Of its own accord, the pupil widened. The muscles and nerve bundle coiled up and straightened in a peculiar swimming motion, forcing the eyeball closer to Zack's face.


Sephiroth had reasoned that because there were fewer employees in the Shin-Ra building at night, the best time for him and Zack to strike was after hours. Not that Shin-Ra ever slept. Though the lighting was reduced and shadows made corridors eerie, there were always guards, operations, and maintenance workers around, plus those overburdened individuals required to work late to meet deadlines.

As expected, no one challenged them, even when they used their master keycards and entered the ruined remains of Hojo's main lab. Genesis and his copies had been thorough in their latest wave of destruction, but already Shin-Ra employees had begun repairing the worst of the damage. Shiny new surfaces and equipment contrasted with blasted, charred, and melted slag.

The two SOLDIERs made their way quickly to Hojo's private warrens. Even these were trashed, with open and broken cages, all empty. Those still intact contained occupants to horrible to contemplate: full of fangs, claws, and tentacles, with bloated bodies and bulbous eyes, making terrible noises and emitting stenches that surely originated in the depths of hell.

Sephiroth ignored the devastation and horrors. "This way," he said, and led the way through the maze of corridors, offices, sterile lab benches and work spaces. The deeper they went, the less damage they encountered. Melted metal and scorch marks grew fewer as the two men progressed.

"Genesis didn't make it this far before SOLDIER and Infantry forces combined managed to drive him off," Sephiroth said in tones of deep regret. "Needless to say, I didn't help stop him, so he got much farther than anyone expected." And with that last comment, his voice again contained that frightening element of glee.

They moved deeper into Hojo's lair. Down flights of metal stairs, through more corridors and offices, and back up again. They encountered a few guards, who only saluted and let them by. Several sections they passed through required special access, but as promised, Cissnei's master keycards granted them entry. The astringent scent of antiseptic lingered in the air, mingling with stale smoke and the nauseating scents of cooked, rotten meat. It grew stronger and weaker, depending on their location.

Eventually, there were no more human guards. Zack wondered about that, but Sephiroth didn't seem disturbed. It was probably because the technological security of Hojo's secret sanctum was so thorough and effective. Cissnei's keycards weren't setting off any alerts, so none of the typical guard robots were triggered, either.

Once they penetrated far enough, the area became practically deserted. Only twice did Sephiroth encounter a nighttime lab worker. Neither man had time to scream before he died.

"Anyone authorized to work in this part of the labs is every bit as bad as Hojo," was Sephiroth's explanation as he carefully wiped blood from Masamune's blade.

Zack said nothing.

At last, deep within the tangled nest of nightmares, they came to a heavy, fortified vault door. A brutal thing, composed of strange metal with a dull, leaden finish and simple industrial markings. A keycard reader glowed on the wall beside it.

In silence, Sephiroth swiped his keycard, and with ponderous grinding, the door slid open. Horrible smells gusted out of the shadowy space: blood and bleach, rotten meat, old urine and preservatives: it all blended together into an evil, nauseating miasma. Zack barely contained his gag reflex.

Displaying no discomfort, Sephiroth stepped through the open doorway and impatiently motioned Zack to follow.

They passed through more rooms and corridors, each worse than the last. Ceiling-high shelves held containers of amputated body parts and different organs: fingers, hands, eyes, lungs, hearts, guts of all types. One wall was dedicated to preserving entire arms and legs—all human. Rectangular, brutish machines the size and shape of refrigerators hummed, emitting warmth and grotesque odors of raw sewage. More machines radiated biting cold out several meters. Clean lab glassware was stored by black-top benches and steel sinks. Test tubes, Erlenmeyer flasks, equipment with coils full of bubbling, dripping liquids littered the surfaces.

"Don't touch anything," Sephiroth said unnecessarily.

"No, sir," Zack whispered. He couldn't bring himself to speak even a tiny bit louder. The lab noises were soft, but seemed to overwhelm his ears.

They moved through another short corridor that branched off into three. The central path entered a great, cavernous space with a ceiling arching high overhead like a cathedral for the damned. A soft pulse-like noise throbbed in the background like a disembodied heartbeat. The room bristled with robot arms, flickering lights, cranes and cables, electronic eyes, and other mechanisms for manipulating and observing specimens and equipment. All around the edges where the ceiling sloped upward, large observation windows looked down upon the room and everything within.

At the far end a transparent, cylindrical tank filled with mako rose from a complex pedestal covered in industrial hoses, conduits, monitoring equipment, and a variety of strange mechanisms and instruments. It contained a dark and indistinct oval-shaped form with a smaller, rounded lump on top. A few thick tendrils hung from its lower end and drifted lazily. The shape had no discernable arms or legs, so Zack assumed it wasn't human—and he thanked the Planet for that, because that meant it couldn't be Angeal.

He had no desire go closer to determine what creature Hojo had tortured to death, though.

The way towards that ominous, mako-filled tank was lined with steel tables with restraints, racks and trays of surgical instruments including drills and bone saws, black lab benches, and furnishings holding glass containers with revolting contents. Jars of various sizes sat upon shelves, tables, and even the floor, all perched on equipment to aerate the liquid within. Gurgling bubbles jostled body parts removed from some unfortunate soul: a pair of kidneys, a liver, some tangled veins, and a matched set of amputated legs and arms, one with no hand, the other with a fist that slowly relaxed to an open palm as Sephiroth and Zack walked by. Unnerved, the two SOLDIERs moved cautiously, silently through the obstacle course of death and sadism.

Zack paused by one table. A single specimen container rested upon it, filled with clear liquid. Inside floated a single eyeball with the optic nerve roots and some muscles still attached. Against his better judgement, he bent down to examine it. The iris was blue and glowed with mako. It looked almost familiar, and he could have sworn it stared back at him. Of its own accord, the pupil widened. The muscles and nerve bundle coiled up and straightened in a peculiar swimming motion, forcing the eyeball closer to Zack's face. Shocked, Zack jumped back. "Holy— Sephiroth, did you see that?"

But Sephiroth had moved on to the next horror. "Zack," he said quietly, staring at a pair of transparent cylinders, each almost three meters in height and also filled with clear fluid. One held a small, featherless wing, about as long as a man's arm. It had been partially flayed to expose musculature, veins, and bones. In the other tube floated a much larger wing, with a total wingspan greater than Sephiroth's height, and covered with distinctive white feathers. They fluttered rhythmically in the circulating liquid, a movement reminiscent of waving, as though they possessed independent life.

"No," Zack gasped. "They can't be."

"Angeal's wings," Sephiroth confirmed, face and voice utterly devoid of emotion. His slit pupils narrowed to thin lines, and the mako in his eyes glowed brightly in the gloom. He turned and stared at the mako-filled tank at the far end of the vast laboratory space. As though spellbound, he walked towards it.

Dreading what they'd find yet unable to stop himself, Zack followed. As he approached close enough to make out details, he wished he hadn't, wished he'd taken Cissnei's advice and let Sephiroth come here alone. Wished he'd stayed in ignorance.

Wished he'd never imagined that horrifying vision of Angeal dismembered.

Here was the reality.

Angeal, or what was left of him, floated in the tank. His wingless, limbless remains were suspended in place by two cables, each connected to a hook that pierced his shoulders on either side of his neck. A short paddle of tissue, like a flipper, extended from his left shoulder. A small stub budded from his right. His head bobbed up and down in the bubbles of the aerated fluid, and an empty socket gaped open where his right eye should have been. His left was, mercifully, closed.

His torso ended a little below the waist, though his spinal column continued intact, ending with his pelvic bones. Shreds of muscle and sinew clung to the exposed skeleton. Intestines dangled from the open end of his severed abdomen and drifted in the current.

Circular sensor pads had been attached all over his body: his face, his chest, even his spine and guts.

Zack uttered a heartrending cry and turned away. He fell to his knees, buried his face in his hands and wept.

In impassive silence, Sephiroth pressed his hand against the tank and gazed up at his friend's mutilated features.

Zack couldn't bear it. Was this why he'd saved Angeal? It was his fault! He shouldn't have talked Angeal into returning from Modeoheim. He should have helped Angeal escape Shin-Ra's clutches, or killed Angeal himself! It would have spared his mentor from...from...

His own heartbeat pounded in his ears, deafening him. His blood hissed, his breathing came fast and ragged, and a terrible weight crushed his chest. Tears slipped down his cheeks and wet his fingers. His whole body clenched in shuddering heaves. He couldn't tear his hands away, couldn't turn to face what he had done to Angeal by saving his life...

Had Angeal blamed him? Had he cursed Zack's name as he'd suffered and been carved to pieces?

I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry... echoed through Zack's head, an endless refrain bearing all his guilt, his self-blame, his anger, his horror.

And then, in the midst of grief and terror and revulsion too great to endure, his ears registered horrific words that ripped at his heart and shattered his soul.

"He's alive," Sephiroth said, very, very quietly.