Seifer stared. It was the last person on earth he would have expected to be standing there, holding a gun directly at him. Well, not really. He thought it even less likely it would be the long dead Ultimecia, or Quistis, or Zell, or even that annoyingly nice Selphie girl. But it was still a surprise nevertheless.
"Gary, you two-timing bastard," he hissed as they lowered their weapons and removed the masks from their faces.
"Melodramatic as always, huh, Almasy?" Gary said, laughing. The gun didn't quiver an inch. We might be in trouble now. "Don't you have anything else to say to me?"
"Yeah. Why?"
"Isn't it simple? I want to be more than some stupid underpaid SeeD, obviously. Besides, this has less of a chance of getting me killed before the age of thirty, something I look forward to with all my heart. As it is, you won't even be living past nineteen. Now move."
"At the risk of sounding cliché, don't you think someone will stop you?"
"No questions until we get to the Interrogation Room," Gary spat, aiming the gun directly at him. Five soldiers appeared behind him, brandishing machine guns. If it had been just Gary, the odds would have been fine. But not five versus two, armed versus unarmed. And so, hearts sinking, they followed the instructions as three guards moved in front of them, while Gary and two others marched behind.
The Interrogation Room was nothing more than a small room with a table and four chairs, two on each side. At the insistent prodding of the cold metallic nozzles in their backs, Quistis and Seifer sat down on one side. Gary sat across from them, and the soldiers took up their posts: one behind Gary, two at the door, and one each behind Quistis and Seifer. Whoever had planned this, whether it was Gary or someone else, clearly wasn't going to take any chances. That thought was only confirmed when more guards appeared to handcuff them before going about their jobs.
"Well, now," said Gary. He looked at them. "I don't suppose that you'd be willing to talk freely?" Silence greeted his question. "Ah well, I didn't think so," he said in a long-suffering sigh. "We'll just have to wait until he gets here to ask the questions he wants."
"Who are we waiting for?" demanded Quistis. Gary looked at her in annoyance.
"I don't think you understand the function of an Interrogation room, Ms. Trepe. The one in charge, i.e. me, asks the questions. The ones that are being interrogated, i.e. yourself and Mr. Almasy, answer the questions asked by the ones in charge. The process doesn't reverse itself, as that would go against all of the rules of interrogation."
"If we're going to find out eventually, why not make it now instead of later?" she persisted. Gary sighed.
"There you go, trying to reverse the process again," he said sadly. "When will you learn?"
"I guess I'm just not a good learner."
Gary ignored her; apparently, he had no more to say.
"I suppose it would be too much to ask that you be goaded into telling us your top secret plan, huh?" Seifer asked hopefully.
"It would," Gary said shortly.
"I bet you don't have a plan," taunted Seifer. Gary said nothing. "I bet you're just winging it. I bet that if people remotely bigger than you walked in right now you'd keel over, just because you don't have a plan of any sort."
"Will you be quiet or do I have to have you silenced until he gets here?" demanded Gary. "I do have some rather potent Silence spells on me."
"I'll be good," Seifer said hastily. He hated loosing the ability to speak. They sat in silence for another minute. Seifer, to amuse himself, started to tap out music rhythms, alternating between hitting his hands on his legs and on the metal desk in front of him. Quistis was staring quietly into space; no doubt her brain was in overdrive, trying to find a weakness in their system. Seifer didn't believe in over analyzing, though. What happened, happened. That was his motto. Why go against fate?
The door slide open behind him, and he turned around, as did Quistis, each eager to learn who exactly was doing all of this. And they weren't disappointed, either, as Marcus Deling stepped into the room.
"Good evening," he said smoothly, as though they had just crossed each other in the streets. He sat down in the chair opposite them, and stared at them a moment, as though contemplating them.
"So, you're the man behind this, huh?" Seifer said, stopping his music and turning his full attention to the man in front of him. Usually he wouldn't have given the man a second thought, but when people controlled whether he lived or died he usually perked up a bit. "I would've thought that Darius was in on it too, or something."
"Mmm," he said, smiling. "Do you really think I'm stupid enough to give away my conspirators?"
"Well, you just told us you have some," Quistis said. The smile fell from his face, and his eyes narrowed.
"Enough questions! I demand to know what you're doing here!" he snarled, his face turning a nasty puke-green and contorting, his knuckles becoming white as they clutched the table.
"Hey, you stole our charge, General Caraway," said Seifer innocently. "We're just trying to get him back, which is completely normal."
"And what, pray tell, was General Caraway doing out here in the first place?" Marcus hissed. "And don't give me that bullshit about 'sending him away for some relaxation'. Someone with a lot of skill has been trying to get in here, and all of a sudden a squad of SeeDs show up, two of which happen to be the supposed world saviors?" The snarled emphasis on the words showed that he thought very little of Zell and Quistis. "What are the odds of that?"
"Would you care to tell me?" Seifer asked, smirking. "Or would you rather I calculate that for you?"
"There is no need to be a smart ass," Marcus said, trying to regain his cool.
"Better to be that than to be a dumb ass," Seifer said casually. Marcus closed his eyes a moment, as though he were trying to receive strength from on high. Of course, Seifer rather doubted that heaven (if it did indeed exist) would grant him such a wish.
"Of course, you have all been very easy to deal with, so perhaps this isn't as hard as it seems. And you are nothing more than teenagers. You shouldn't even be involved in this adult world, the world of your betters."
"Hey, when was the last time you showed your face in public without twelve security guards and an escort? You're scared, more than those teenagers are. And that's just pathetic," Seifer sneered. He hadn't liked the man to begin with, but he liked him even less now. And if he was going to die, at least he could keep a shred of dignity with him.
Marcus' face contorted and his knuckles grew even whiter, but he managed to keep his anger in check. Even if he hadn't admitted to having an accomplice, Seifer would have known. No one with that little self-control would be able to mastermind something like this. And Darius did indeed seem like just the type of person who could. He was far too cold and calculating for Seifer's liking.
He got up, suddenly the epitome of calm. He walked over to Seifer, and looked down at him as one might look at pond scum. Then, without warning, he punched him straight in the jaw with a smooth uppercut.
For a moment the world seemed to spin faster than a carousel as his teeth clapped together, sending a wave of pain throughout his jaw and jerking his head up so that his neck received some whiplash. Slowly, agonizingly, everything skidded to a halt, and he began to see distinct shapes instead of colors whirling together, punctured by shifts of black. He could taste the acrid metallic flavor of blood in his mouth, although nothing seemed to be too seriously broken. He slowly, methodically, worked his jaw, trying to regain some sense in it.
"I am tried of this," Marcus finally said, his voice still eerily calm. "Just answer my questions."
"The only thing we are at liberty to state is our names, ranks, and identification numbers," said Quistis smoothly, before Seifer to get out another snide remark. Seifer had to admire her; she looked as cool and serene as though she were dealing with a troublemaker (a look Seifer had seen directed toward himself on more than one occasion), not being interrogated by a criminal.
"That is a pity," he said. "But I can see that there is nothing left for it."
"So, mind letting us go?" Seifer suggested hopefully. But Marcus ignored him this time, turning instead to the guards.
"If you don't mind, we'll be moving onto plan B," he informed them. With a venomous glance at Seifer, he nodded at him. "That one first."
Seifer felt a sinking feeling in his heart. If Galbadia really hadn't changed that much since he had been here, he wasn't in for much of a treat.
"What are you going to do?" asked Quistis.
"Don't worry your pretty little head. It's just a little…jolt…to convince his mouth muscles to talk," Marcus said, a malicious glint in his eyes. Seifer immediately reassessed the threat that he could be. Someone who delighted in torture was going to be very bloodthirsty and would kill with the slightest hint of defiance.
The guards dragged him away, and left Quistis standing in the room, snarling obscenities at them as she pounded against the door. He would have smiled, if it weren't for the danger of his predicament. One day I should find out where she learned that one…very colorful. A drunken sailor couldn't have done better.
It gave him an almost warm feeling, that someone could care that much about him. Maybe if he'd discovered this a little sooner, things could have been different. As of right now, though, there was nothing he could do about the past.
He looked at the familiar machine, standing cold and uninviting against the far wall. He knew what it would do, and he didn't want to experience that himself. But it was better him than her, right?
"Got a present for you, Mack."
He wanted to feel that way, because it was just the noble thing the knight-dream side of him wanted to feel, but a small part of him couldn't help wishing this wouldn't happen. It was that traitorous side, the side that wanted only personal comfort, and that side made him revile himself. Who was he to call himself human, when he wanted another to suffer for his crimes in his place?
"Huh, looks like he's getting a big jolt."
After all, he hadn't done a thing to help other people. Sure, he could twist the truth, say that it was all in their own interests to be 'toughened up', but that simply wasn't it. He had been an insecure child clinging to the one figure from his past that didn't hate him, Edea. Maybe if he'd looked around and tried to care, he wouldn't have lost Rinoa. He didn't still love her, he was glad that she was happy and that they had both moved on, but it had been his own stupidity that had lost her. Maybe he had just needed someone with her kind support to help him.
"Yeah, real funny man. Don't ya know who this is?"
Vaguely, in the back of his mind, he could feel the handcuffs dropping away from his wrists to be replaced by the rough leather straps hanging him from the machine, which felt frozen against his back. They were too tight, constricting blood, but that was the last of his worries.
Quistis had said that Ultimecia had managed to sway him through brainwashing to her side. But she couldn't do that to anyone else. She had seen the ember of weakness and seething anger in him, and had chosen to simply feed the fire. Her very words had sent him into a world of consuming fire. Her 'pep talks' would make his mind waver, and make that fire flare in his very soul, making him want to kill and burn and maim. Quistis sure had a funny way of looking at things, if she saw his crimson soul as innocent.
"Who?"
That stupid Squall, being so good and nice all the time, living out his perfect dream of being a wonderful knight who rides up to save the damsel in distress and world all in one clean blow. He actually deserved someone like Rinoa or Quistis, a kindhearted person who wouldn't let him down. Sure, being a mercenary wasn't the pinnacle of goodness, but it was better than the murky depths of hell were Seifer had resided during the war. For the seven-hundredth time he wondered if Quistis was insane. Because no one with a brain like hers would see anything decent in a man like him. She had seen him slaughter so many people, approve of it, spread the infection of deceit that tore at the very moral fibers of a whole nation, delighting in its collapse.
So what the hell was she doing with him?
"That guy who bossed us around at the Desert Prison."
He wasn't a tragic hero like Squall, mistreated by the world but still with a shred of decency. And he hadn't been twisted by love of the only motherly figure he'd know. He had been angry at all of them for being so adjusted in the world, angry at Squall for having someone to miss and to love him, angry at his mother for dying in the war when she should have been there for him. He could blame so many people, like Squall, his mother, Edea, Ultimecia, Cid, the list went on and on.
But in the end, there was only one person left to blame, wasn't there?
"Well, well, look at his majesty now."
Me.
The switch was flipped, and bolts of electricity flowed through his veins. He arched his back, as though with less physical contact it wouldn't hurt that much. But still the blue streaks flickered across his body, and his nerves began to become a mass of mind-numbing pain. And in one clear, shining moment he suddenly felt very sorry for Squall Leonhart.
Sorry man…but I guess this is just poetic justice…maybe I deserve this after all…Against his will his mouth opened in an ear-splitting scream. Everything hurt, and his jaw twice so. He felt like he would explode if this went on just another moment more.
But he was proud of himself when, just before he blacked out, he realized he really was truly and honestly glad he was here instead of her.
---
Quistis had given up pounding on the door half an hour ago. Now she sat facing the door, her eyes fogged over as she tried to assess the current situation. But the screams of agony that had begun to come from the room where Seifer was didn't help.
The first rule to becoming a SeeD – don't get attached to anyone. Well, she had thrown that rule out the window. And I wonder why they took away my license?
Frowning, she returned to the problem at hand. As she always did when a problem appeared, she applied her overanalyzing mind to the problem. Disassociating herself from the world, she let the textbook side of her kick in. Remember the steps to evaluating. Just breath deep, and assess the entire situation.
One – status of members. Quistis – imprisoned. Seifer – imprisoned/torture. Gary – traitorous son of a bitch. Zell – unknown. No one had mentioned anything about him, so Quistis could only hope that he went for help. But she wouldn't count on it when she was making her plans. She was smarter than that.
Two – assessment of surroundings. Small room, one door, no windows, no one except me, still in handcuffs. Location is Deep Sea Research Center, Winhill. Position of General Caraway unknown, in base for indefinite amount of time.
Three – current materials. Four chairs, one table, and one boot knife.
Four – enemies. Marcus Deling, Gary Seyrin, base guards, probably Darius Deling.
Suddenly, another thought struck her, jolting her out of her preprogrammed mode. Just how far does this infestation go into the infrastructure of Deling? That was something that she just didn't want to ponder. If the infestation went in too deep, they could cut off the head of the rebellion and still be left with the roots flourishing deep within the sewers of Deling, waiting for a safe time to blossom again.
With a start she realized that she could no longer hear Seifer. Had he talked, or had they simply gotten tired of him? She had to redouble her efforts. Fortunately, her hands were cuffed in front of her body. Reaching up, she undid one of the clips that held her hair in place. She slowly, painstakingly twisted it into a straight piece of metal, and then worked it into the small keyhole.
She couldn't believe the luck that she was having – either the guard had become complacent, or there was something worse waiting out there. Either way, she would leave completely ready to handle anything. Things were definitely better than at the Desert Prison, when she had been completely useless. That was the whole reason she had the boot knife, as a matter of fact. Because of what had happened there she had added it to her usual fighting array. She had become very proficient in its use.
Quistis could hear guards talking to each other outside the door, although no matter how hard she strained she couldn't make out any actual words. The tone was calm, but it was bordering on the edge of panic. Could it be Zell, or Seifer? Or perhaps someone even worse was coming to see her. That she didn't have time for. She redoubled her efforts, and was rewarded with a snap as the handcuffs sprang open. Without pausing she hurried to the door, and inserted her makeshift key. The voices had subsided, but she had no doubt that the guards were still present. Pressing her ear near the keyhole, she heard a tiny snap as that lock opened too. She reached down into her boot, and withdrew the knife. It gleamed brightly in the sterile light from the ceiling, freshly sharpened and ready. Quistis knew that she would need to move fast if they had guns of any sort, without any protection against them.
From the number of voices that she thought she had heard, there were three to four guards out there, assuming that the one with the news had gone back to his post. Probably one on either side of the door, and at the corridor ends. Maybe even one across from the door, although that was doubtful. Fingering the knife, she drew a breath, and released all of her emotions in that one breath. Now was not the time for thought. Now it was time to kill.
She ripped the door open as fast as she could, her blade flashing to the left. It caught the guard right between the ribs, and with a grunt he went down. She noticed exactly two more guards, the other advancing on her from his position near the right side of the door, and the third from down the hall. Quistis curved the blade upward to make sure the first was dead, and then withdrew it from the wound, ducking under the gun that was trying to bear down on her. She lunged out, and was rewarded with a quick stab to the lung. He fell against her, gasping for air.
The third had reached her by this time. Keeping the dying guard between her and the third, she eased her knife out as the other trained his gun on her, his hands shaking.
"Drop the weapon!" he shouted, his voice quavering as much as his hands. He was just a cadet…but he was her enemy, and she had to stop him. Without responding, she threw the now limp body at the man, who jerked up his gun in surprise. Taking the opening, Quistis used the blade to score a clean slit against his throat. His eyes were wide with shock. No doubt he, like most new people, had believed himself to be invincible. She swooped and picked up the discarded gun, slipping the knife back into her boot, after cleaning it on the dead man. A sound made her whirl around, gun at the ready.
"Quistis, don't shoot!" called the voice. It was Zell, looking like hell, but still alive. She lowered the weapon a little in relief.
"I didn't know what had happened to you," she said. He grimaced, but what he said next brought her back to reality.
"Where's Seifer?" he asked. Her eyes widened as she remembered.
"They took him to be tortured when we wouldn't speak," she said. "I think it was down this way." He nodded. She was thankful that he knew that now was not the time to pretend any more dislike toward Seifer. She nodded in return, and they ran off in the direction she indicated.
"I suppose you've seen Gary…?" he asked her quietly, as they ran. She nodded. And those five simple words conveyed all that needed to be said.
---
Seifer was drifting in and out of a nightmare. Whenever his brain would regain consciousness he would feel the pain of the volts, feel each shockwave move over his body in an agonizingly slow manner. Time had become like trying to move in water – everything was slow and jerky. And through it all, as though from a distance, a voice called to him.
"Why are you here?"
When he lost consciousness he could feel old memories resurfacing, multiplying and becoming even worse. Even sleep was no refuge for him now – would any place ever be?
A woman entered the room during his few moment of consciousness. He felt that he should know her, from some distant time. She smiled at him, but it was far from comforting. She placed a cool hand to his head, and cocked her head at him.
"Why don't you just give up?" Her voice was like poisoned honey. It sounded so sweet and innocent, but underneath were the undertones of death. She was no stranger to the battlefield. "You didn't answer my call before. Why?"
"What…" He couldn't finish the sentence. Talking hurt too much. He didn't want answers, he just wanted it to end.
"Why don't you…just tell me…" Her voice lowered, her face came closer to his, and his mind knew her name, somewhere in the back of its icy depths, and tried to scream it to him, but he couldn't hear through the rushing in his head. "…everything about you?"
He tried to jerk away, to resist, to something. But his muscles no longer obeyed him, and the woman's eyes were hypnotic. As he stared into their depths, he sensed something that wasn't quite right, something out of place. And in one moment it all fell into place. His eyes widened it surprise. She's…
Flicker.
The Orphanage.
It was the beach late in the afternoon. He was just a small child, as his mother one of the first casualties of the war. He was building a sandcastle apart from the others, but it kept falling down. The others had decided long ago that his sandcastle was no longer worth bothering with, and had started a lively game of tag in the grass above.
He just sat there, pouting, when a little girl came over and introduced herself as Quistis, a new child there. She had helped him make it stronger, helping him to fix it when parts would cave in on themselves. She was there for three hours until it was just right, ignoring the others calling for her to come over and join them in their fun.
It was kind of funny how she was still here, just when he felt like caving in.
Flicker.
Balamb Garden.
He could see Squall and Quistis standing apart from their class, talking together. Whenever he saw them, he could feel that he knew them. He would look at Squall, and a memory of fireworks popped into his head. When he saw Quistis he always saw a beach with a lone sandcastle on it, surrounded by heaps of discarded sand and a lone bucket, with a red flag waving proudly in the sunset.
But then the moment would be gone, and he would shake his head in annoyance. She was just another girl in the class, and Squall was just his rival for always tattling on him when he tried to have some fun. An incident involving a ten-year-old Seifer trying to sneak out of his room to steal some candy from the cafeteria leapt to the surface.
But that instant of memory always lingered close to the surface.
Flicker.
Timber's TV station.
He had been so worried about Rinoa, afraid that Squall was going to fuck up the mission, afraid that if he didn't make it there then she wouldn't make it out alive.
Ultimecia came to him, as Edea. She once again challenged him, calling him a scared little boy. And in his pride, he fell for what she said. He believed that unless he did as she said, he was going to fail, and be nothing more than the weakling he never wanted to be. He entered the vortex, and time shifted.
She had told him so little, just what he wanted to hear. She made it sound so noble. Restrain the humans so that they could no longer hurt each other, with him at the helm. And people like Squall who had only tormented him could find a permanent rest.
His face had broken out into a smirk at that thought.
Flicker.
Deling City.
Squall was falling, the icicle sticking out of his stomach. And Rinoa was reaching out, not toward him, but to Squall. He knew then he'd lost her. And that, instead of saddening him, filled him with rage.
Later, when General Caraway called for the release of his daughter, Seifer had allowed it. He didn't want her hurt, just Squall, because once again Squall had come out on top. What hurt the most was the fact that he hadn't even meant to this time.
He'd almost lashed out at Rinoa right then and there.
Flicker.
Galbadia Garden.
He had faced them there, all of them, even though Edea/Ultimecia had returned his memories. He had been surprised to see that Rinoa was with her dear 'boyfriend'. But it didn't matter. Better that he didn't have to end her life.
He had drawn his gunblade with the intent to kill them. He had been ready to, was ready to kill them then scamper back to Edea and bask in her praise of him. Squall had been right. He was nothing more than a sorceress' lapdog. And he hated him for it.
In that battle Quistis had almost been killed. Now that fact haunted him, but then he had been pleased. Her death had meant a personal for him, killing a woman who had always condescended him.
What would she think if she knew that little fact?
Flicker.
Lunatic Pandora.
He'd almost lost her permanently when Adel had tried to kill her. He'd sacrificed her to the sorceress in a fit of rage. But when the deed had been done he'd left, and wept. He'd cried for Rinoa, for himself, for the nameless faces that had been destroyed because of him. He'd cried because he knew that a new age was coming, and it wasn't one he wanted to be a part of. Ultimecia had come to him, but he no longer wanted the hollow promises.
And, when all of his tears were spent, he had gotten down on his knees, and done something that had been alien to him since he had been a child.
He prayed.
Not for himself, but for the world. Because they didn't deserve what he had done to them, what he was going to do to them. No longer could he be a knight. He had defiled the very name he had once exalted, and now he was barely fit to call himself a human. He was a monster, and he knew that.
Tears had run down his face. And as he felt time begin to compress around him, he had hunched himself into a small ball, waiting for the end of the world.
It had been so cold…
Flicker.
Caraway's mansion.
"Come on, Squall doesn't know anything about people. Absolutely nothing."
Flicker.
The hospital.
"Let me tell you something, in all honesty. If that was you lying in that bed in there, I would be really depressed, and so would everyone else."
Flicker.
Tomb of the Unknown King.
"For each hour you spent in battle, another fifteen went into making sure that you got that far. We are not a police force, Seifer, and we're more than mercenaries. We're spies, we're ambassadors, we're politicians, we're manipulators and we're mediators."
Flicker.
Deling City plains.
"We all have to make sacrifices for what we really want."
"And what is it you really want, Seifer?"
Flicker.
"No!" With that cry he forced himself from the onslaught of memories. He looked into her smiling face, deceptively angelic.
"Ahhh…" she said, as though he had just let her in on a big secret. "Now I understand so much more." She walked away, her long hair swishing to and fro as she left. He could see the simple white dress she wore, just another part of her disguise. She could have wings to help the image of an angel of mercy, for all he cared. But he knew who she really was, somewhere. But who or what?
"Miss? What should we do now?" called the operator, his hand on the switch. She stopped, her back to him. The very earth seemed to hold its breath as it waited for her to decree the judgment she saw fit for him. There was a smile in her voice as she spoke again, and he felt icy fingers running up his spine, making him shiver involuntarily.
"Continue." Then she was gone. The man cackled loudly, but Seifer could only remember that woman with the hands of death. As the switch was flipped, it rushed to him in an instant.
She's…
He blacked out.