Chapter 4: Betrayal
Squall Leonhart rarely felt fear. He had faced down incredible threats in his lifetime, including a powerful Galbadian army and three separate Sorceresses. Fear was something that always did exist within him, but used only as a weapon itself; fear was something to caution and slow him in the face of threats and danger. Fear made Squall aware of his surroundings and what course of action he needed to take. Only when Rinoa had fallen into Ultimecia's coma had he ever felt true fear, paralyzing terror for another person he cared about.
Squall felt fear now. Hew as afraid for Ellone, his sister being held in the clutches of these terrorists. Simmons had outlined the consequences of what would happen if he didn't obey; those consequences filled Squall with not only anger but an underlying terror at what they would do to Ellone if he didn't follow their orders. Some men would have quailed instantly under the demands; others would have violently refused to obey. Squall, however, was simply rooted in his spot, paralyzed by the overwhelming fear of what would happen if he disobeyed.
But rooted in his emotions was a different fear: the fear of betrayal. Illarra was demanding he do something impossible, to act against Garden. This ran counter to every instinct and thought in his mind and soul; turning against Garden was simply impossible. Abandoning it, he had been willing to do. Manipulating Garden, that had already happened when he had taken Rinoa to Esthar. But to directly and actively work against Garden . . . .
"I'll outline the first steps of your employment," Illarra explained. "Quite simple, really. You're going to hang up this phone, walk outside of Garden, and meet with a man smoking a cigarette just outside the main entrance on the FH docks. He'll give you a package, and you'll get the next set of instructions then. You're expected out there in fifteen minutes. Be a second late, and Simmons' leash will be dropped. You can guess what will happen to your sister."
A word Squall rarely spoke found its way onto his tongue, and before he could keep it in check, he spat it out in raw anger at what she was doing to him.
"Bitch." He paused after saying it, surprised at his emotional outburst, and even more so at Illarra's subsequent laughter.
"Oh, yes, Squall, say it again," she whispered, savoring his tone. "I do so love to hear your anger at me. Keep calling me names. Show me your emotions. Make me see how much I'm hurting you. I can tell you're furious at me, and how deeply I'm tearing at your heart. Keep talking, Squall." She paused, and then laughed. "Oh, and fourteen minutes are left. Better hurry. Oh, and don't tell anybody. If anyone finds out what is going on, Simmons will have his fun. I can promise you that."
Squall slammed the phone down onto its cradle, almost breaking the machine. He quickly turned, looking out over the office, and then looked back down to the desk. Moving fast, he opened a drawer, pulling out a standard-issue SeeD sidearm, a 9mm Beretta pistol. He slipped it into his jacket, and glanced down at his waist, seeing his gunblade, the light, deadly blade of Lionheart, strapped to his hip. He always wore his weapon, because he never knew when danger might come. Like now.
Suitably armed and ready, Squall stormed out of his office, quickly moving down the steps. He headed across the control center, toward the exit, hoping no one would see him or try to get his attention.
He hoped in vain, as Quistis spotted him moving and cut across the room to intercept him.
"Squall, we've gotten updated reports from Galbadian Intelligence," she said, and Squall nodded halfheartedly.
"Give them to Xu for right now," he quickly ordered. "I've got something to take care of."
Quistis nodded, and then looked into Squall's eyes. She stopped, and grabbed his shoulder, stopping him in place as well, and turned him around to face her.
"What's wrong?" she asked.
"Nothing," he replied, snapping quickly, shaking his shoulder free. She looked at him, surprised and shocked at how rude he was acting.
"You're a terrible liar," Quistis quickly shot back. "Something's wrong. What is it?"
"Its none of your-"
"-Business?" Quistis answered, narrowing her eyes. "What's going on? You're acting like you did before you graduated. Something's bothering you."
"You have no idea," Squall muttered under his breath, shaking his head. "I'll tell you later. I need to take care of things. You're in charge until I return, Quistis." She was about to argue, but then shook her head. The look in Squall's eyes told her he was determined to not tell her.
"Fine," she said, sighing. "We'll talk later." She turned and moved back across the room, and Squall spun as well, closing his eyes as he reached the door leading outside toward the elevators.
You won't want to talk to me later, Quistis.
Squall muttered a curse at Illarra as he walked outside. He swore, if he found her, he would tear her apart for what she was doing to him.
The deck was cold, pressing up against his cheek. Zell's vision was hazy and watery, and it took him a few moments to fully recover, the blurry interior of the airship's cockpit swirling around him as he regained consciousness. He heard a groan nearby, and pushed himself off the ruined deck, distantly hearing the calls of agitated birds and the oppressive heat of what had to be the tropical island they had seen before the crash. The main view port of the airship was shattered from the crash, and none of the chairs in the bridge remained standing. Debris and blood filled the ruined cockpit.
Zell turned and saw Captain Reynolds laying on the deck of the airship's cockpit, a shard of glass imbedded on his gut. The Captain was slowly pulling the glass out of his gut, wincing as he did so. Zell quickly glanced around the cockpit, and saw that none of the other bridge crew had survived the crash. The brawler rose and stepped over to the wounded Captain, wincing at the man's injuries.
"Hold on," Zell advised, and he grasped the arm-length shard of glass. Reynolds sucked in his breath, and Zell pulled the shard free, the bloody edge emerging from the man's gut. Reynolds let out a gasp of pain, clutching his belly as blood started pouring out of it, and Zell wasted no time casting a quick curative spell over the wounded man. Zell then located and drew a medical kit from under the broken seat, and quickly applied a bandage to the wounded Captain's stomach.
"Stay here, I'll be back," Zell said quickly. "I need to check on the others." Reynolds nodded, and Zell turned toward the elevator. He winced as he saw the elevator itself out of commission, the power cut in the crash. He'd need to go outside. Zell moved to the broken view port and looked outside.
The Razor had gone down hard, in the middle of the woods on this island. Trees rose up past the wreck of the airship, towering overhead, and the prow of the airship was bent and twisted, the dragon head almost sheared off.
"I'll try to raise some help," Reynolds managed to say, and pulled himself over to the communications console. He pried open a panel in front of the console and removed a small but powerfull radio from a survival case underneath the console.
"Good idea," Zell said, and nodded. The brawler scrambled over the control consoles and out onto the dented, blasted red hull plating outside, and dropped down to the ground about fifty feet below. His boots slammed into the spongy dirt below, churned up by the screaming crash, and he made his way across the ground toward where the passenger deck was located.
Zell found the passenger deck within moments, the glass covering the view port for the observation deck cracked and broken. Zell spotted figures within, at least a few, and ran forward. He vaulted over the broken glass and into the observation deck.
"Everyone okay?" Zell asked, and looked around. Lex, Argus, Fujin, and Raijin were present, as was Laguna. They all looked battered but otherwise not badly wounded, though Laguna sported a bloody bandage around his forehead and the others had bright, painful red cuts across their faces and torn clothes, indicative of healing magic. Raijin walked with a slight limp. A few soldiers and guards were in the room, but they were all down, none moving, apparently killed in the crash.
"No other survivors," Laguna reported, angrily.
"The Captain is alive," Zell said. "He's injured, but once we patch him up he should be safe."
"Until then," Laguna added, "We should stay here. Its relatively safe, and any rescue crews will come here looking for us."
"NEGATIVE," Fujin replied suddenly. "ENEMY."
"Yeah, they'll be looking right here for us too, ya know?" Raijin added. "That airship still has its main cannon, ya know?"
"This hull won't survive another hit," Argus remarked, and Zell nodded.
"The Captain is making a radio call, trying to get help," Zell added. "Once he's done we can retreat into the woods and stay near the wreckage until help arrives."
"Good plan," Laguna said. "Let's move before that airship comes back." The others nodded, but before they could move out of the observation deck, Zell paused, hearing a familiar sound.
"Hey, that sounds like-"
"A Corsair transport's engines!" Laguna finished. "The cavalry has arrived!"
"They got here fast, though," Lex commented as the group moved outside, hearing the high-pitched rumbling of at least two of the Estharian military hovercraft. The looked up into the afternoon sun and spotted a pair of the pastel purple, oblong aircraft swooping in, with another Corsair hovering in the air off the downed airship's bow. The side hatches of the Corsairs swung open, and drop lines descended from the sides of the craft as they moved over the airship. Armored Estharian soldiers dropped out of the sides of the ships, rappelling down onto the hull of the airship and into the broken cockpit.
"They'll get Reynolds onto the ship and pull us out of here," Laguna commented as he and the rest of the group moved out into the open, in clear view of the Corsairs and their crews.
Up in the cockpit, Reynolds looked up with a tired smile at the Estharian soldiers, in full armor, as they moved the interior of the cockpit. He set the radio down, surprised they had gotten here early. He had managed to raise the SeeD airship Ragnarok a moment ago and given the pilot, a Galbadian named Mike, the coordinates, but was even happier to see Estharian rescue forces arriving so quickly.
"Man, am I glad to see you guys," he muttered, sitting up and wincing in pain. The soldiers turned and regarded him, but to his surprise, they didn't move to assist him. In fact, they weren't even acting under standard Estharian evacuation protocols, sweeping the area to secure it from external threats. One man pressed a finger to the side of his helmet.
"Sir," he said calmly, almost emotionlessly. "Got a survivor." He then looked to the pair of men beside him and nodded.
Reynolds stared in blank shock as all three men raised their weapons, leveling them at the downed pilot. Their plasma rifles flashed, their blazing heat searing into the wounded pilot's chest and face.
Down below, the remaining survivors heard the plasma fire from within the cockpit of the ship, and jerked to a halt in the middle of the clearing. Up above, the Corsairs turned, their energy cannons rotating downward to face the exposed group below.
"Fall back!" Zell quickly shouted. "They aren't friendlies! Retreat!" He turned back toward the treeline behind them and pushed Laguna roughly in that direction, as the other SeeDs, along with Fujin and Raijin, made a break for the treeline around the crashed airship. Behind them, the cannons on the Corsairs discharged.
Plasma fire streaked down toward the fleeing survivors, smashing into the ground around them, sending up plumes of molten dirt that rapidly cooled into glassy shards as it hit the ground. A bolt slashed past Zell, nearly taking his arm off and singing his skin as they reached the treeline and ducked beneath the woods. The Corsairs continued firing, plasma chasing after them, ripping into trees and setting them ablaze. Within a few moments, however, the Corsairs ceased fire, and two of the aircraft moved out over the woods in hot pursuit of their prey.
The salty, cool air of Fisherman's Horizon felt good on Squall's face, but that was the only thing that made him feel positive in any way as he stepped outside. He had pointedly avoided any SeeDs or cadets while leaving Garden, and it took all his self-control to keep Squall's usual stoic expression on his face. He strode purposefully outside the main gates of Garden, not even nodding to the attendant at the entrance, and scanned the exterior, searching for the man smoking the cigarette. His eyes fell upon a single dark-skinned, bald man in a heavy jacket, leaning against a rusted railing, with a suitcase beside him and smoke rising from a cigarette in his mouth. That must have been the contact.
"Punctual," the man remarked with a smile as Squall came close. The contact reached into a pocket of his jacket and drew a small, round object. Squall narrowed his eyes as he saw it: a disguised transmitter that fit in one's ear. The man tossed it to Squall, and he caught it.
"Illarra wants you to keep that in your ear at all times," the mane explained as he scooped up the briefcase. Squall put the device into his left ear, and heard a shock of static on the other end, before a familiar voice sounded.
"Great, Squall, great," Illarra said, amused. "I can tell by your expression that you can hear me. I need to make sure that you can talk to me, as well. Say something, Squall."
"If you hurt Ellone, I will kill you," Squall snarled, and Illarra laughed on the other end.
"You're coming through fine, Squall," she replied. "This earpiece will let me hear you talk and take in all the noises around you, so I can keep track of what you're saying, and to whom. So, don't think you can tell anyone what's going on. Obviously, it lets me talk to you, as well. Now, take the briefcase from my associate."
Squall reached out, and the man handed the briefcase over to Squall, before turning and walking away without another word. Squall glanced down at the case.
"Go ahead, open it," Illarra urged, and Squall did so. He almost wished he hadn't, as he saw the object inside. It was a quartet of long metal tubes, bound together, and connected by a series of wires, to a timer. He knew the design, and what it meant.
"C7 explosive charges," he muttered under his breath, and Illarra chuckled.
"Enough explosives in that briefcase to level a building," she replied. "But I have a better use for those bombs than destroying perfectly fine structures."
"Like what?" Squall asked, and he glanced back at Garden, suddenly afraid.
"Like seeing you walk back inside Balamb Garden, descending to the MD level, going to the drive system beneath Garden, and setting that bomb right inside it. When the bomb goes off, it'll blow up the entirety of the MD level, wreck the drive systems, and sink Balamb Garden into the ocean."
Alucard: According to Centran and Galbadian mythology, Alucard is the name of the deposed prince and guardian of the City of Dreams, known as Carpasia. It is said that the old gods, among them the great Hyne, were desiring access to the waters of the Zurvan Fountains, said to bring all dreams to life at one's whim, and thus acted to remove the prince Alucard from his city and seize control. Alucard refuted them, and while forced out of his city, was able to seal the City of Dreams from their grasp beyond time and space. He was cursed with wandering the world by the old gods, but laughed this off and viewed his banishment to the mortal realm as a refreshing change of pace. Legends sprang up from numerous local cultures throughout history in both Galbadia and ancient Centra that revolved around the deeds of Alucard, who always passed himself off as a noble gentleman and a "walker of the night."
Rinoa sat back from the computer screen, intrigued. Now that she had looked up the name in the files in the library, the name "Alucard" popped back into her memory. She had relished the old mythology stories when she was younger, and Alucard had been a recurring character in those stories. She wasn't sure why the man Squall was after was going by this name, but she knew that people took such names for a reason.
Rinoa glanced at the stack books beside her at the desk. She could have spent hours poring through them to dig up references to Alucard, but for the most part they simply mentioned similar legends and tales about the mythological figure, and she knew they had no relevance to this mystery man. He wasn't recorded in any modern history books, after all. There were no recent references to him when she had checked the online index. Searching the library books would have resulted in a dead end.
Rinoa sighed and stood up, hefting the books and putting them into the book return slot on the wall near the desk. Aside from some interesting legends, this search would turn up just about nothing useful. She closed the entry on the terminal and headed out of the library. The Sorceress walked outside and headed toward the elevators and the Garden headquarters on the top floor.
As she rounded the walkway and the central platform that the elevators were housed on, she spotted Squall heading up the stairs toward the elevator as well, and quickly hurried up to catch him. He seemed distracted, she saw as she neared him, carrying a briefcase in one hand with the other fingering the handle of his gunblade.
"Hey," she said as she slipped in behind him, near the elevators. Squall turned around, a bit surprised, and then relaxed as he saw her.
"Rinoa," he breathed, and she sensed a degree of relief wash off him, followed an instant later by sudden apprehension. What was going on? He looked tense, and she could tell from his eyes that something was bothering him, something that seemed to be . . . Angering him?
"What's wrong?" she asked, putting a hand on his shoulder and searching his eyes with her own gaze. He reflexively closed them and turned his head away fro an instant, breaking the empathetic link.
"Noth . . . No, something is," he said quietly, looking beck to her, then glancing down at his briefcase.
"What?" she inquired, and he shook his head.
"I can't talk about it," he whispered, looking back down at his case.
"Something to do with the conference?" Rinoa asked, and he took a breath, as if steeling himself.
"Yeah," he said, nodding. "It has to do with the conference. I . . . I'm sorry, I have to go." He turned quickly, toward the elevator, and hit the call button.
"Wait, Squall!" Rinoa protested, stepping after him, and then suddenly, impulsively, he spun toward her. She was a bit surprised when he wrapped his left hand around her, threading it up to the back of her neck, and pulled her into a tight hug, kissing her. It took Rinoa several moments to react, before pulling him in tightly, inhaling his scent and reciprocating the kiss. She felt exhilarated by it, as if he was putting all of his heart into this kiss.
A few moments later, he broke away, and Rinoa looked into his eyes as he canted his head forward, touching his forehead with her own. They seemed strange, almost as if he was about to start . . . crying?
"I'm sorry," he breathed after a moment, and then stepped away back toward the elevator, which had arrived at that moment. He moved inside and quickly hit the close button, and the doors shut. Squall looked to Rinoa, his expression repeating those last words as he dropped away, toward the basement of Garden.
Rinoa watched him leave, confused, and touched a hand to her lips. Squall had rarely kissed her that passionately before, once on the balcony of Garden under the starlight, and again the night they had learned of her pregnancy a couple of years ago. There were a few other incidents, all of them memorable in one respect or another, and all significant. But there was something final in this kiss, as if . . . .
Almost as if Squall expected it to be their last one.
As Rinoa pondered this, Squall stood in the descending elevator, clenched fist trembling in fury. He spun around, and punched the wall of the elevator, his enhanced strength denting it slightly.
"Damn you," he muttered, and Illarra's mocking laughter sounded in his ear.
Simmons idly walked around the interior of the empty communications room, twirling his silenced pistol in his hand, rolling it around the trigger guard and his index finger. The mercenary kept his eyes on the girl kneeling in front of him, a smile on his lips as he stared at her. As he walked around behind her, he licked his lips, waiting impatiently for Illarra to give him the order.
"Man, how easy it would be," he muttered, watching Ellone. She didn't bother raising her head up to face her captor, which irritated Simmons. He continued pacing around her as she stared down at the metal deck in front of her, the manacles on her wrists and ankles binding her tightly.
"No one would know if I did it, either," Simmons said darkly, pausing in front of her, grinning. "Just drag you into the back room, and . . . ." he chuckled. Ellone didn't answer, and Simmons' grin faded, replaced by a snarl.
"Look at me," he hissed, and she didn't move. He leveled his pistol at her head, and cocked the hammer back loudly.
"I gave you an order," he growled, and then grabbed her by the top of her hair, pulling her head back roughly. She gasped in pain, a nice sound, satisfying to Simmons as he pulled on her hair, and stared into her eyes, which were full of fear, despite how much she tried to hide it. There. Now he was getting a response. He jabbed the silenced pistol into her throat, just under her jaw, and his smile returned.
"That's right," he said, satisfied. "You're scared of me, just the way you should be-"
"Let her go," came a dark, gravelly voice from behind Simmons, and the mercenary turned, scowling. After a second, he released Ellone and slid his pistol back into its holster as he turned to face the man who had walked into the comms room.
"Under whose authority?" Simmons asked, the man, who stepped further into the room. Despite Simmons' challenge, was intimidated by the muscular, powerfully built man who he was addressing. The man was of average height, but had to weigh nearly two hundred pounds. He had a thin face, strong but ugly, with a few scars criss-crossing over his cheeks. A black military muscle shirt was pulled tightly over his frame, accompanied by a pair of military khaki pants, heavy brown combat boots, and a black belt laden with gear. Fingerless gloves covered his hands. A knife was sheathed on his left shoulder, and a pair of handguns were holstered on his hips. On his back was a long, scoped, semi-automatic sniper rifle. His blonde hair was shaved and tucked under a blue beret, matching the color of his piercing, vicious eyes as he regarded Simmons, a snarl on his thin lips.
"The Director's," responded Major Eric Malachi. "Who else?"
"I take my orders from Illarra, not the Director," replied Simmons.
"And Illarra reports to the Director," Malachi added. "Not to mention this is my base here. While you're here, you play under my rules. And don't forget, it was my men who captured your little hostage, too."
"And its Illarra that's keeping all of SeeD from dropping the heavy end of the hammer on your base," Simmons replied. "And that's all because of my little hostage."
"We don't need you to keep a hostage secure," Malachi responded with a warning tone. "Remember, the Director only wants Leonhart incapacitated. Holding his sister attains that. In fact, I wouldn't be surprised if Illarra didn't care whether you were the one keeping the hostage or not." Simmons had no immediate reply, so he shifted the subject.
"Have your men finished searching the wreck?"
"All crew are confirmed dead," Malachi answered. "We finished off the pilot, and found the bodies of most of the survivors. President Loire's body was not found. He was probably killed in the train strike. There are survivors, but we're chasing them down."
"Don't assume that Loire is finished," Simmons replied, though he smiled at the knowledge that the Razor's crew was all dead. "He has a tendency to survive these types of things."
"We assume nothing," Malachi responded. "If Loire is alive, he won't be for long. Until then," Malachi nodded toward Ellone. "If I catch you trying anything funny without a direct order from Illarra, I will kill you, understand?"
"Tch," Simmons responded, and Malachi walked outside. "Just my luck. The Director's personal stooge has morals. Who'd have thought?" He looked to Ellone. "You got a bit of protection, little girl, but only as long as your brother stays under our thumbs. He doesn't, and, well, heh."
Ellone did not respond, instead only casting a single glare at Simmons before looking away.
"Sir!" said one of the two technical SeeDs on duty in the MD level as Squall entered the room containing the drive system. Squall returned the SeeDs' salutes, not even having time to be annoyed, and looked up at the drive system. It had been repainted, the rusted, brown-gray metal replaced with a smooth black and silver finish, and the ancient Centran consoles surrounding the engine had been replaced with modern consoles. The whole room looked as beautiful and artistic as the rest of Balamb Garden, one of Headmaster Cid's personal touches.
"Good morning, Commander," the other SeeDs asked, sitting down at his station. "What brings you down here?" The two SeeDs on duty had the job of supervising the engine's operations, a dull and boring job reserved for new SeeD engineers and cadet engineers in training.
"I needed to check something," Squall lied, walking closer to the SeeDs and looking up at the engine as the strange device turned and rotated silently before them.
"What do you need to see?" asked the other SeeD, and Squall set the briefcase down on the deck. He turned to face the SeeD, and then snapped his arm up into an uppercut that threw the SeeD off his feet. He spun on the other SeeD, who stood up in shock, and channeled magic out through his palm. Waves of drowsiness swept over the SeeD, and he stumbled forward into Squall's rising snap-kick to the nose. The SeeD fell to the deck, unconscious.
Squall whirled on the other SeeD as he rose, and fell upon his with a rapid series of punches and knees that quickly subdued the shocked technician. Moments later, Squall had trussed up the two SeeDs with their belts, securing their sidearms and drawing their Guardian Forces.
"Sorry," he muttered to the unconscious technicians as he was tying them up, but left the restraints loose. Illarra wouldn't know if he left the restraints loose enough that the SeeDs could wiggle out of them in a couple of minutes' time . . . .
"Very good, Squall," Illarra purred. "Now, the package."
Squall set the stolen GF stones out on one of the consoles in full view of the SeeDs once they awoke, walked back to the bomb and opened the case, taking the explosive out. At Illarra's direction, he reluctantly set the bomb at the base of the whirling engine gears.
"Set the timer to exactly two hours and fifteen minutes from now," she ordered. Squall frowned as he heard the order. That was at about the time the conference was going to begin, and the world leaders were going to speak before the international press. Squall slowly pressed each of the keys, setting the timer to the time indicated. Each press of a button sent waves of anger and guilt through him, knowing he was possibly sealing Garden's fate as he did so.
"Time's set," he hissed.
"Good," Illarra replied, obviously very happy with what he was doing. "Now, to your left there should be a small alcove behind one of the consoles, at about waist-height. Reach inside, there should be a package." Squall did as he was told, turning and reached down into the alcove in the wall she had mentioned. His hands touched a rectangular case, about the size of a small briefcase, and he pulled it out.
"Open it," Illarra ordered, and he did so. Within was a sleek pistol, painted black, with a single magazine and a silencer to be threaded onto the barrel. He looked down at the weapon, and scowled.
"You put this here, didn't you?" he asked, and Illarra chuckled, which was all the answer he needed. "Then why use me to set the bomb if you had access to the MD level?"
"Because you set the bomb, Squall, obviously," Illarra answered. "I want you to be the one guilty for destroying Garden. All the blame will lay on your shoulders . . . Just how I want it to be. Now, take the pistol out and conceal it inside your jacket." Squall did as she was directed, loading the pistol, threading the silencer onto the end, and putting it and inside his jacket pocket.
"What next?" Squall asked, spitting out the words, wanting to know what he'd be doing with the gear.
"You're going to leave the MD level," Illarra replied. "You'll go outside, head up to the elevator, rise up to the third floor, walk through the main control center of Garden, and ascend into Headmaster Cid Kramer's office."
Squall's blood ran cold, and he knew what Illarra was going to say before she gave him the order.
"And then you'll use that pistol to assassinate the Headmaster, right where he sits."
Oh, jeez, Squall's day was bad enough already, wasn't it? Next chapter, more of Squall's trials, and we learn more of Irvine and Selphie's troubles.
This chapter was rather short, in my opinion. I usually make them longer, but when they're heavy on dialogue like this one, its hard to get them very long. Anyway, this chapter is just setting up for some of the more intense moments later on in the story. More 24-type elements as well. In fact, the 24 influence will be getting much heavier over the next few chapters, and soon we may see a return of our favorite Hellsing-inspired character!
Peptuck's Shout-Outs
Sherif: Mwaha! Yes, I'm being mean! Descriptions of the other SeeDs may not be forthcoming (would seem awkward to describe them now that they've already been established) They're kind of like generic SeeDs, in a way, like Star Trek red-shirts that get names. :P Ramuh, if you remember, is a summon in some of the earlier FF games, and he is obviously present here. Much has yet to be revealed, trust me.
Chris Ganale: Well, that makes me grin, knowing my villians are that bad. Trust me, Simmons will have a bad end, though whether that's before he harms Ellone or after, I won't say.
And the collaboration is of interest. I've publicized my email, shoot me some of your ideas, eh?
Solid Shark: Oh, yes, FFVI reference in Sabin. (more of a Prodigy reference, actually, to the charcater he created for Ultimecia Affair)
OniRazz: The story is actually going to get signifigantly darker. Squall's not going to be happy when all is finished . . . .
Prodigy: Eh, I meant I ripped you off in naming my shout-outs. Perhaps I should give them a pretentious title? Hm.
Spikestrife: Thanks! When I leave my reviewers speechless, I get happy.
DBZ Fanfiction Queen: This is an amalgamation of the first and second seasons, actually, the personal nature of Illarra and Squall's emnity combiend with the major destruction of the second season of 24. Squall is going to have the specter of threats against his family or a while, at least.
The snitch . . . no, its not Xu. Wait till you find out who the traitor in Garden really is!
If you've got ideas, maybe shoot 'em to me via email? I could help you out, y'know. If you would like some help, of course. My mail is public now.
Xephon: Wait until you find out Illarra's motivations for hating Squall. The conflict is very personal.
Darkchampion: Irvine is just really damn good. :P
Kaiser: Remember what I told you? All those thigns I was going to do to Squall in this fic ares till going to happen in one way or another, heh. I am a very mean author, but our heroes will pull through, hopefully.
Kimahrigirl: I feel safe revealing this . . . Seifer won't be executed. His role is going to be pretty cool once we get to him. (soon . . . within a few chapters, heh)
Anime Obsessed Fan: Oh, about those conspiracies . . . trust me, this one runs very, very deep.
E: I was considering an RE4 novelization myself, but that would be a challenge (killing all them Ganados would be one hell of a challenge to write, heh)
Karaoke Risa: Thank you! I was worried I wasn't doing the suspense properly . . . thanks for convincing me otherwise.
That all? Great. I need to get to work on Synthesis, Legacy, and another project percolating in my mind. What is it? I won't tell! Not yet, at least, but it does follow in the footsteps of Gunblade and Synthesis. . . .
Until next chapter!