The inner lab is reserved for those closest to Hojo's research and rumored to be full of Shinra's top secret biological weaponry. Cloud has seen the output, fought against manufactured Mako-drenched wolves and crossbred animals of unclear origin, but he's never actually been inside these labs until now.
The elevator down makes his ears pop, and the white corridors beyond are brightly lit and incredibly clean. There is nobody else down here. He walks past rows of sealed numbered doors and unusual equipment housed within glass laboratories. The whole place is unsettling and quiet. And freezing. He can see his breath. A low hum vibrates in the flooring, irritating his bones.
Cloud was never given a number, so he ignores the numbered doors, looking instead for signs for specimen staging or intake.
As he searches, he thinks of Tifa. He's already plotting her escape, going through the route in his head, rehearsing manual deactivations for the gun turrets in the event his keycard stops working. He can't stomach losing the only other person who could confirm what happened inside that Reactor five years ago. Once he gets her alone, he will need to ask.
And maybe he'll leave the Tower with her. Shinra is the enemy, she'd said. Maybe he needs to investigate that belief. He fantasizes about staying with her somewhere in Midgar, catching up on all the time he's lost. Going AWOL is punishable by death for SOLDIERs, but then again he wasn't really a SOLDIER. Would Shinra even care if he was gone? They certainly were trying hard enough to kill him if the last two Reactors were any indication.
A sound brings his mind back. A clicking. He senses someone nearby. Watching him.
"Hello?"
He looks down the empty hall. Nothing except that awful hum in the walls.
Then he hears it again. Click, click, click. Coming closer like fingernails tapping on the walls. He stands motionless, trying unsuccessfully to pinpoint its origin. It patters through the ceiling, increasing its rhythm as it draws nearer. It's pitch escalates. The hum in the walls seems to respond, pulsing along, a sync to his heartbeat.
It rushes towards him with a loud snap directly overhead, terminating with a punch to his gut as if something had physically hit him. Hard. It knocks his breath out. He staggers, one hand on the wall. Then the sound is gone. The lights flicker. There is no sign of any culprit.
His gasps puncture the newfound silence.
Then the door to his right creaks open. Just a sliver. It's a massive metal door, windowless and thick. The keypad next to it blinks green.
"Professor…?" he asks though he knows there's nobody else around. Nobody tangible, that is.
A stream of mist slithers from the narrow gap in the door, surrounding Cloud's boots.
He doesn't know why, but he's compelled to look in. The logical thing would be to close the door and report its mechanical error to the professor. But something else is overriding all logic in his brain right now. He reaches for the door, hauls it open, and peers within.
There is darkness, pure and black, swallowing any light coming in from the hall. He hears that whispering again in his head, a subtle sound akin to static. It seems to be saying his name.
Perplexed, he steps inside the chamber, and a wall of automatic lights click on in sequence, illuminating a walkway of metal grating and solid walls. The final flood light punches on, and the centerpiece of the chamber is exposed. A grotesque malformed body is suspended within an enormous glass tube. It's limbs are a twisted imitation of human female form. Lumps of mottled flesh sprout from its back like stunted wings, and long tendrils drift in the liquid encapsulation. A sturdy tube is plugged into its abdomen, leading to valves on the outside of the chamber.
Instinctual fear grips Cloud. It looks like the creature has been dissected, intestines and organs connected but floating outside the torso. And above the area that could be described as breast and shoulders is the stump of a truncated neck.
The thing is headless.
Sudden revelation drains the intrigue right out of him. The whispering roars to life, and a hand claws into the back of his neck, wrapping upwards, pulling him. The tendrils flicker in response. It has no eyes yet he knows it's looking at him. Abject horror seizes from somewhere deep, and he spins, running out as fast as he can.
He slams the door shut, as if that could block out whatever horrible entity was no doubt searching for him. His heart beats so fast he's shaking. But the voices have stopped. The hand touching him is gone. He's covered in sweat, now chilly in the freezing cold air of the hall.
"What the hell…" He exhales, slowing his heart rate, and steps away from the door.
He surveys it. The tiny light on the door lock is a steady red. He pushes it to make sure the seal is secure, and it doesn't even budge. Good.
He already knows what it is even as he pretends not to. Because that thing should be dead. He saw Sephiroth behead it himself. The General carried it out into the main Mako chamber of the Nibel Reactor and fell to his death clutching its slimy lifeless cranium. With its long silver hair trailing in wet strands.
He looks above the door anyways. This one doesn't have a number. Only letters, confirming his horrid suspicions.
J.E.N.O.V.A.
He feels sick. The tubes leading from the creature's body were inky black, and his skin suddenly itches with the thought that the hot fire being put into his veins earlier is a remnant of this dead thing.
Only it wasn't dead at all. No, he saw it move. He felt it reaching towards him. And a tiny part of him had reveled in it. The notice of its eyeless gaze.
But how had it survived all these years? Shinra must've moved it from the Nibel Reactor right after the incident, kept it alive or maybe it was always undead. And if this is the reason he'd survived Nibelheim…
No, there's no proof of that, he quickly tells himself. He needs to… to focus on Tifa and his plan tonight. He needs to find specimen intake so he can fulfil his current job. Whatever he just saw would have to wait for analysis later.
He backtracks down the corridor, heading away from the numbered doors. Although he tries to purge it from his mind, the image of the floating thing follows him, those long thin tendrils shifting in his direction. A strange fascination is coiling in his chest.
Lost in thought, he turns a corner and collides straight into Professor Hojo. Cloud jumps back, startled, and the professor tumbles to the floor, papers scattering and spectacles askew.
"What the hell are you doing here?" the professor scolds. "You're supposed to be in the east wing. East! This is all storage back here."
Cloud blinks. The sight of a real human jolts him from the spell that headless monster had him under. The professor stands and dusts off his lab coat. He adjusts his spectacles and glares.
"I...was…" Cloud begins.
"You were what?" the professor sneers. "Lost? Clueless? There's nothing back here for you. These are all hermetically sealed doors, only accessible by my keycard. Not yours. Now go. East wing. Third cell. That way."
Hojo shuffles off.
Cloud realizes what he's been told. That door couldn't have opened on its own. It couldn't have accidentally detected Cloud's keycard and swung open. Had any of what he experienced actually been real?
He's consumed with this uncertainty as he finds the east wing. It's right across from the elevator in the stark white foyer, with obvious signs indicating specimen intake and holding. Somehow he'd completely missed it the first time.
Still in a daze, he heads through the double doors leading into a narrow beige corridor. There are numbered doors along one side, but this section is more like a casual workspace than a dedicated silo for scientific research. The harsh sterility and cleanliness of the opposite wing is gone, as is the freezing cold air.
The doors here are solid metal, but each has a viewing window of reinforced glass. He glances into the first two cells as he passes. There's a lion-like creature asleep in a cage in one. Its red glossy fur glistens in the glow from a live flame at the end of its tail. He's never seen anything like it. The third cell is a concrete room separated into viewing and holding areas by a thick glass wall. Behind the glass stands a woman. She's young and pretty, with long brown hair in a loose twist down her back.
He slides his keycard through and enters.
Immediately, she stands and backs away.
"Who're you?" she asks, eyes large with fright. Her voice is muffled through the glass.
There doesn't seem to be anything special about her. Dirt crusts the hem of her long pink dress, and she looks tired. Track marks bruise the inside of her arm, evidence of Hojo's examinations.
"What do you want?" she says. "You aren't one of them…"
He looks around the viewing area. This is his punishment for insubordination. Not even a place to sit. Cameras record from the corners.
"You're a SOLDIER," she remarks. "Your eyes."
He shuts the door and leans against it. The headless monstrosity preoccupies him even as he tries to focus on Tifa. He decides that he'll leave with her tonight. That thing in the basement sends indecipherable shudders through him.
"I didn't know the SOLDIER program still existed," the captive says. "Are you First-Class?"
The way its tendril had moved. Like it recognized him. From all those years ago in the Reactor? How could that be?
"My boyfriend was," the woman continues. "First-Class. Killed in action, but they wouldn't tell me how. I'd like to think he died doing something heroic, like maybe saving a comrade or thwarting an evil plan."
She's making conversation to entice his empathy. It's irritating. He doesn't want to interact right now.
"I…I'm from Sector Five. Beneath the plate."
"Are you going to talk the entire time?" he interrupts.
She falls silent.
"Because I don't wanna hear about your life," he says. "I'm not interested. For all I care, you could be the slum drunk."
She gazes down at her hands. He realizes he upset her and reigns in his callous resentment. Between Jenova and Tifa, he's a tangle of hot wires, and none of that is her fault.
"What are you going to do to me?" she asks.
"Me? Nothing. I'm here to guard you. Your safety is all I'm concerned with."
She looks up, and he notices her deep emerald eyes.
"If that were true, you would help me get out of here," she says, invigorated with fresh defiance. "I'm not some animal to be caged and prodded."
Cloud shrugs. He can't trust anything she says, and he's worrying about enough already without adding this woman to the list.
"That professor is a madman," she says, getting close to the glass. "He thinks I'm descended from some ancient powerful species. The last of my kind. He's probably going to butcher me up. He seemed giddy at the thought."
Cloud rolls his shoulder. The shrapnel wounds haven't fully healed, and leaning against it made the joints ache. He doesn't like the idea of this woman going under the professor's scalpel, but he is in no position to do anything aside from his orders. Not this close to Tifa's rescue.
"He raved about the General." She's not even attempting to hide her desperation now. "He thinks I'm linked to him somehow. To Sephiroth."
The name grabs Cloud's attention.
"What?" he finally addresses her.
She takes his attention and runs with it.
"Sephiroth. You know, the famous General from the War."
"I know who he is…"
"That creepy professor kept talking about him."
"What did he say?"
She shakes her head. "I… I passed out. He was telling me how special my bloodline is. He said something about Sephiroth. He said he needed more time."
Cloud isn't sure what to make of it. The headless thing in the basement floats in his mind, tendrils twitching. He looks away from her because he's afraid she'll notice his discomfort.
"Please help me…" she begs in a whisper. "Get me out of here."
"Why would he think you're part of an ancient bloodline?" Cloud wonders aloud.
She doesn't reply. An exhausted sigh leaves her lips, and she sits down. She puts her head in her hands. He feels sorry for her suddenly, pulled in by forces outside of her control, put in an impossible situation against her will.
He doesn't press the subject. They lapse into silence for an hour. Then two. The woman leans against the glass, dismally poking at the base of her cage with one finger. If he weren't here, would she be scrambling to figure a way out of her cell? Is his true purpose just to scare her into submission with his constant presence? He doesn't mind being used as a threat, but here it feels wrong.
At the top of their third hour together, she speaks again.
"My name is Aerith." Her voice is sad, resigned. "What's yours?"
Don't respond, he tells himself. She's looking for a way to build sympathy. But it's too late for stoicism. He wants to show her he's human. That he's not like the others.
"Cloud. It's Cloud." He keeps his tone stern. He sits next to the door, arms resting on his knees.
"You work for that professor?" she asks, scratching at the glass ineffectually with a fingernail.
"I work for Shinra."
Aerith laughs. It's a pleasant sound. "I know that, silly. So what do you do here for Shinra?"
That is a difficult question to answer. He hasn't had consistent responsibilities yet. His position is unique, given the circumstances. So he says nothing. He's already shared too much.
"Secretive, huh?"
She seems in brighter spirits. He almost smiles.
Then the door clicks open. Cloud stands at attention, eyes averted from the specimen. Aerith goes into the far corner of her cell.
"Well, now," the professor says, sauntering in. The pockets on his lab coat sag heavy. "Looks like you aren't useless after all."
Then he turns toward Aerith, grinning. A surge of protective desire fills Cloud. He doesn't want the professor touching her. She'd gotten into his head somehow.
"Take her to the lab in the west wing," Hojo instructs Cloud. He keys something into the electronic instrument panel on the side of the cage and smoke fills her chamber.
Cloud's chest tightens. "What is that?" he asks in alarm.
Aerith begins coughing, choking. She falls to the ground.
Hojo chuckles. "A pleasant slumber," he says, watching her suffer.
Cloud has to force himself not to act. Think of Tifa, the plan tonight. He can't get distracted. He can't help everyone.
Aerith is unconscious, and the professor keys in another sequence to clear the smoke from the room. Then the glass wall lowers into the floor. Cloud steps within to check on her. Her skin is warm and soft, her pulse rapid. He lifts her up.
"First laboratory," Hojo specifies with a lengthy glare. "West wing. I think you know the way."
Hojo's cellphone buzzes. He answers in a brusk tone, arguing with whoever is on the other line.
Cloud carries Aerith to the exit. Her head falls against his chest, and he spots something shiny tucked in the knot of the ribbon in her hair. A materia. It's pale in color. It lodges free as he shifts her weight and meanders down his arm. He catches it, stumbling a bit to conceal it's discovery from Hojo. Something about this materia makes him not want to release it.
"I don't care about the execution!" Hojo snaps over the phone. "My work is more important than public appearances."
The word stops Cloud in his tracks. The professor has turned away, hand thrust in his pocket, shoulders hunched.
"Just say I'm busy. Why do I need to be on camera with you lot?" Then he straightens, clears his throat, and hangs up. He shoots Cloud a vicious look. "What are you still doing here? Secure the specimen in lab one. Like I said. I have to take care of something upstairs, but I'll be back before she wakes up."
The execution. Cloud hears it echoing in his head.
"Everything okay, professor?" he asks, nonchalant.
Hojo sighs. "Yes, yes. I guess the Turks got whatever information they needed during interrogation because the damn timelines sped up on those stupid terrorists. Now my very important work is being interrupted for a couple of lousy cameras."
"Oh." Cloud keeps his voice steady, but his heart is hammering. He squeezes the materia in his palm, holding Aerith tighter. "Are you going...far?"
"Eh, just to the President's suite. Marketing thinks its best to do these things on company property…" Hojo trails off, scribbling something onto a notepad from his pocket. "Yes, yes, I think it won't upset my timeline too much…" He strolls away, absorbed in a new thought.
Cloud's mind is frantic. He must get up there. He must stop that execution. He is supposed to have more time with Tifa!
The woman in his arms is his first priority, though. The professor ascends in the elevator, muttering to himself, and Cloud steps faster through the cold west labs. His keycard pops open the first door, and he secures Aerith on the metal table. For a moment, he doesn't want to leave her. He puts the materia in his pocket, figuring it would be safer with him, then he locks the door behind him, leaving her alone in the operating chamber.
He doesn't know how he will save Tifa. He doesn't even have his sword. Weapons access was rescinded when he lost Public Safety credentials. He has no plan, but pure adrenaline and the thought of losing a part of his past forever fuels his resolve. He will make it to her. He will keep his promise.
