Chapter 2

When Shalua finally came to, she did so with a start. Her last memory before blissful unconsciousness was of lying on the cold ground, bleeding, and sure that she was going to die.

It took her a moment to realize that she was in a bed, a warm one at that, and that her wounds had been bandaged. There was still an angry bruise on the left side of her face, but the gash over her stomach and the shot to her right shoulder had been expertly treated and bandaged, and her left leg was in a partial cast; she was wearing a loose-fitting man's dress shirt that was so big it ended at somewhere near her mid-thigh. Color flushed to her cheeks as she realized someone had stripped her clothes off to bandage her, then changed her into her current attire.

All in all, her surroundings weren't unpleasant. She was in a room with wooden floors, but the walls seemed to be made out of some organic-looking pearlescent material...it looked like she was in a giant shell of some kind. Light was streaming in through a window over her head, so it must have been around noon. Shelves lined the walls, and Shalua thought that at one point this room must have belonged to a scholar; the shelves were packed with books, some dusty and ancient, some with the plastic-y shine that only comes from a brand-new softcover.

"You're awake."

Shalua just about jumped out of her skin at the baritone voice piercing the silence of the room, reaching down for her gun and feeling foolish when she remembered it was gone. The voice was oddly familiar, someone she remembered helping during the Omega incident, and as Shalua searched for its source her eyes fell on a familiar dark figure in a red cloak. Vincent was sitting in a chair across the room from her bed, a toolbox at his feet and a screwdriver in his hand as he fiddled with the innards of a mechanical arm. To Shalua's shock, she realized it was hers; glancing down at the neat scar on her left shoulder confirmed its' absence, and she narrowed her good eye at Vincent. "Was this all really necessary?" she asked after a moment's pause, not wanting to seem ungrateful but still a little unnerved by the liberties she felt Vincent had took.

"I couldn't have bandaged you without doing something with your clothes, and they were soaking wet anyway," he began, as if reading her mind. "So I had to get you into something dry. As for this..." he gestured at the arm in his lap, "It was broken. I assumed you'd want it repaired straight away, so I've been working on it since you got here. That was around two days ago."

Shalua immediately felt silly for doubting Vincent as he spoke to her in his usual calm, measured voice; he had always been nothing if not the perfect gentleman, and the revelation that he had been working for several days to help her was comforting. So she decided to change the subject to something more important. "Where's Shelke?" she asked, causing Vincent to stop what he was doing.

"What do you mean?" he responded in a tone of voice that frightened Shalua; he didn't seem to have any clue what she was talking about.

"My sister," she began lamely, again feeling silly for bringing something up that Vincent doubtless already knew, "She was coming to see you. You don't mean she's..." Vincent shook his head.

"I haven't seen her yet. Frankly, I was starting to get a little...concerned." Shalua suppressed a sigh; she half-suspected that nothing could 'frighten' or 'worry' Vincent...only 'concern'. "I have...I have to find her. That hateful man was talking about her, and I didn't spend ten years looking for her to lose her now." She tried to push herself out of bed, but cried out as her wounded shoulder sent spasms of pain shooting up her spine when she tried to put weight on it.

Vincent rose from his seat. "No."

Disbelief flashed across her face as she stared at him. "What do you mean, 'no'? You want to just leave her..."

"I mean exactly what I said," Vincent said as he began to approach the bed. "You're not going anywhere until you can walk. You can't go searching for her in crutches."

Shalua grit her teeth, steeling herself as she attempted to once more push herself up. It hurt, oh god it hurt, but she had already suffered worse for her "life"...she'd give anything for Shelke, so what was a little pain anyway? "You don't understand, do you? I have to find my sister!" she shouted in a strained voice, all of her effort focused on not passing out from the excruciating pain as she was sure she could feel torn ligaments straining futilely in her arm. Finally it became too much, and she fell back onto the bed, exhausted and hating herself for being so weak as her mind fell into the deep haze of unconsciousness. Shelke...

Elsewhere, Shelke found herself waking up in what felt for all the world like a dungeon. It was cold, it was dank, it was lit with TORCHES for Gaia's sake...definitely not a pleasant place. And it was cold, so very cold...she shivered uncontrollably and wished that she still had her Deep Ground SOLDIER uniform with her; she was wearing normal clothes now, and they weren't half as warm as the insulated and kevlar-armored military outfit. A pink blouse and a blue skirt may have helped her blend in with normal people, but she would have traded them in a heartbeat for the uniform.

She practically yelled when she noticed that she wasn't alone. She was off to the side of the room, and in the center was a large stone altar with a body on it. The body was tanned and well-muscled, with snow-white spiky hair that resembled a lion's mane...Shelke shook her head as she recognized him. It was Weiss, her former commander in SOLDIER and a man she was sure was dead after Vincent put a half-dozen bullets in his head. The Turks, even ex-Turks, had no sense of overkill. But...if he was dead before, how did he get here? How did she get here, for that matter?

She must have voiced these thoughts as well, because as soon as she finished she heard a low voice reply from the darkness: "That's simple." She whirled around in surprise, wishing she had one of her trademark energy spears with her...she felt rather naked without them.

The man standing before her now looked to be a fellow SOLDIER, judging by his mako blue eyes and physical appearance. He almost looked Wutaian to her, with lightly tanned skin and brown hair that ended in blonde highlights. His clothing was dark, a mix of reds and greys that almost reminded her of Vincent. And he was grinning at her in a most disturbing fashion, arms held out to the side as if welcoming.

"I brought you here," he said, never once breaking his grin or moving his eyes from Shelke. She almost felt like backing away, as there seemed to be an aura of pure menace surrounding the man.

Nevertheless, she screwed up her courage and squared her shoulders as she responded. She was still a SOLDIER, and she wasn't going to let this man see how frightened she was if she could help it. "I think that was obvious," she said with far more courage than she actually felt, "but I'm really more interested in 'why'."

The man laughed coldly, lowering his face and glaring up at Shelke as his pupils narrowed into cat-like slits. He said nothing, but began to approach her in slow, measured strides. The clap of boots on stone echoed through the room, and Shelke did her best not to run away...but as he drew within arm's length of her she flinched entirely against her will, closing her eyes and looking away. To her surprise, however, the man kept walking...he moved aside and walked past her as if she wasn't even there, only stopping when he reached the altar. He then turned to face her, still grinning maniacally. "Come now, this isn't a soap opera. I'll reveal my plans when I'm good and ready: when it's far too late to stop them. Now be a good girl, shut up, and watch."

Shelke stood transfixed as the man suddenly turned his back to her, holding his hands out over Weiss' body; she could see the dead SOLDIER's katana-rifles sheathed at this stranger's back. As the moon rose full over a hole in the roof ahead, bathing the cavern in a pale glow, Shelke watched in horror as inky black tendrils began to snake out of Weiss' body and into the stranger's hands. Before her eyes the corpse began to wither as more and more of the black substance transferred between the two, until finally nothing remained of her former commander except for a small pile of dust. In that instant, Shelke thought she felt the cavern tremble slightly as the man turned to look at her.

"He'll do for now...but there's still that witch to contend with..." he murmured as if she wasn't even there, his gaze suddenly pensive. "...not to mention brother and the tin lady..." then his attention refocused on Shelke, clapping his hands as if he had suddenly gotten a wonderful idea.

Shelke had a good idea who the 'tin lady' was, and narrowed her amber eyes in anger. "Don't you dare call my sister that, you..."

The man said nothing more, but simply turned his back to her as a large black-feathered wing sprung from his left shoulder. In the blink of an eye he was gone, shooting up through the hole in the ceiling and leaving a few stray feathers in his wake.

"Well...now what?"

It was night. The bedroom had darkened considerably, the only illumination coming from the full moon overhead filtered through the overhead window. The ray of moonlight it draped over the bed cast everything in sharp relief; if Vincent hadn't known better he would have said Shalua looked almost angelic with her hair spread out into an auburn halo around her head and an expression of utter peace on her face. He hadn't moved from his seat across the room from her.

It was almost hard to believe she had been fighting the Shin-ra for close to ten years, but she had the mental and physical scars to prove it. She only had one eye, the other scarred permanently shut, while her prosthetic arm lay in a corner; Vincent had finished repairing it about an hour ago. She no longer fit the traditional image of beauty, but something in her appearance called to mind Lucrecia. Maybe that was why he saved her. Maybe it was because he still owed her for saving him from Rosso.

Vincent was shaken from that train of thought by a sudden sharp pain in his left hand; while it was believed to be a prosthetic by most people who saw him, he actually wore an armored gauntlet over a flesh-and-blood hand. Hastily, Vincent tugged at the straps holding the gauntlet on...the pain grew worse, and he didn't even care as the gauntlet clattered noisily to the floor. Underneath was a leather glove, which he practically ripped off in a haze of pain. And underneath that was bare flesh, and the proof of his non-human status: his hand was warped and arthritic-looking, with his knuckles looking large and swollen. Up to the elbow, his flesh was covered in what looked like knotty, inflamed scar tissue.

That wasn't what concerned him, though...Vincent was used to the hideous sight by now. The problem was the marking on the back of his palm. It was a dark, blotchy spot that seemed to be spreading tendrils down his arm. His veins could be seen as dark lines against his flesh now, and if he didn't know better he could have sworn it was a sign of infection. But, it had only started when he had met that man who attacked Shalua, so it must have been something he did. Whatever it was that he did, Vincent suspected it wasn't good; it felt like his hand was on fire, like his blood was trying to leap out through his palm.

Something stirred. Vincent's head shot up as he saw Shalua turning in bed, her eyelids fluttering. Quickly he pulled the discarded glove back on, rising from his seat and turning his back to her as he began to re-attach his trademark gauntlet. He could tell by the rustling of fabric that she was on the move, but a quick glance revealed that she was resting her back against the headboard, and not trying to get out of bed again. Considering earlier events, Vincent was glad she decided to be reasonable. Her expression seemed pensive.

"Do you know who that man is?" she asked, finally.

Vincent shook his head, leaning back in his chair to stare up at the moon. The brilliant light was a poor distraction from his arm, but it helped. "Should I?"

Shalua bit her lip as if considering her options. Now that she was upright, her hair had fallen back into its natural position, long strands of auburn partially obscuring her face as she looked down at her hands. "You...probably should," she began, haltingly. "That man is G. The one in the G Reports you found."

The only indication Vincent made of his shock was a sharp intake of breath.

Author Notes: For those of you who haven't played Dirge of Cerberus, don't worry; a more precise description of Shalua will be coming up soon. I couldn't think of a way to do it to date without it seeming contrived.