No Forgiveness

By: Wildfire Sky

All right, now we're getting somewhere. Saw a definite spike in hits with the submission of the second chapter! Let's try and make the reviews do the same, huh? Oh hell! I forgot the damn disclaimer!

Disclaimer: I do not own Final Fantasy or any of its games/movies. If I did…I'd be one rich S.O.B.

No Forgiveness

Chapter Three

In a large, dimly light room of an abandoned building, a man sat pondering over the contents of a small binder in front of him, his deep green eyes scanning over the compiled information carefully. He kept his body stiff and tight, a habit borne of nearly twenty years hard training in the militaristic police forces. Slowly his gloved hands flipped the pages of the binder, a pen occasionally coming down on the ever-present notepad to jot down various notes and ideas. Reaching towards the ashtray, the man picked up a half-burned cigarette, putting it to his lips.

"You shouldn't smoke, Tyrell. It's bad for you."

The man didn't look up from his binder, instead taking a slow pull and dispersing the smoke into the air as he flipped another page. "Has it been taken care of?"

A shadow peeled itself off from the far wall, striking silver eyes seeking out the other's face. "Of course. When have you known me to procrastinate?"

"I won't answer that." The man tapped the ashes from his cigarette into the ashtray. "I can't have anything going wrong, do you understand?"

"Yes, yes. I've heard the same speech a thousand times from a thousand different employers." The shadow shrugged one shoulder. "How long do you expect me to stick around anyways?"

"As long as the money lasts, of course."

"Of course." The shadow shifted, approaching the large man's desk. "What now, Colonel?"

The large man stood up, his green eyes sharp against his dark skin as they slid over the body of the shadow. Putting out his cigarette, Tyrell slowly walked over until he was face to face with the hidden figure an oily smile on his face. "We wait and see what happens. Mean while, I want you to keep an eye on the boy and his little 'family'. Make sure they don't figure out too much, understand?"

The figure snorted. "That's the low-life job of one of your lackeys."

"And now it's your job. Unless you don't want to get paid…"

"Don't you try that crap on me," the figure said angrily, finally stepping from the darkness. His red eyes glared angrily at Tyrell, his pale skin and dark clothing giving him the distressing look of a vampire. Moving close to Tyrell, the figure bared his teeth dangerously. "I swear I'll kill you where you stand if you don't do as agreed. I hate liars…but more than anything I hate greedy liars."

Tyrell stared back calmly before flashing a disarming smile and holding his hands up in mock surrender, backing away. "Forgive me. I didn't mean it seriously; of course I'll pay you. I know he honor of a contract and will always uphold one that my signature is on."

"We don't have a written contract."

"A verbal contract, whatever." Tyrell waved a dismissing hand, "Stop worrying about it, alright? You've worked for me before and I've always come through, haven't I, Alavar? However, this task, I can't trust it to just anyone…especially not one of my own. If that were the case, I wouldn't have hired you in the first place." Tyrell went back behind his desk, opening a side drawer and pulling out a thin folder and sliding it across the highly polished wood surface. The figure approached, picking it up and flipping it open.

"That is the target and his family." Tyrell said, sitting back down and lighting another cigarette. "We've had our eye on him ever since that incident six months ago."

"You mean the end of the geostigma...that whole thing?"

"Correct." Tyrell affirmed with a nod. "With the ending of the geostigma, it seems that the target returned to his old job of a carrier. However, this new family of his has kept him…distracted. This past week or so, he's stayed at a bar and orphanage called the Seventh Heaven."

At this the figure, Alavar, looked up. "Seventh Heaven?"

"You've been there before?"

Alavar nodded, flipping a page and pulling out a small picture. "I used to go there…really good drinks. I wasn't aware Tifa had opened an orphanage now."

"For the children with geostigma apparently." Tyrell smiled. "Such a soft hearted and beautiful young woman…almost makes me wish my wife had been like her." There was a moment of uncomfortable silence as Tyrell stared down at a picture frame on his desk before he looked back up at the figure. "Unfortunately for this Tifa, she had an outbreak of advanced geostigma in her bar yesterday. Had it happened later, then things wouldn't be so distressing. As it is, however, the geostigma outbreak was a turn around of less than twenty-four hours, that's much sooner than expected by our scientists."

"What was the original turn around time?"

"Seventy-two hours…approximately four days after exposure."

"Why has it accelerated?"

Tyrell sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger. This outbreak had apparently caused the man a good deal of stress. "The acceleration of the disease is thought to have been caused by the form in which the geostigma is stored. Somehow, this man…a Barren, inhaled the gaseous form of geostigma and contracted it. Judging by how quickly the geostigma advanced, the effects of the disease had to have been instantaneous."

Alavar frowned. "Gaseous? You're storing it as a gas? Why?"

Tyrell shrugged one shoulder. The tip of his cigarette flaring as he took a pull. "Easier to store…easier to carry. Only when mixed with certain chemicals and elements, such as those present in the body of Barren, does the geostigma retract into a liquid form, . However, as a gas, it's not contagious…passing from person to person is impossible. But as a liquid…"

"It can contaminate."

"Everything." Tyrell growled. "The moment the liquid form of geostigma touches something -- anything -- it immediately begins to corrupt the system, taking it over and destroying the body's immune system, spreading throughout the body using the circulatory system. As it does so, the geostigma lays dormant within the body, slowly draining it of its nutrients and eating away at the tissues, starting with your skin and blood vessels before moving on to major organs. This can take a matter of weeks to a matter of months."

"And I suppose the will of a contaminated body to livehas nothing to do with survival."

"Absolutely not. Geostigma is a silent killer that can't be destroyed…not with any known medicine or willfulness."

Alavar stared at Tyrell suspiciously. "But in Midgar…they did find a cure."

Tyrell snorted, ashes billowing out from his cigarette. "The so called 'miracle' water? Please, Alavar, I thought you were more mature than that."

Alavar glared at him. "The people who've bathed in it no longer have the geostigma. I'd say that's a cure."

"For that strand of geostigma perhaps." Tyrell smirked grimly. "But, like any other virus,the geostigma evolves. This new strand is absolutely nothing like the past one, save for how it kills. If you recall, the past geostigma wasn't contagious, only those who contracted it outright had it. This time, no so." Tyrell nodded at the folder is Alavar's hand. "Which is why this is so important. We hired the target, Cloud Strife, to transport a sample of the geostigma to our manufacturing development in the Outer Banks. There was an apparent accident in which Barren came into contact with the geostigma."

"He inhaled it and now he has it."

"Correct" Tyrell affirmed again, "As I mentioned. We believe Strife also inhaled the geostigma…but we're not sure whether or not it's taken any effect on his body yet."

"Why not?"

"Because we lost him traveling over the desert. He'd left during the night and our agent wasn't able to catch up with him after the accident." Tyrell stared into Alavar's red eyes. "Which is where you come in…"

"You want me to find him?" Alavar nodded. "That I can do."

Tyrell held up a hand before Alavar could move. "Not quite. We know where the boy is headed, so a tail isn't necessary. If he makes it, he makes it. If not, then he's probably dead and the geostigma sample is lost anyways. Once exposed to the air, the geostigma must make contact with some form of life within an hour or it will disperse and eventually breakdown, eating itself to stay alive. Seeing as there's no life between Midgar and the Outer Banks, we're not worried about it." Tyrell held up a picture of Barren. "But seeing as how this man did contract the geostigma and had an outbreak in a public area, there's a very good chance that the geostigma will spread as an epidemic once again."

Alavar quirked an eyebrow. "But the turn around is so quick…the diseased person will be dead long before they have a chance to spread it."

"Not necessarily." Tyrell shook his head. "Any exchange of fluids, through coughing, sneezing, sharing foods, sex, that sort of thing, even post-mortem…the geostigma will spread. I need you to go to the Seventh Heaven and evaluate the situation."

"Evaluate?" Alavar stared at Tyrell with a distrusting frown. "How bad was the outbreak?"

Tyrell winced slightly. "Pretty bad. The man nearly bled out all over the owner's floor. If she came into contact with it…"

"She's dead."

"Precisely." Tyrell put out his smoke and folded his hands on top of his desk. "Find the girl and her family. Find anyone who's come into contact with either them or this Barren. If it's determined that they've contracted the geostigma…"

Alavar nodded, not needed Tyrell to finish. "I understand perfectly."

Tyrell nodded, tapping his desk firmly. "This outbreak must be contained. If it spreads, nothing, not even some sort of 'miracle', will stop it. Do you understand? Meanwhile, I will have my scientists begin a search of a cure, even if it's a fruitless cause. Good luck to you."

Alavar stood with a nod, making his way to the door. But before he could step from the office, Tyrell's deep voice reached his ears.

"And for the love of all things holy…don't touch anyone."

Cloud rubbed at his eyes, struggling to concentrate on the road ahead. He'd been traveling for three days now, and it felt like he hadn't gone more than a few miles. He was exhausted, hot, and all around miserable. Worse, the package that he'd promised to safely deliver was cracked and now empty. He'd driven until day light after the accident before checking the package. By then, it was too late…the container was empty, a few droplets of moisture remaining around the cracked lip of the oblong bottle. He would have to explain that to whomever he handed the package off to, with an apology and a refund.

And he needed the money.

It was nice living with Tifa because he didn't feel the depression as much as he did when living on his own in the church. At that time it was days before he had enough money from odd jobs to eat something. Nobody had enough money to hire him as a carrier and he barely had enough to survive. Every once in awhile, he'd bark up the courage to stand in a soup line when sources elsewhere were scarce. If not, he'd return to Tifa's, eat something, rest on a real bed, and then leave. He'd tried to keep his struggles from Tifa, but eventually she figured it out, handing him a pack of supplies every time he left. It was embarrassing, but he couldn't bring himself to stay with Tifa while she had to struggle against the depression herself and feed hungry mouths.

Cloud took this job because of the excellent pay, despite how suspicious it sounded. With it, he'd be able to repay Tifa and perhaps give her a little more to spend on herself. Although he never voiced it, her obsession with the children rather than her own health was distressing, and he'd prefer it if she'd concentrate on herself for once. As soon as he came back, he was taking her out to a movie and dinner…not as a date necessarily…just as something between friends.

Another wave of exhaustion hit Cloud and he pressed the brake, slowing Fenrir and cutting the engine. Removing his glasses, Cloud wiped a hand across his brow, sucking in air. He could understand the heat seeing as he was in the desert, but never had it been this hot. Cloud adjusted his clothing, wondering vaguely if he should remove his single long-sleeve now that the geostigma was gone. It was just a thought, but Cloud lifted the sleeve to scratch at a sudden itch on his arm. Rubbing vigorously, he glanced at his surroundings. Nothing but rocks and open, barren, desert. It was lonely out here.

"Jeeze…" he growled to himself as the itching persisted. Rolling up his sleeve, Cloud look down at his arm and instantly froze, his heart clenching in his chest. He couldn't believe it…didn't want to believe it. But it was there, without a doubt, clearly on his arm. The dark bruise wasn't big, no more than an inch in diameter, but it was still horrifying. The impossibility of this was too much for his mind to content with. He'd been cured…everyone in Midgar had been cured…so it couldn't be geostigma. It had to be a bruise from the accident.

But what kind of bruise itches this much?

Cloud ripped his fingers away from his flesh, clenching them angrily. It wasn't the geostigma…

Fenrir's engine roared as he started her again, forcing his mind away from the painful itch on his arm. Looking up he could see the skyscraper ruins of the Outer Banks in the distance. He was almost there. Fenrir thundered across the desert, bouncing over the uneven plain as the Outer Banks became closer and closer. He would be there within the hour. Then he could make the drop and come home…just under a week of travel. Not too bad.

Cloud was maybe a mile or two out of the Outer Banks when he heard the first growl of an engine. Keeping his face forward, he tried to keep his body from stiffening. It might just be another traveler heading into the Outer Banks. But then, moments later, there was another growl, and another, until it seemed like the air was filled with the rumble of engines. Cloud risked a glance over his shoulder. Behind him, at least five riders were baring down on him, their large dark blue motorcycles glinting in the sunlight. Their faces hidden by their helmets, the riders barely acknowledge him, instead revving their engines as forcing their vehicles to go faster.

Cloud frowned, noting the weapons slung over their shoulders. Definitely not travelers.

Kapwing!

Startled, Cloud jerked around, pulling his bike to one side as the bullet ricocheted off her surface. Up ahead, another group of riders stood ready, their bikes blocking the entrance to the Outer Banks. Each held a rifle in their hands, and each rifle was aimed at him. Immediately, Cloud pressed the switch on his throttle and Fenrir's storage compartment flew open, his long swords unfolding and at the ready. The riders ahead hesitated, their helmets turning as they regarded each other. Drawing the longest blade of his Buster Sword, Cloud held it up in warning, not bother to slow down. They were either going to move or shoot him, and if it was the latter, he'd rather be moving fast enough to where he had a chance of escape. The rocks on either side of him quickly began to grow, jutting up into the sky and forming two overhangs above him. Suddenly, bullets seemed to rain down from above, and Cloud looked up. Racing above him on either side were more armed men of this biker gang and this time, they weren't hesitating to fire at him. Up ahead, the riders raised their weapons again and one of them shouted.

"Stop the bike!"

Cloud was surrounded. Even if he managed to cut his way through the riders ahead, their friends would finish him off before he escaped the overhang. Slowing Fenrir, Cloud kept his weapon up as he came to a stop a few mere feet from the riders. Above him the bullets stopped and the riders above and behind all came to a stop. One of the riders dismounted, coming forward, weapon aimed.

"Drop the sword now and get off the bike."

Hesitating, Cloud slowly did as he was told. Tossing the Buster Sword to the ground in front of the rider he dismounted, his hands up in surrender. The rider moved forward, bending to pick up the sword, a victorious waltz to his step. Hands wrapping around the hilt, the rider heaved upwards.

"Holy shit!" he cried out as he collapsed to his knees, unable to move the sword. Glancing up at Cloud the rider tried again. "What…what the hell kind of sword…?"

Another rider from behind called out. "Come on, man, quit screwin' around and lift the damn thing!"

The rider moved his weapon around to his back, bending at the knees and gripping the Buster Sword with both hands, still not making any progress. "I…I can't move it! Someone help me out here!"

"Oh for the love of…" Footsteps crunched across the dirt and rock from behind, the voice much closer now. A rider brushed past Cloud, making his way over to where his partner struggled. "Keep your guns on him! If he moves an inch, blow his fucking head off!" The rider shoved the other one out of the way, bending down. "Move damn it. Let me show you how to--gah! Holy hell!"

"I told you!"

The second rider stepped back from the sword, removing his helmet, a mop of long brown hair falling down his back in a long ponytail. Turning, the rider set a pair of vicious purple eyes on Cloud, his gaze seething. Raising his gun he approached Cloud, motioning to the ground with a jerk of his head.

"On your knees. Now!"

The other rider approached, putting a hand on Cloud's shoulder, Instantly, Cloud slapped it away, sending the smaller rider a dark glare. The rider jumped back, his gun raised.

"Hey!" Yelled the brunette. "Do that again and you're dead, understand me?" He nodded at the small rider who slowly and cautiously approached Cloud, a thick cord of rope in his hand. "Nothing stupid now, alright kid? Nice and easy…"

The small rider quickly pulled Cloud's hands behind his back, tying them securely. Blood roared in the blonde's ear…he could take them. He wanted to take them. Especially this violet eyed bastard in front of him. He stiffened his body, ready to attack, but suddenly…

"Aw sick! What the hell!"

The rider closest to Cloud jumped back as the young blonde keeled forward, blood spurting from his mouth. Retching sounds filled the air as the riders stared in shock at Cloud as he fell to the ground, rolling into a fetal position and sucking air. The rider closest to him looked at the leader.

"Hey, there's something wrong with this guy…" he motioned with his head at Cloud."I'm not touching him."

The brown haired rider swore. "If he's sick, then as a product he's no good. Neither is his stuff." He smirked cruelly at the collapsed Cloud. "Such a strong guy like him would go for a lot on the market…well, if we can't sell him off for labor, we can still send his body to the Surgeons and let them play around with it." He approached Cloud, kneeling down in front of him. "As I understand it, the Surgeons are excellent in their craft…"

Cloud groaned painfully. The leader motioned his head towards Cloud. "Call the Surgeons. They can come by and pick him up out here themselves. We'll take his bike and whatever else he has."

The other smaller rider glanced at Fenrir. "But…but what if he coughed all over it and shit?"

"Then wear gloves, you moron."

The leader looked back down at Cloud, a tight, uncomfortable feeling in his gut. If something was really wrong with this kid…not even the Surgeons would touch him. They may be criminals, but they weren't stupid. The sick were feared in a place where there were no reliable doctors around…the sick were killed and their bodies dumped. Without a doubt, this kid's fate would be no different.

Uncaring of the dust they kicked up around Cloud's slumped body, the bike gang quickly departed, leaving nothing behind except an unconscious body and a massive sword. Far above, a creature approached the lip of the overhang, its long, sleek body bouncing slightly on small legs as its tail swished excitedly. It stared down at the body with beady, black eyes, a low yelping developing in its throat as it bounced.

"Whatcha got there, boy?" asked a gritty voice from behind. The creature turned its head before rushing towards the speaker and clambering up their broad body. Curling its tail around the speaker's neck, the creature sat on his shoulder, yipping excitedly. The man moved forward, his desert brown cloak shielding him from the vicious rays of the sun. He paused at the lip of the overhang, staring over the edge.

"Good boy…" the man whispered, reaching up to give the lizard a rewarding scratch. "Let's gather him up, eh?"

End of chapter three! Ya'll are killin' me with these reviews. I really would like to know if my writing is regards to FFVII: AC is on target or not. I always worry about whether or not I'm portraying the characters correctly and whether or not you readers understand. Just some simple reassurance that people like this is all I'm asking for.

Also, in one of my fanfics, I was called "arrogant" and an "asshole" because I asked for reviews. If I come across that way, I sincerely apologize because I don't mean to. I would never want to give the impression that I don't appreciate readers for being just that…readers. So if that's what you think of me, I'm sorry that you feel that way and hope it will change.