wedge put it. Wedge was always dressed formally anyway, as far as Biggs could remember. In a light gray suit with a metallic blue tie. It showed his age, which he was in his late thirties. Biggs himself was only twenty-nine. He wasn't dressed too casually, and not quite as formal as Wedge looked either. Black leather shoes were flat on the floor, tied neatly. The rest of Biggs' non-uniform attire were brown corduroy pants and a dark green button up shirt.

"Good morning, sir," Biggs said, tossing the empty paper cup in the nearby waste basket, and stood up to salute him. Wedge saluted back. "I guess you're looking forward to Boone's results as I am," Biggs' friend and equal in this leadership stated. "You know it," Biggs said somewhat eagerly, but kept calm. If he were too eager, then Wedge would think something was wrong with Major Biggs. There was no reason to get over excited about this. It could be possible that Boone would find nothing, and the excited energy would just be wasted.

"I'm getting some coffee first," Wedge told him. "Sure," Biggs said, not having a problem with that. "Go on ahead. It's good stuff." His friend smiled a small smile, then turned to head up to the coffee maker, jerking his head for Biggs to follow. He did.

Wedge greeted every other casually dressed Galbadian soldier as he passed. This time, the head Elite of all was in a good mood, which was great. Maybe from the confidence in Boone's voice in doing what he wanted to do made him feel good. Wedge took in his honest words. Biggs did not, and he was the one to demote Boone to the lowest of low rankers if he failed. Hopefully the kid found something. Maybe even about that shaken up girl on treason Lionel described to them yesterday.

Carrying his hot cup of coffee, Wedge and Biggs walked to the office they took for themselves. Boone didn't need to be there, because the results would do just fine. The door was left open. The sun through the glass windows rose a little higher, so there was no need to flick the nearby wall light switch. The computer was turned off, and in a messy pile beside it, were more than two papers, it looked like.

Biggs walked over and looked at the papers. He picked up the page with a photo of the kid with the longish brown hair and scar on his face. His expression was stony and glaring all at once. Squall Leonhart. Wedge saw the photo and name, recognizing that boy too well, but by the time Biggs held the paper close to his chest, Wedge couldn't see the other printed words. "Commander, huh?" Biggs mused as Wedge immediately snatched the paper from his grip. Squall was seventeen, had a gunblade for a weapon, and as he skimmed on what he did in his studies…he immediately found what perked his partner's interest. "Updated June 18th, 2004: After bravely and heroically saving Balamb Garden from NORG and an out of control T-Rexaur in the Training Center, he was promoted to Commander by Cid Kramer."

"Here's the records on Seifer Almasy," Biggs told him blankly, handing him the paper. Like Squall, Seifer had an identical scar. At first, Wedge began to wonder why but quickly dismissed that as an irrelevant issue. Also, like Leonhart, he had a gunblade for a weapon. Equally matched, but was a poor student. No surprise, or else he wouldn't have vandalized that poor old man's black car that night, two years ago in this very city.

"Dammit!" Biggs yelled tersely, all of a sudden. Wedge, looked up, and followed Biggs' gaze to the second page of two that they handed to Boone. Their assigned one for the job seemed to have handwritten down the following message in decent print: "Still no last name. No social security number, student ID number, or any identification of any kind."

"Biggs," Wedge said, placing a comforting hand on his comrade's shoulder. "Let it go. We have her friends, so that's good enough for us." The Elite felt the man's shoulders sag a little, not as tensed up for the moment. "Yeah, you're right. We'll get what we need through her, if we see her, or through her friends if we capture them," Biggs elaborated calmly. "Right, right," Wedge said, hand sliding off his friend's hands as they looked into the student records of the rest of the group Lt. Lionel had encountered.

About two minutes later, the two leaders of the G-Army sat next to one another. By then, Wedge had finished his coffee, dropping the empty paper cup into the nearest trash bin within the office. Placing his hands together, Wedge went over what the two have known about their primary suspects of the world.

"First, we encountered some of those kids at our repairing mission that President Deling assigned us at Dollet, so he could do his worldwide TV broadcast." "Mr. Leonhart, Mr. Dincht, Ms. Timlitt, and that lowlife, Mr. Almasy," Biggs cut in, being helpful in his own way. "Right," Wedge said, and continued. "Then, they were at Deling City, on the night of the ceremony to welcome our new leader, who has now 'disappeared', according to Intelligence Elite Hobbs." Biggs nodded, agreeing to that statement. "Lionel, after the Deling City Gate collapses and kills the Iguions all at one time, saw the same kids at Dollet, with a few others. Ms. Trepe, Mr. Kinneas-" "The Galbadian student turning against us," hissed Biggs, cutting Wedge off, then apologizing, "Sorry. Go on…" "…And our most conspicuous suspect, Marianne with the no last name." "No identification at all," Biggs agreed, his eyebrows narrowing, and his mouth pressed into a thin line. "The others must be disposable to her." Wedge nodded. "She's good." "Really good," Biggs agreed.

"So, what do you think we should do?" Biggs asked the Elite all too eagerly. "Attack Balamb Garden?" Wedge shrugged, in a mix of dead seriousness and peaceful calmness at the same time. "They're not going to turn themselves in anytime soon. The SeeDs have done more than enough to make the government aggravated." "Let's launch the attack right now!" blurted Biggs, jerking out of his seat.

SAY IT, SAY IT, THAT IT'S DONE!

I WANT IT, WANT IT, NEED IT DONE!

SAY IT, SAY IT, THAT IT'S DONE!

I WANT IT, WANT IT, NEED IT DONE…

It was hard to explain why these two were friends. This baffled most of the entire Galbadian Army. There were some big differences in between the two. Major Biggs was always quick to act, without being too thorough, knowing a huge threat when he knew all about it. Wedge was always so calm. These SeeDs were as insignificant to him as the ground underneath his shoes.

Wedge yanked Biggs back down in his seat. "Not yet, you idiot," he scowled, inches in front of the fellow commander's face. "If we strike too quickly, then the SeeDs would be overly cautious later if they escaped." "They WON'T escape," Biggs started to say, and Wedge gripped onto his friend's shoulders, firmly. "Let's be rational about this. We need to fully plan through this, so we'll have our little gang of criminals surrounded. We'll make the big strike on their precious base of operations when they least expect it. But first, we must start with something small." He released Biggs, and blew out a breath of air, as if he'd been holding his breath for a long time…

Cole Jackson found a member of his squad, Charlie Etchinson. Elite Strater couldn't be seen, so Cole must've missed him. Charlie didn't either, and I guess that's why Cole found him wearing the kind of cool clothes he'd wear sometimes. Baggy dark green pants, and a black music band T-Shirt over a long white sleeve were obviously seen. What Etchinson first wore when he arrived to join the army.

"So, did Strater tell you anything last night?" Charlie asked the brighter, other lower ranker that Strater treated with too much regard. Cole was Elite Ahab Strater's right hand man, or so Charlie himself thought. That old man would tell Cole anything that would go around between all the other Elites. The soldiers in red armor knew everything that would go between commanders Wedge and Biggs, who's leading their main objective: to find Sorceress Edea.

"No, but Boone's room mate, Jagger, since he's an Elite…he told me Boone was assigned to hack into the SeeD kids' records." Etchinson nodded, as Cole faced him with this news. "Did he find anything?" The sixteen year old shrugged. "I don't know. We'll find out soon, right?"

Charlie didn't respond, and continued to finish his breakfast. He would've preferred eggs, sausage, and bacon over a pastry, but it was fine. He didn't mind, as long as he had something to eat. Maybe he'd have time to eat a more heartier meal, before he had to go back to his apartment to change into his army uniform.

"Well, I know something's up," Etchinson told Jackson in suspicion. "Normally, this shit wouldn't be happening. Some superior's in a good mood today." Cole shrugged again, caring less it seemed. "So? We take whatever good that's hurled at us," he said.

Cole was naïve, but lucky. He just had more luck than him. He envied his friend, that he'd get some promotion or whatever from Strater, for sure. Yeah, he busted his ass doing whatever he had to do, but Charlie wasn't going up on the G-Army rankings anytime soon. Lionel was the reason why. Etchinson despised that son of a bitch. He thinks he's so tough and full of authority. Hated the nickname mostly everyone calls him. "Brick Sack." Charlie wanted to kick his ass for the degrading he's been given, and perhaps he'd get that day, when Lionel was alone, like he was in that alley, the night when the Deling City Parade fell to utter disaster…

Y'know what? Don't think about Bastard Lionel today. Just take whatever good is hurled, Charlie told himself silently, taking and holding onto Cole's words. If he wasn't so cool and level headed, and friendly to Charlie, then Jackson would've been right under Lionel on his list, for having the upper hand with the Elites.

"Alright soldiers, I want you at attention right now!" boomed a voice. Some Elite Soldier, no doubt. He began to call some soldier's names, a man dressed in a faded green grey long sleeve shirt. His hair was styled as a buzz cut. His skin was dark brown. "Devaz! Holden! Etchinson!" Charlie snapped to attention, swallowing the rest of the jelly pastry he was devouring. His shoulders squared, feet equally apart. His eyes followed the Elite rank as he yelled one more last name. Carson. Gary Carson. He didn't know that soldier, not really, but only saw him while working with him in carrying heavy crates of weapons, transported to Deling City by ship.

"Well, good luck man," Cole said, knowing what Charlie knew was going to be an important mission. Etchinson bit back on the anger, knowing that he would be made fun of by most of the small troop that was going to be formed. They'd laugh, laughing and going haw-haw-haw at the stupid moron who tried to be a smartass towards everyone. He was only a rookie back then, but hardly anyone but Cole never let that go. Charlie didn't even meet Cole Jackson until about several weeks back, when Cole and him were put together with Strater as a squad. Charlie was basically hating the world until Cole started to just…talk to him. Chat with him, about whatever. Agreeing to Etchinson's every word, the kid thought it sucked to be badgered at all the time. To have someone like Lionel to go at him whenever they saw each other. Cole's been his only friend in this. Everyone else jumped the bandwagon and ridiculed, as if they knew better.

Selfishly walking through, killing the angles.

Picking and choosing to screw all of us one by one…

Charlie ran quickly back to the hotel, and changed into his uniform. This was something different. A mission, a real one, and not some boring lookout mission like he was stuck doing yesterday. Nothing of a labor chore, like passing boxes and cleaning up the smelly wreckage of Deling's Gate. A real, kill-or-be-killed mission! Maybe this was Etchinson's day to shine and make room for a change. He'd have to do something to make mostly all the soldiers of all ranks see him differently. That he always wasn't such a screw up. Oh yeah, this eager man hadn't been so excited over anything in his whole career as a soldier, so far.

He left, and met the Elite with the rest of the low ranked, blue uniformed soldiers like Charlie himself. The Elite who assigned them, what was his name? Jared… Jared something. "Listen up, because I'm only going to explain this once. You'd better have your ears cleaned by now because I'm NOT going to wait on you to do so, is that clear!" Jared barked at him and the rest in blue. "SIR, YES SIR!" Charlie and the other low rankers exclaimed simultaneously at him, alert and ready. "Very good," Jared said, grinning. His helmet, like all the others that all soldiers worn, was big and created a shadow over Jared's eyes. The Galbadian government thought this would be good, to intimidate their enemies.

"There's a rental car waiting for all of us. One of you soldiers is going to drive us to Balamb Town to threaten at least one of those Hyne damned SeeDs! Our head commandos recently discovered that the mother of one of our suspects, Mr. Zell Dincht, lives there…" Jared paced, looking directly into the faces of his small troopers with his dark brown eyes of steel. The Elite was a real tough, hard-as-nails type of guy. Like Bastard Lionel, Charlie thought. "We'll need him alive. DON'T kill either of them unless I tell you to. Understood!" "SIR, YES SIR!" yelled Etchinson and the others, standing tensed up in a straight line, side by side.

Wait a minute, Mrs. Kathy Dincht! Charlie knew this kind woman, from a long while back. They were friends and neighbors. Her little boy, Zell, was adopted. Etchinson suddenly remembered that little boy. In a way, he felt sorry for Kathy. The son grew up to be part of the little band of captors, holding Edea Sorceress somewhere. Possibly inside Balamb Garden? Surely, the kids were smart to not keep her held captive in the town, or else Edea would've busted out of there with her magic and gone back to the G-Army.

Nodding, the Elite whose first name was Jared (Charlie still trying to recall his last name) said, "Let's move out!"

So run, make amends…

Feeling torn? Boy, you better be sure…

In the gray rental car, Etchinson sat in the back, as low rank G-Army soldier Holden drove the car. Jared sat in the passenger seat. The other two, Devaz and Carson, sat with Charlie, giving him a hard time.

"So, you gonna go head on, or run away like a choboco with its head cut off?" That was Devaz. Carson and Holden snickered and chuckled all around. "Shut up back there!" barked Jared. "This isn't a goddamn middle school field trip! You're men, soldiers. Start acting like it!"

Etchinson liked this Jared guy, because he didn't seem to be on the ridicule bandwagon right now. He was at peace, for once, because no one said anything to him during the rest of the long drive to Balamb Town.

As they pulled in past through the town's entrance, Jared ordered Holden to park the car. "Alright, MOVE! Devaz, go to Mrs. Dincht's home!" "Sir yes sir!" Devaz said all too quickly and hauled ass. Jared turned to Charlie, yelling, "WHAT ARE YOU DOING, Etchinson! Go make yourself useful! GO!"

Charlie ran, obeying, pushing past through some of the Balamb civilians that were staring. His metal gray boots clamped and pounded against the blue and white design cobblestones that hadn't been changed in years, since the last time Charlie visited. He didn't want to make himself a disgrace to his country anymore. Today, he was going to come out of the mission as a new man.