A/N: My thanks goes out once more to my reviewers. Haha, otherwise, I wouldn't be up in the early hours of the morning, working on this.
Oh, and it's finally time to welcome our principal antagonists...
This chapter was written to the tune of Nuclear Winter by Bill Brown, for the simple reason that I like the sound of it. No hidden meanings here :P
More thanks go to Ranea for pointing out a mistake I made.
Anyways...
Threads of Spirit:
Woven of Shadows
He had been waiting for this moment for years, but now that the hybrid was firmly in his grasp, he saw no need at all to hurry. No, it was better to leave the subject in the dark, with no knowledge of what was about to come, letting their own doubt weaken their resolve before he could even start. Patience was always necessary for this kind of work.
After personally performing the basic examination of the specimen – vital signs and growth normal, no new distinguishing characteristics – he had had her still-unconscious form moved to one of his private examination chambers. It was not a large room – he did not need all that much space for his purposes – and neither was it in any way reminiscent of a stereotypical dungeon, like some preferred for these activities. The surfaces were all gleaming white-and-gray polymers, bright and sleek and sterile, the four recessed lights providing excellent illumination. The specimen was laid out and properly restrained on the steel table, with snugly fitting bands of neo-steel alloy attached to her wrists, ankles, and neck. Hojo couldn't help but marvel that, after all of this time, he finally had a living Cetra, albeit hybrid, to work with. Nine years had been long enough. Patience was everything, but he would not wait any longer. He could not wait any longer.
The specimen's respiration cycle was shallow and slow from the mild tranquilizer he had administered to her, and while Hojo would normally have waited for the drug's effects to wear off before beginning, he was feeling impatient, and non-lethal side effects weren't going to trouble him here. Taking a pre-filled syringe from the smaller table to the side, he rolled up the sleeve of the specimen's dress – her clothing had been replaced after the basic examination – and found a suitable area on the left brachial artery, slowly injecting the Hyper directly into her bloodstream. The Professor would have preferred to work without the obstructions of clothing, but his goal here was not the usual one, and it would be more injurious to her dignity if he waited until the specimen had regained consciousness. Hojo cared nothing for such things himself and had not cared for years, but his orders had been clear, if odd.
As the drug traveled through her system into the pulmonary organs, the specimen's limbs began to shake and then move spastically, but the restraints were more than strong enough to hold her. Her breathing became rapid, but not dangerously so, and her eyes – a most intriguing shade, the Professor had noted – shot open as she attempted to rise into a sitting position. The band of metal at her neck prevented that action, of course, and the specimen winced in pain as the edges of the restraint dug deeply into her throat.
"What is this? What are you going to do to me?" the specimen asked in tones of insistence, odd for someone in her position. Her voice was strong, yet, without any trace of fear. That was good; the Professor enjoyed working on the ones who thought themselves strong of will. Breaking the weak was simply too easy.
Ignoring the noise from the specimen, he picked up a long-edged scalpel from his assorted instruments and calculated the distances necessary, his long years of experience aiding him. The Professor made a multitude of precise, almost delicate, cuts, and the specimen's clothing fell away from her body. Placing the useless swathes of fabric into a small gray incinerator in the corner of the room, he replaced the scalpel and took a tiny green orb, the size of a small marble, from it's holding case, along with a larger yellow Materia.
"What... what are you doing?" the question had an edge to it this time, a thin tinge of apprehension. Hojo merely smiled; it was good if that started early. Fear was an excellent weapon; it was something, he had noted with glee, that the Vice President was beginning to understand. It would be most enjoyable to serve under him.
Brushing the specimen's cheek with his hand – physical contact was a must for something like this – he was pleased to see that she didn't flinch from his touch. Not a weakling, this one. Staring intently past her eyes into her skull, he delved flows of the Sense Materia into her brain, locating the areas that processed messages of pain. It was difficult to work with something you could not see, but the Professor had had long years of experience in this. The specimen's eyes watched him nervously, uncertain and afraid.
Ah, there they were. The mechanisms of a Cetran brain, while similar to humans', were not quite the same, and as a hybrid, locating the specimen's medulla had taken him a bit longer than usual. It didn't matter; he had all the time in the world now. Channeling the tiniest flow he could manage through the Fire Materia – it was the smallest yet that he had managed to find, and he was still searching – he directed the energy, so insignificant as to be barely there, into the specimen's receptors.
One had to be careful with this. Too large of a flow could kill in moments, but it was quite remarkable to the Professor as to how much the system could take, so long as one began with the lightest touches and fed it in finely increasing amounts. It was almost, Hojo thought wryly, like coaxing a new lover, hesitant and unwilling, though the similarities stopped there. Maintaining the weave, he settled back to watch the progressions. One could afford to have a little patience in this.
The specimen looked surprised and shook her head, as if she thought that she could ward off the pain. Soon, though, she realized she could not – Hojo appreciated her intelligence – and instead directed a stare, bold and defiant, towards him. Hojo would have laughed, except that he knew that it would have caused his weave, dynamic as it was, to alter, possibly killing her. He could not have that, yet. Patience.
It was ironic that he would have to be the one to do this. His was a line that went back nearly a thousand years, even before the nation had been called Wutai. Healers in the traditional sense, using herbs and plants at first and Materia later, his ancestors had been whisked around the Empire, and later the world, respected for their abilities to aid the sick and the injured.
He himself had been acclaimed, famed, and given honors everywhere he went. He had been able to cure any illness, heal any wound, and take people from the brink of death, when everyone else said there was nothing more to be done. For years, no one in all of Wutai had died of anything except old age, and he had gnashed his teeth even at that.
And then Lord Godo had had him summoned him to the capital one day, giving him what he had called a choice: to be tried and executed, or to be exiled and cast out from the Healers, never to know his pleasures again, and to see all of his honor and fame evaporate before him like mist before the sun. Godo had expected him to accept exile, for the Lord of Wutai was a rational, honorable man, and that was the rational, honorable choice. No one had thought that he would flee. And thus had begun his career with Shinra, after the Company faked had his death and granted him a new identity. They cared nothing for how he spent his time, so long as their projects were completed and their deadlines met. Which meant that he had a lot of free time, indeed.
The specimen was again trying to move against her bonds, her face drawn and pale as she worked her jaw soundlessly. Her eyes seemed to be widening, nostrils flaring as she struggled to breathe, and beads of sweat began to run down her pale body. Every so often a soft moan or a grunt would escape her lips, and Hojo smiled behind his entirely unnecessary surgical mask. It would begin soon, now. Patience.
He had been angry then, jealous of those who could not do as he did, and he reflected distantly that perhaps there had always been something inside him that yearned for this release as he commenced his healing sessions. Had anyone among those he saved from death ever complained about the tax he exacted in return? And what of the others whom he had dealt with? Wutai had never been free of corruption, and there had always been a ready supply of those who deserved to suffer at somebody's hand. What did it matter if he was the one to punish them? The Imperial Court and its ridiculous nonsense about legalities and rights... he easily deserved the right to do as he did; no, he had earned the right! He was infinitely more valuable, more useful to Wutai than all those who had entertained him with their screams combined! And no... in anger and spite, Godo and the Imperial Court had sought to pull him down!
Well, he had had his revenge. A number of the Imperial Court had been captured during the war, and Sephiroth – the ignorant fool – had had no qualms in giving them to him. With enough time, he could shatter the hardest and bend the strongest, sculpting them and molding them to whatever design he desired. While the process took much longer than Manipulation, Hojo found it infinitely more enjoyable, and he did not think even Sephiroth himself could undo the changes that he wrought. Manipulation could be defeated, and it had its limits. Those he had worked on, though... on their knees they had begged him to let them serve, and all had gratefully worked for him obediently until their dying breath. Each time the President had been full of glee, proclaiming to the world as another Lesser Lord of the Empire knelt before Shinra, but Hojo hadn't cared so much for that. No, he took his joy in the look on their faces when they saw him, even years later. How they went pale and hurried to assure him that they remained faithful to what he had made of them.
The first sob burst out of the specimen and was stifled quickly, and the Professor waited neutrally, waiting for the hybrid's resistance to snap. Haste was never necessary here, as too much haste could spoil everything. A corpse would not serve him; seconds trickled away. More sobbing came forth, overwhelming the specimen's efforts to subdue it, growing louder and louder as the wonderful sounds reverberated in the small chamber. Hojo waited. The cries swelled to a howl; the specimen glistened with dripping sweat as her head flung from side to send, sending her lank hair flailing. She jerked helplessly, convulsive flutters overtaking her in her bonds. Now, Hojo thought. His patience had been rewarded. Full-throated, ear-piercing shrieks sounded until breath was gone and began as soon as lungs could be filled. Her wide green eyes saw nothing, and they seemed to be glazing over. Time to begin.
Hojo smiled contemptuously, stopping the weave of Fire with an abrupt snap, but the specimen continued screaming for minutes before her cries subdued into soft, ragged panting. Her limbs continued to shake – that was one of the few aftereffects of this, and it would be months, if not years, before it truly ended.
"Do you still defy me?" he asked sharply. The actual question did not matter so much, so long as it was one the specimen could answer. It was often enjoyable to continue with the current one until they pleaded to prove that they no longer did.
Still shuddering, the specimen regarded him warily with unfocused, heavily lidded eyes. Licking her lips uneasily, she coughed softly, finally muttering hoarsely, "No..."
Mission or not, he could be allowed some fun, could he not? "I don't believe you." Taking a hold of her forehead in a harsh grip, he resumed the flows, starting at a moderately high level. The body adapted remarkably well to this; soon, he would not have to wait at all.
The specimen was intelligent; she knew what was happening, and where this was going to lead. While she could still muster breath, she pleaded softly, albeit with conviction. "No, no, please, no!"
Her cries went unheeded, and before long, her spine was arched once more, and the screams told hold of her. Hojo laughed at the sight of her, cutting off the flows once more. What a beautiful sound it was, that of pure anguish and unbearable torment. Throughout his life, he had heard so many of them, in every timbre and pitch and magnitude imaginable. This one's, though, sounded the sweetest to his ears; they were so raw, so unbridled, and so pure. She was regaining her breath once more, now, and Hojo thought that she was mumbling something, leaning towards her to listen. The words of his subjects could be so amusing at times like these.
"Mom, please... make it go away, make it stop... no more, please, no more..." To Hojo, she sounded so puny, so weak, begging like this. It hadn't even been half an hour yet!
"Your mother was stronger than you ever were, hybrid! She lasted over a month before begging like you do, now, after barely a quarter of an hour..." He watched the tears that began to stream down her face; she was ashamed of her weakness. Good, more vulnerability to work with. "You are a worthless, contemptible shadow of your kind, hybrid! Now. Do you still defy me?"
The specimen wasted no time in replying, desperate and pleading, "No! I'll... I'll do whatever you want... just, please, make the pain stop..." The aftershocks that still ran through her peaked then to elicit another moan, and Hojo realized with amusement that even these lesser sensations were probably worse than anything she had ever experienced before today. What a weakling.
Normally, this would be where he asked the questions that needed answering, but in this strange case, he had none, so he remained silent, considering how to proceed. The 'trick', if one could call it that, would be finding something that the specimen was capable of doing, but not willing, and pressing until that changed. The more reluctant they were about it, the better. To break someone, really break him or her, one had to make them want to do anything to escape the pain, anything at all.
The Professor studied the specimen gasping for breath before him. He simply didn't know enough about her, her weaknesses, or her fears. Then he looked at her, realizing something so obvious as to evade his notice. And, he admitted to himself wryly, it was hardly the kind of weakness he had been thinking of. He remembered the exact terms of his orders, and he decided it would do. Break her, and shatter her will completely. Crush her spirit with pain and humiliation.
Seizing the specimen's hair and lowering his head to her ear, he whispered lasciviously. So what if it was crude? If this mad scheme worked – he hadn't been fully briefed in on the details yet – he would have nothing to worry about.
Watching the specimen stiffen in fear, he smiled inwardly; he had guessed correctly. He didn't like to do that at all – any risks besides the most carefully plotted and calculated were to be avoided – but it seemed that he had found something to work with, here. The hybrid did not hesitate in her reply.
"No! Anything but that... anything!" Out of breath as she was, Hojo was surprised that she could muster such vehemence in her statement. Well, in any case, this was a starting point.
Using a finger to caress her neck, he laughed wickedly and spoke in the same tone. "Anything? Anything encompasses many things... where shall we begin?" It was easier, now that he had decided on his course of action. Perhaps, he thought with a faint smile, he might even enjoy it.
The silence seemed more pronounced, if anything, Baracs noticed. Before, at least the Planet provided a variety of background noises, birdsong and the rush of flowing water, soothing and calming. Now, as if it sensed the grave, ominous danger facing it, it remained deathly still and completely quiet. The only sounds to be heard were that of a woman's weeping, and the Planet respected that, too; the dark forest they sat in swallowed the reverberations almost immediately, leaving them in relative peace and darkness; the late afternoon sunlight would not penetrate here through the foliage. Baracs did not like to be disturbed when he did his planning, and public displays of emotion were quite harming to his concentration.
The Circle of Elders had traveled here – or, rather, the environment had blurred and changed around them – and had sat on a circle of well-worn and comfortable oak tree stumps. They had been discussing their plans three hours ago when Ifalna had collapsed, falling from her seat, moaning and gibbering in obvious pain. That had since faded, but the Eldest still appeared in great pain, head down and shielding the sight of her tears, as was their custom. Now, only the two of them were here; the rest had returned to their Promised Lands for rest, as maintaining a presence in another Cetra's Promised Land was highly taxing. It was one reason why post mortem socialization between Cetra was so rare.
He thought that he knew what had happened – while the other Elders could only listen in on Aeris' thoughts if they chose to do so, and with remarkable difficulties, Ifalna was forced to maintain a constant link with her daughter, lest they all lose access and have to 'find' her among the myriad of souls on the Planet. And yes, while Aeris' half-Cetran mind provided a beacon, it was still like searching for one grain of red sand in a pile of yellow, and each grain feeling like a massive boulder in weight. It could have been weeks, or months even, before they could re-forge the connection. And so, there hadn't really been much of a choice, and since they had decided to go with this, it was only practical to get as much use out of it as possible. Kindness and sympathy would have to wait, for now.
"What is happening now, Ifalna?" Baracs tried to make his voice as gentle as possible, but his vocal cords had always been instilled with a sense of roughness since his birth, well over nineteen hundred years ago.
Without raising her head, the normally regal woman mumbled a hushed response. "He... he is doing terrible things to her... oh, Light save us..." Apparently, she saw no need to elaborate. "My darling is going to... break, I fear, and soon."
Baracs scowled darkly; this was not going well, at all. While at least Aeris had not found her way to the spawn – it was hard to think of that as "good news", but it was – she would not be of much use to the plan in the condition that her ordeal would inevitably leave her in.
"That would be most adverse to the plan, indeed... I have miscalculated greatly, it seems." His voice carried a tinge of sadness.
That statement could have summed up most of his adult life, such as it were. Raised in an era where the Calamity had destroyed over half of the Cetran population, he had been one of the first to use his position as Elder to call for active reprisal instead of passive resistance. Eventually, as they had lost more and more territory, as the Calamity struck down more and more of the Planet's defenses in its own mad quest, his way had gained more adherents.
His plan then had been the creation of the Weapons, for the Cetra themselves were but the weakest of warriors when compared to the likes of the Calamity and its ilk. For years they had toiled, struggling to maintain what territory they could, as Jenova struck down their cities one by one, at her leisure. And so, while the Planet had supplied the raw materials, they had worked to imbue stone and steel with all of their accumulated knowledge and strength. It seemed to him that they had created something magnificent in its power, and that they could at last claim victory.
But he had failed, as the Calamity knew that he would fail, in underestimating the powers of deception that Jenova wielded so skillfully and well, the powers that it had used ever since it first appeared amongst the Cetra. Using its illusions to mask its presence, it had infiltrated their production lines and taken the Weapons, trapping them in the walls of Materia at the Knowlespole where it had first landed. By all estimations, they would have been long dead before the Weapons could be re-taken and "thawed out", and so he had come up with another plan... if one could call it that.
Those Cetra who had not yet been taken by the virus – a terribly small number, indeed, no more than a thousand – had decided to send the strongest of their number to confront Jenova while the rest took as much as they could of their culture with them and fled to the human settlements. And once more he had let his pride overtake his reason, his lust for fame rise over his rationality. He had insisted vehemently on leading those sent to defeat Jenova, believing her to be physically weak to have to have had hidden in lies, and for that, he had died with Jenova's counterstroke, dead when he needn't have been dead, along with all of the others who had set out to destroy the Calamity.
It was such a shame. Without the strong amongst them to keep their spirits from falling into despair, many of those Cetra who had been sent to seek shelter from the humans lost faith in the Planet and their way of life. Taken by the bleakness of the Dark Years, some had tried to forget whom they were, intermarrying with humanity, while others simply laid down and died, unable or unwilling to go on. Those few family lines that remained faithful to the Planet had dwindled in number, until only one daughter had been left, Ifalna, who had been given the title of Eldest for her sacrifices. She was truly the last of the Cetra, for Aeris was no more than a remnant, however many Cetran traits she showed. Ifalna's angered voice intruded on his thoughts, and he shook his head sadly at the thought of so much that had been lost.
"Is that all you care about? You and your plan... do I have to remind you that is my daughter you're trying to use as a sacrificial lamb?" Ifalna shouted at him, rising and leaving her tear-stained face bare to him, though she didn't seem to care. Walking towards Baracs, her voice slowly rose in pitch and intensity. "Do I have to remind you that for your plan, I'm the one who has to watch her, feel her being hurt out of her very senses? How can you even speak so calmly when something like this is happening to the last living Cetra?"
Baracs sighed, shaking his head, the half-braid whipping in a slight breeze. Ifalna could be so rash, sometimes. "You must realize not only your daughter is at risk here, Ifalna. By the Tree and the People, if we do not succeed here, the Planet itself is doomed! Surely Aeris is not so important when stacked against the greater possibility!"
Especially with the nature of his proposed action, the Elders had to acknowledge that the fate of the last living being with any Cetran blood was not as vital as the fate of the Planet. Before, they had agreed, if hesitantly. Now, he thought he might just have to convince them again. Truly, he did not like that it had to come down to this, but when one had but one option, one took it with no regrets.
Seething, Ifalna very deliberately raised her right hand and slapped him across the face. He flinched from the strike, not because of physical pain, but because of the cultural implications. "You speak to me of risk, of importance? Let me explain something to you in the simplest terms possible. Hold the link with me for a minute, and you'll see exactly what I mean. Half a minute."
Baracs looked at her with a dark expression – touching him, indeed! – but at last he nodded tersely. If she was willing to let him enter her mind, this had to be important. "So be it, Ifalna. Let us see what this fuss is all about."
He stared intently into her eyes, glistening and red from crying. With barely any hesitation, he felt his vision going from the visual into the subconscious; the "real world" faded into a misty gray at the very edges of his peripheral vision. Perusing through the woman's mind and taking care as to not pry where he was unwanted, the Elder quickly located the part that held Ifalna's link with Aeris, touching it subtly, lightly with his thoughts, barely resting on it at all. The effect was immediate.
Pain. It surged through him, filling every crevice and pore with burning and throbbing that overwhelmed his control immediately. Severing the link by instinct, he readjusted into the Promised Land, finding that he had toppled from his seat. His limbs were tingling, too, like the brief memory of what he had just experienced. Above him, Ifalna looked on with a combination of challenge and resolve.
Righting himself on the stump, he stared at her with slightly wider gray eyes. "What... was that?"
"That was a barest hint of what my daughter has been going through for the last four hours or more, and you barely touched upon the it for an instant. And that was only through my link, which was dulled already. Now do you understand? You only felt a thousandth of what she is, and I a hundredth, and look what is happening to us." Ifalna glared at her counterpart.
"I suppose you are right, but there is nothing we can do about it!" Exasperation and rage tinged his voice, and he brought a fist down hard on the stump. All of my plans... if she is lost, we will fail, and the Planet will die. We will die. It was hardly a reassuring thought.
"From here, I agree." In bizarre contrast, Ifalna's words now held an edge of what he could only call satisfaction. In fact, a she seemed to be smiling! Baracs chided himself for obviously imagining things at this dark hour.
"What do you mean, 'from here'? There is nowhere else we can operate from!" He could not stop himself from snapping at her angrily. This was not the time for foolish thoughts and meaningless considerations!
"I would have thought so, too, but I have been conferring with the Planet." Ifalna's smile widened. "She says otherwise." Then she explained her plan, and Baracs could not help but staring at her in unbelieving surprise.
"I see." He could not help laughing. It would certainly be a fitting end to it all.
The room was spacious and airy, and a light classical piece was being played softly on the music box. The open door showed the last light of the sun as it sank below the horizon, bathing the chamber with radiant light. The floor and columns were hewn redstone, but both were smoothed and worn, and the overall effect was quite charming. The organizer reminded himself to thank Bugenhagen for letting him use the Elder's private chambers.
This meeting had been absurdly difficult to organize, Harlan thought with a scowl and a slight cough. Any gathering of the people in this room would have occasioned comment, but he had fed the right information to the right people, and Shinra thought it merely to be a trade gathering that they hadn't been invited to. Luckily, they hadn't probed too deeply into his façade, and so the first phase was ready to begin. He hoped that he had done his research correctly.
They were a disparate lot, he noted, but that was to be expected. There were so many things to be done, and so little time to take care of it all, as all of these men knew. The last one entered the chamber, and he decided it was time to tell them. Using his battered wooden cane, he slowly shuffled up to a carved wooden block that served as a podium and began speaking in a hoarse voice, scratchy from age and punctuated by occasional coughing.
"Good evening. You may have wondered why I have called you here today, and I am glad that all of you have respected my summons. Please let me speak my piece." He bowed slightly, then, as to equals. "My name is Harlan Andrax, and I've been studying here in Cosmo Canyon for the past few dozen years on Planet Life. As I'm sure you have noticed, with the advent of the Mako Reactor, overall species have dropped drastically, noting increases only in monster population size and ferocity.
"This is wrong; Shinra should not have the express rights to drain away the benevolent life energy of the planet in order to further their own narrow, selfish interests. All of you have reason to dislike Shinra, and together, we can do something about it instead of sitting on our heels and let Shinra grow stronger and stronger, as the planet and we grow weaker and weaker." He paused to lean on the podium as a particularly painful series of coughing gripped him. The Light damn his sickness. He grasped at his canteen and drank deeply from it before continuing.
"You, Lord Yukimura Godo, have suffered a great humiliation at the hands of Shinra. Your nation, once strong, now lies in ruins, your population weakened, and your pride vanquished. Yet you are angry still. You have surrendered, but you are not yet defeated. Join with me, and Wutai will never be troubled again Your culture will not be repressed, your beliefs will not be ridiculed, and your voice will never go unheard. This I do swear.
"You, Cid Highwind, have had your hopes dashed, your dreams squandered, and your opinions disregarded. You served loyally and well, and Shinra turned its back on you and your people immediately after your usefulness to them has ended. Yet your will is still strong, and your hopes and dreams soar on. Join with me, and all ventures of science will be equally pursued with equal dedication and motivation, not only those which cause harm, whether to man or to the planet. You will never be betrayed, and you will never be ignored. This I do swear.
"You, Wedge Szandara, lead the freedom fighters of Fort Condor in your daily struggles with Shinra, but your sponsors are becoming unresponsive, and your funds will not last you forever. Continue fighting alone, and a day will come, in one month or one year or ten, when Shinra triumphs over you. Join with me, and we will present a united front against Shinra that will prevail. You will no longer have to worry for your lives every waking hour, and hope that you are not ambushed when you go to sleep. You will be able to live your lives as you wish to, on terms set by yourself. This I do swear.
"And you, Dyne Pahlavi, face a rising tide of those who wish to see the end of coal as a power source, the end of your career. Shinra has given you the promise of Mako, the promise of power, but yet we all know promises given by Shinra always have a pitfall. Decline, and watch your prosperity fade. Accept, and wait for the noose to tighten. Your time for a decision is running out, but you still have some time yet. Join with me, and you will not need to fear those who speak against you; you will be able to argue and debate knowing that there is no one to bind or restrict you. You will no longer face the rampant censorship and propaganda that so corrupts the hearts and minds of men. Their ideals will be their own, and their conclusions made only through their own consensus. This I do swear.
"Alone we are scattered and weak, unable to face Shinra as it defeats us one by one with ease. If we do not act soon, there will be no one to defeat them. Please, consider my proposal."
Throughout his little speech, he had carefully watched and gauged their reactions – he had learned a lot about observation through spending years in the canyon lands, looking for things that did not want to be seen. The four of them had paid him attention, which was excellent – after all, he was a relative nobody, and they were all powerful leaders; if they chose to, they could simply ignore him and leave. He thought he detected a general sense of anger and frustration within them all, but these were men trained in the hiding of emotion and expression.
Godo had seemed the one most susceptible to it, hardly befitting his role as a ruler, but he had been humiliated the most recently, and with the greatest loss. Highwind had merely appeared disgruntled and bitter, crushing his cigarette underneath a stained boot when Harlan had addressed him; the philosopher thought it very likely that he had been this way, glowering and irritated, ever since his budget had been cut virtually to zero. Szandara had given him a curt smile, but his piercing eyes had spent just as much time examining the other three as they had him, and the smile did not look pleased. Clearly, this was one who possibly saw everyone as an enemy. Harlan mentally sighed; those could be troublesome to deal with. Lastly, Pahlavi had strangely shown the least emotion at all, though he was clearly the least sophisticated of the four. Leaning against the room's wall and idly picking at his dirt-embedded fingers, it could have seemed as if he had not cared at all. However, once or twice, Harlan had seen those eyes of his, stormy gray, staring right at him, and nothing about that gaze was indolent.
As he stopped speaking, Pahlavi of all people was the first to respond, his voice like a pickaxe chiseling through bedrock stone. "Well, I'm outa here if that's all you had to say. Corel ain't runnin' by itself, damn it. He turned to leave, the others looking at him and then Harlan with badly concealed hesitation and apprehension. This was his first test.
Luckily, it was one that he had prepared for. "Go. Go, and see what becomes of your livelihood and your life within the next half-dozen years. Once Shinra has firmly entrenched itself, it will never let go. Will they let you remain as a subservient lapdog, or will you die tragically in a fatal accident, along with most of your supporters?" Though the words were harsh enough, Harlan's tone was gentle. "You have nothing to gain with passivity, and everything to gain with action and change."
Dyne flinched as if struck, lip curling back in derision. "Over my dead body! The people of Corel will get killed without me to lead them, and you're wrong if you think I'll ever let them Shinra scum sink their teeth into my hometown!" The miner snarled, hand grasping at his side for a weapon that he had been cordially asked not to bring today.
"It may well come down to that, then. Leave then, and sink in whatever delusions you may choose. When despair overcomes you as the grasp of Shinra tightens on your throat, think of what you could have done instead, and think of how success was possible, if only you had not ignored it." A dangerous gleam had appeared in Dyne's eyes. Harlan did not think that the man would go so far as to strike him, not with the other three, but he tightened his grasp around his cane in any case. It was far stronger than it looked, and it could hold five of his accumulated Materia, if weakly.
Fortunately, Godo interrupted before it could escalate further. "You speak of defeating Shinra, Mister Andrax. But I know, just as I am certain you know, that Shinra's might is great, and we are all weak. To go against them would be like a mere wolf chasing a Behemoth for all the good we could do." His voice was lilting and mellifluous, like the tolling of a deep bronze gong. "I agree with your ideals and your motives, but I am uncertain of how you plan to accomplish this. Of the five of us, my military might is strongest, but our army is now a mere fraction of the size it used to be, and even in its height, Shinra outnumbered it. How, Mister Andrax, do you propose that we fight them, then?"
Excellent. This was what he had been hoping for. "When I was young, I once visited Midgar. An old friend of mine, an officer in Shinra's army, had taken me from Junon to the city. Shinra had been dealing with insurgents then, and as we came upon a scene in the countryside, he turned off the vehicle and gestured to me to watch and learn of the capabilities of insurgents.
"A tiger – a powerful cat that is extinct now, sadly – had made a kill on the grasslands and was settling down to feed. Approaching it, though, had been a pack of hounds, all smaller, inferior animals. The tiger had been old, slowed and dulled by age, but still formidable even so, seeking to protect itself and its kill. One on one, it could have easily taken the lesser dogs, but they had not been so stupid. Spreading out around the tiger, they surrounded it quickly. The one directly behind the tiger would rush in and nip at the cat's hindquarters, and when the tiger would turn and roar, the hound would retreat, and another would attack the tiger's rear.
"Soon, it was unable to feed, and unable to protect itself, it had no choice but to retreat, leaving the hounds to gloat and take the meal for its own. The tiger would age and grow hungry and weaken, and soon it would not be able to stop an attack on its own flesh. Eventually, the hounds would kill them all, so long as the tigers insisted on remaining solitary.
"And so it would be with us. The weakness in all bureaucracies is that they are unable to direct their targets quietly, and in many places. Fight them openly and outright, and one will lose. Fight them with subtleness and caution, and one can do much damage, indeed. Indeed, Godo, your Anjian forces attempted to implement this doctrine with their deep raids, but they failed to take it to its logical conclusion."
Szandara looked at him with brief appraisal in his stormy gray eyes, but he then settled back in his danger-scanning mode. "You would have us fight completely on the offensive then, striking at Midgar and Junon and Gongaga internally, I suppose." The fighter reached for his leather hip flask, waiting for the answer.
Harlan nodded, further clarifying. "Infrastructure and morale damage will be our objectives. The only way to defeat Shinra is to force them to lose the peoples' favor. Much of that favor comes solely through the presence of convenient Mako energy. If we were to remove that energy, the masses might accomplish much of our work for us. Shinra would of course attempt to blame us, but the disgruntlement would one day outweigh the fear."
"And if the Reactors are destroyed, the Planet is harmed less grievously." Godo added quietly, stroking his luxuriantly oiled beard and grinning fiercely. "Two skyhawks for one Bolt, is it not? Mister Andrax, you have thought your proposal through quite well." Harlan made a note to watch him carefully in the future. Yukimura Godo was not someone to be underestimated, or trifled with.
There was a brief silence then, as they considered. At least, none were attempting to leave. That was good. Godo and Szandara will be the more easily convinced, but I need the other two just as much, if not more, or all of us are doomed. They will join us, or die. We would all die. He chided himself for the pessimism, but he acknowledged that it was still possible, at this stage.
The pilot, Highwind, broke the silence, speaking in his decidedly rough manner. "Alright, so we all hate those leeching backstabbers at Shinra. Blood and ashes, it's blindingly obvious that you want each of us to give over and help, or else you wouldn't have invited us over for this lovely chat. But what about you, Mister Andrax?" Godo winced, which Highwind didn't seem to notice. "By Hades, You're just some doddering relic with a goddamned walking stick! What good are you against Shinra?" Having lit another cigarette, he blew a smoke ring to emphasize his statement.
Harlan remained silent for a time – not at the words; he had heard harsher – but because he wasn't sure whether or not to reveal a part of him this early. "Sometimes, Mister Highwind, I almost feel as if the Planet is... speaking to me."
Pahlavi burst out laughing, broad shoulders shaking in unrestricted mirth. "Oh, great joke ya got there! So, what does the 'Planet' tell ya? Shinra's military access codes, or when they're gonna raise the Mako rates? Add in some stock options too, hmm?"
Harlan frowned briefly, taking a sip from his Potion-water solution, but continued as if uninterrupted. "Perhaps there is enough Cetran blood flowing through me, or it is a resurgence of old traits, but it speaks, and it speaks true. When the Planet says that it is certain of something, it is never incorrect."
"So you've got the whole bloody Planet acting as your flaming personal fortune teller now? Give me a goddamned break!" Cid retorted with a snort.
"I must admit, Mister Andrax, that this is not entirely easy to believe..." Godo added slowly, his eyes not quite accusing.
Harlan almost sighed, refraining only because it would serve nothing and make him out to be weaker than he was. Why must all the good, useful allies be so hard to deal with? He knew it was a foolish question, but part of him, the one that wanted to see some sense of accomplishment before he passed away, still seemed irascible no matter his best efforts. Time to play another face card... one that he had meant to save for a much later date, when he could be sure that they were bound to him so tightly as to be unable to leave. More risks to be taken, then... he hated risks.
"Discounting that, and I see no reason for it to be discounted, mind you, I have also discovered and developed several rather interesting viral structures over the years. They could be of use, provided a suitable delivery mechanism," he stated in a flat monotone. Things like this were best not done, but for the sake of the Planet... Light, the coming months would see acts as dark as moonless midnight, but they had to be done.
"So you want my rockets." Highwind replied in very much the same neutral voice. Harlan couldn't help but be surprised – so the pilot wasn't a fool, after all, despite all of his sullenness and cursing. Well, one did not get to the rank of Senior Aviation Technician without some intelligence, he supposed.
Harlan replied with a cautious half-smile. "If you'll let me use them, that is. If not, it would hamper my efforts greatly." He hoped that he had done his research correctly, and that they would react as he had planned. If not, this could all turn to disaster.
"'Hinder my efforts'! Ya talk like killin' a few million unlucky souls is a decent thing. Hell, ya ain't that much better than Shinra themselves!" That was Dyne, and Harlan could barely stop a chuckle. Excellent.
"Arm for an arm, Mister Pahlavi. I'm sure you've heard the saying before. Besides, I only plan on attacking their military, not civilians, if I can help it. At the very least, I can promise that the focal points will be purely military." Now, time to call the draw. "Mister Szandara, you've been fairly quiet. Tell me, what is your opinion?" If he had gambled wrong, the answer here could still ruin him. He hoped to the Light that that rumor he had picked off the street fourteen years ago was true.
The squat man frowned, clearly uneasy with the topic. "Nearly two dozen years ago, before Wutai, Shinra launched a few bacterial warheads in Fort Condor... they had taken a specimen from the jungles of Nibelheim, fortified it with cancerous genes, and designed it for aerosol transmission. Our casualties were horrendous... men, women, children; biological weapons are merciless." He shook his head wistfully, and Harlan couldn't help letting a somewhat more sincere smile come to his face. The gamble had worked.
"However, the winds turned the next day, and the disease spread back into their camps, taking more lives and killing several of their senior commanders. Until very recently, that was the last time they used strategic biological weapons, to the best of my knowledge. Of course, in the ending phases of the Wutai War, they restored their bio-war program under Tideki Hojo, but their samples were never used seriously. However, we still think at Fort Condor that it's very likely that in the near future, we'll have to face their 'special' weapons again."
Highwind frowned slightly, replying with a contemplative voice that seemed odd until you remembered that this man had once held a doctorate in philosophy. When he was serious, his cursing lowered dramatically, too, which Harlan appreciated. "Well, if that's really true," Szandara shot him a glance, "then I suppose I can see where you're coming from, Andrax. At least you're only planning on targeting the army, too. Hmm... I can't say I entirely approve of your means, but I'm agreeing with your views... for now. I suppose you could say I'm with you."
Excellent. One more to go. Now if only young Pahlavi – Andrax was seventy-two, himself – would be more amenable... "I thank you wholeheartedly for your cooperation. The new dawn will not see our actions in vain." He replied to Highwind.
The stubborn miner now turned to address him. "Look, I think I can see where Godo and Szandara fit into this – soldiers, weapons, and experience, I guess – and I suppose Highwind does too, with your talk of firing rockets at them, but where the heck do I go?"
Ugh. Why couldn't he have a doctorate? It would make things so much simpler... but Harlan knew he couldn't be condescending. This man had what was quite possibly the greatest role in the plan
"As we destroy the Mako Reactors, the people will need a new source of energy to sustain them, or much of the world will fall into chaos to degenerate back into the Times of Crisis. I cannot allow that, if it is possible to do otherwise. If you joined us and raised coal production suitably, the problem would be somewhat ameliorated until another solution could be found." There was another aspect to it, too, but Harlan did not want to reveal that just yet. This kind of individual could ruin the best of plans, but he thought the ones he had laid out now would do.
"Shinra would kill us all if it realized we were raising production!" Pahlavi retorted, earning a tired sigh from Godo. Szandara directed a raised eyebrow at the miner.
"At first, when we target Gongaga, there is no need to expand operations. Simply refine more and place it on the market when the time is right. I know you have the capability to do that." Or so his friend had told him, but he trusted young Wallace to tell the truth. "After we begin striking Midgar and Junon in earnest, they will have other things to worry about than your actions. Then, once they are focused on their own problems, you can expand as necessary without fear of reprisal." Harlan stated patiently, but not too condescendingly. He could not afford to push away anyone who might be a potential ally.
Pahlavi remained silent, but he nodded once and sunk back to lean against the wall again. That one, Harlan mused, would never be enthusiastic in supporting anything but his own interests. Much like himself, he thought, though his ideals were much greater and far more pure than mere capitalistic greed. What could be more important than the Planet?
"Your plan of going against Shinra seems fair enough in practice, but there is one point that I would like you to explain." Szandara stated to fill the silence. "If we're able to disable Shinra's regular army through your strategy, what of SOLDIER? Through what I've heard, the Mako in their cells protects them from illness. If it would ever come down to head-on combat, I'd have to say that SOLDIER alone could probably defeat any force we could realistically field."
Highwind added, "Yeah, I've bloody seen SOLDIER in action, and I'm not afraid of saying that they seriously scared the hell out of me." Honesty was good. It showed where and how one could be struck down later, if necessary. Harlan filed that tidbit away with all of the others he had taken already from the meeting.
Harlan chuckled softly at that. These were no fools – they were saving the most blatantly obvious challenge for the end, using these questions to test his hypothesis and character. Well, he could hardly blame them for it. In a similar situation, he would do exactly the same thing.
"Such is the nature of my samples. They will overwhelm the ordinary human's immune system with ease and rapidly spread through the bloodstream, systematically attacking the entire body. Frank symptoms, you see, appear a week after the initial exposure." All but Pahlavi inclined their heads at that – it would spread freely for a full week before Shinra realized that something was wrong, and by that time, it would be too late, with several generations of contamination. "The lethality rate, in my tests, is relatively low, but the nature of the symptoms are extremely incapacitating. Symptoms," he added, "last for several months to a year." It was just about as perfect as it could reasonably be, in that respect.
"You did not answer Mister Szandara's question." Godo was quick to note. "However, I am glad to hear that your chosen means are as they are."
"Ah, but I have... You see, when a SOLDIER-cadet is first exposed to Mako, the body generates antibodies, just as if the substance were a bacterium or a virus. A large factor in acceptance into SOLDIER is how the body reacts to those antibodies."
"And how do you know all of this?" Szandara inquired.
"I have contacts within Shinra. One is an old friend of mine, and he gave me this information a few years earlier, thinking that it was harmless." Well, that was not entirely true, but it served his purposes. "These antibodies remain in the system for well over a year before disappearing, and until they do disappear, a SOLDIER is unable to use the enhancements from the Mako; in fact, until then, the antibodies detracts severely from their capabilities." He paused to make sure that sank in before continuing. "Now, the interesting thing is that when the viral strands attack the system of a person, even if they do not succeed in actually infecting the cells, the body produces antibodies extremely similar to those from initial Mako exposure. The results are predictable."
Szandara's eyes sparked with surprise. "Can you be certain? That would be great!"
At the same time, Highwind stated with doubt, "And did your friend tell you that as 'harmless information', too?"
"In fact, the first bit about SOLDIER was indeed from my contact. He had access to the notes on the first implementation of the project and forwarded copies to me at my request. You see, I have been thinking for years on ways to combat SOLDIER. On the day that I had first tested my viral sample, I had been reviewing my notes on SOLDIER. You see: the antibodies had always intrigued me... for Mako is not an actual biological process any more than stone is, but they remained the only weaknesses that I could identify. When I noticed how the results of my tests coincided with the forms of the antibodies that I had been studying... I sent a small copy to my contact, who then deployed it against one of the SOLDIER First. The results were hushed up, but he told me of the reaction, and then, I knew that I had a weapon capable of truly crippling Shinra."
"Very interesting, indeed..." Godo remarked, before asking the question that he had been saving as a sort of "last test" of sorts. "And would this work against Sephiroth?"
"I doubt it. The metabolism and structure of an Ancient would probably be enough to counteract or at least ameliorate the effects of the virus, and I don't doubt that he could deal with the symptoms through pure strength of will." Harlan paused, then, letting the doubt show on their faces. "However, I do have plans for him. Different plans."
The explanation took well over an hour, but at the end, even Pahlavi had been laughing. As they shook their hands and signed to the sheet of paper, Harlan couldn't help but feel content. AVALANCHE had been born, and Phase one was complete. Almost.
Zack wasn't exactly comfortable with what he was doing, here, but he, as the second-in-command of SOLDIER, didn't really have anyone he trusted to run to with his problems. Well, except for him, and he generally didn't like it when people showed up at his doorstep in the early hours of the morning, seeking help for their personal issues. But hell, he had nowhere else to go.
And so, he found himself standing in front of General Sephiroth's door in the early hours of the morning, knocking tentatively on the door, rather intimidating in its designs of corpses missing various body parts. Jeez, and he wonders why no one stops to make a social call. He really didn't think that his commanding officer would be extremely pleased with the topic of discussion that he planned on raising – him more than most people – but Zack just didn't know who else to talk with. Either they didn't have the authority to hear it, or they would laugh at him. At least Seph listened. Well, sometimes, at least.
The door opened quickly enough, channeled on a flow of Air so that the visitor found himself staring at an empty corridor. Sephiroth was certain, Zack decided, that he could handle anything that came up, if it became necessary, and Zack had, as a part of his rare sociability lessons, insisted that Sephiroth at least answer the door when someone was knocking.
"It's late. What brought you up here?" The voice seemed to come from where a normal person would be standing relative to the door, and the only thing that told Zack that the General wasn't just standing there, hidden behind a flow of subtle Manipulation, was that his trained mind would have picked up the slight trace of wrongness that came with any such weaving. Zack assumed that he would be using his other, non-Materia abilities.
Still, talking to nothing was disconcerting. "Seph, come on. I thought we had decided early on that you wouldn't be playing any mind games with me, alright?"
"Fair enough." Still the voice came from in front of him. "And don't call me that."
Zack waited. "Um, Sephiroth..."
"What is it?" came from the doorway in a slightly irritated voice.
"Where are you?" Zack replied painstakingly. This was just a needless bother.
"Isn't it obvious?" Sephiroth asked with a light, almost imperceptible laugh. Still from in front of him. Seph... ugh. Remembering some of the General's lessons, it did indeed become blindingly obvious.
Zack whirled around, finding a slightly grinning Sephiroth not an inch behind him, gazing down at him expectantly. Being so physically close to the man, it was very, very hard not to be afraid. He radiated command and authority and respect even without Materia, and when one was in his presence, it seemed logical to do exactly what he said, right when he said it. However, Zack was, if not comfortable with, at least used to Sephiroth's more overt displays of what the General called humor, so he just shrugged it off, scowling lightly at the taller man.
Slightly chiding, Sephiroth remarked, "I thought I had taught you better. Never keep your rear unguarded. It can lead to pain in sizeable quantities, in that position."
Jeez, coming from anyone else, that would be very creepy. But then, Seph is Seph. He's different. "Seph, I know it's late, but that's not polite, you know. Now, let's sit down and talk."
"As you wish. And Zachary, you had better have a good reason for being here." His voice hadn't changed, but Sephiroth's normal way of talking was ominous and cold enough to consider that a warning.
They crossed the threshold, and Sephiroth gestured roughly to the chairs in the living room. Zack appreciated the sign of improvement, however slight, but he still worried that his friend never had any chances to really practice his social skills. He tried and tried to make the General socialize in any setting, but the man was so suspicious, so closed, and so unyielding, most of the time. Oh well; there was only so much Zack could do.
As they sat down in the stiffly unpadded chairs, the main door closed, all of the lights in the apartment came on, a glass of lemonade, beaded with condensation, floated into the General's right hand, a large tome that had been sitting on the coffee table closed and flew back onto the shelf, the windows opened to let in fresh air, and a soft classical tune began playing. Zack thought that he'd never be able to get used to Sephiroth's skill with magic. The way he manipulated weaves, so many at once – this was far less than the most he had ever done at one time – was simply astonishing to the Commander. Though he prided himself on being able to at least split his weaves and use them individually, Zack knew that he would never come anywhere even close to his superior and mentor. And for his part, Sephiroth didn't seem to care at all. It was just natural for him, Zack supposed. Which made him feel even more inadequate.
"I am going to assume that this is important, Zachary." Sephiroth said; it was just like him to think that that constituted a valid conversation starter.
Zack drew a deep breath and spoke in the most serious way possible. "It's about Aeris."
"The flower girl you mentioned last night?" he raised an eyebrow slightly, but added to they wry note in his voice, Zack cringed. If Seph wasn't going to take him seriously, this would not end well.
"That's the one. Anyways, she's in the Shinra building right now – Hojo's laboratory, in fact." A pause. "I don't think she came of her own free will."
"No, she most assuredly did not. I saw one of the Turks bring her in right before the demonstrations. Reno, I think his name was." Sephiroth smirked at that; he knew perfectly well that the two men were friends.
Reno brought her in! "I... see..." Zack replied, tone slightly shaken. So that explains the scene in the lobby when I brought Cloud in... hmm, I'd better go talk to Reno tomorrow. He's probably not too happy right now... or too drunk to care.
"So." Sephiroth prodded once more.
"I'm... well..." Zack paused, the General looking at him expectantly. "I'm... ah..."
Sephiroth was in his 'command voice', this time. "Out with it."
"I'm worrying about her." He blurted out. He could have smoothed up the delivery a bit, given time, but when Seph used his 'command voice'...
A long period of near-silence reigned, the only sounds being the echoing strains of the music, a slow, soothing lullaby-esque piece.
At last, the General replied dubiously. "Was that supposed to be a joke? You know I'm not all that skilled at comprehending normal human humor." He then proceeded to laugh, as Zack had taught him to, at what he saw to be a "joke".
"Goddamnit, Seph, I'm serious about this!" he snapped, and the General's laughter stopped abruptly as he frowned at Zack's tone. "Alright, fine, I know that I've never been really serious about someone in the past, but this is different, okay?"
Sephiroth snorted. "Do you expect me to believe that, Zachary? You've only spoken with her, and briefly at that, for one time under pressing circumstances, and that is hardly a rational base for what you seem to be trying to say."
"I don't know... it's just... she seemed... different." Zack replied lamely. "She seemed... special."
"You are correct, Zack. It's good to know that your observational senses haven't failed you completely in the presence of a beautiful young woman." Sephiroth joked with a sharp grin. Then, he continued in a more serious tone. "I delved her mind when I met her. She is not human and in fact has quite a large store of untapped potential power."
Zack considered that. He knew that Sephiroth was fully capable of ascertaining a great deal of information from a single glance, and it did explain a few things. "I see. After our encounter, she Healed the two of us, but without Materia or any sort of item. In fact, her Healing actually worked better than Materia or items."
"Can you describe the sensation?" Sephiroth asked with a somewhat curious tone. Non-Materia magic always interested him.
Zack remembered it with awe. "It was like a breeze, not like the simulators... a real wind, strong but not too strong, warm and soft and caressing."
"A wind." Sephiroth repeated cynically. Normally, both men knew, Healing by Materia felt as if the pain simply vanished, wounds disappearing and injury fading. Potions produced a brief sensation of extreme cold, and when the shock vanished after a fraction of a heartbeat, the pain went with it.
"Yes, a wind. It just washed right through me, leaving a sensation of comfort, almost euphoria. All of my muscles just went completely loose and relaxed, and some of the mild effects from my alcohol consumption vanished with it, also." Zack ignored the General's disapproving glance and continued. "The wind itself only lasted for a few seconds, but the warmth and comfort lingered for about half an hour. There was no sense of any discomfort at all in my body, and quite frankly, it was one of the best experiences I've ever had in my life."
Sephiroth inclined his head to the side quizzically, and a book flew out of the bookshelf, pages turning rapidly without a hand touching them. "Are you completely certain of the accuracy of your description, Zachary?"
"Yes, Seph." Zack replied. "But that's not why I came up here."
The General cut him off with a sharp motion of his hand. Examining the book before him, he looked a combination of exultant and surprised. "Ah... take a look at this, and tell me what you think, Zachary." Belatedly, he tacked on, "And don't call me that. I have a name. Use it." The book glided over to Zack, and he looked at the page briefly.
"Um... Sephiroth, I can't read this..." Indeed, the symbols were all foreign to him, odd combinations of curved and straight lines that formed long rows and columns of characters. It vaguely looked like Wutain script, but Zack had been trained to read and write Wutain, just as all of SOLDIER First had, and he knew that it wasn't the island nation's writing.
Sephiroth smiled triumphantly. "Exactly. This, Zachary, is written in Cetran, one of the rare books to have survived from their time, and the passage here," he jabbed with a finger, "describes, in detail, how female Ancients worked the healing arts. It matches your account almost exactly, and that is only because here, it speaks of them curing grave illnesses just when death seemed imminent."
"So... she's an Ancient?" Zack asked in tones of complete surprise. He had thought that Sephiroth had been the last of them... "Does knowing that she's of your kind change your mind about her? You said earlier that you didn't care at all."
"Certainly. I cannot let Hojo kill someone who could be a prospective mate." At Zack's bewildered look, he added, "I cannot simply allow the Cetra to become extinct, Zachary, and I see no other options available. It will be difficult enough, with only one family line."
"Right." It was hardly his fault if Zack's voice was faint. Well, if Sephiroth decides that he wants her, there's not much I can say or do about it... "Do you think you have the authority to simply kill the project?"
With a tinge of regret, Sephiroth replied, "No. Hojo will most likely have the backing of the President for something like this." A pause. "However, I believe that if we maintain a presence, not overly threatening, but there nonetheless, he will not act too rashly in his conduct. It is the best that I can do, under the circumstances, but I am sure that we can devise some sort of plan. Be up at 0600 hours." The Cetran book snapped shut and replaced itself, and Sephiroth stood.
"Alright, Seph. Thanks for helping me out on this." Zack replied gratefully, also rising.
To his surprise, the General laughed. "Helping you, Zachary? I'm doing this for the future of our race, mind you, not simple human emotion. You still haven't convinced me that you're capable of feeling for Aeris differently than all of the others you've used and discarded over the years, and I'm bringing you along only because you would have pestered me non-stop until I agreed."
"It seems my reputation has preceded me." Zack sighed. He knew that his rather promiscuous behavior would come back to harm him, one day or another.
Sephiroth clapped him warmly over the shoulder. "It would be more accurate to say that you built it in my presence." Which was true. "Now, get off back to your quarters, and that's an order. You won't appear to be very threatening, staggering and half-asleep."
"Yes, General." Zack replied duly, rising from his seat to go. You didn't go against the General's direct orders... well, if you wanted to keep your head attached to your body, at least.
His host, if one could call Sephiroth that, led him to the door, and Zack bid him good night before leaving. Once he was in the corridor, though, the black-haired man swore loudly, knowing that the heavy door would block out the sound.
So now Sephiroth of all people thinks that I'm incapable of handling a serious relationship? The problem, he knew, was that that was probably true. His actions and statements in the past had hardly shown him to be a steady person when it came down to women. Mom was right. I am an idiot for having chosen to do this.
But Sephiroth had said that he had no emotional values in mind regarding Aeris, and had slightly implicated that he might change his mind if Zack could prove himself "capable". Seph as a father/brother figure... Who the heck would have guessed?
Entering the elevator, he began humming lightly, something Zack used to disguise his periods of deep thinking. His conclusions might have not been entirely rational, just as most of his adult life had not been.
But it was something to think about.
A/N: I have to admit that I did indeed base Hojo's character off of Robert Jordan's Semirhage, but I thought it fit really well with what we see of the Professor from the game.
Oh, and I deliberately chose some of the most under-written characters from the FF7 fanfiction universe to be my antagonists. Nothing wrong with some diversity, right? Seriously, I don't think I've seen anything on this site that even uses them at all as main characters. And since none of them really have backstories, I get to write ones for them! Yay!
Oh, and I didn't just pull up the formation of AVALANCHE from thin air. Barret mentions in Cosmo Canyon that a man studying Planet Life there formed the group, but my AVALANCHE will be based more on real-life terrorist groups. Having done extensive research, I can say that in-game AVALANCHE's operating protocol was a joke. Mine will be much more... efficient :)
Oh, and please don't refrain from reviewing with constructive criticism. I tried to work a bit more on dialogue in this chapter; does the current balance work better than the previous ones? What do you think of the pacing? How much time and space should I use on description? Your opinions on those kinds of things are, frankly, more useful and encouraging than a generic 'good job' - though I won't pretend that I don't like to hear that one, either
From here on out, the story really begins. Stay tuned.