Tengoko: Sorry again for taking so long. I haven't been able to get to a computer for the past four days. And the first thing I did when I got to one was write this chapter. So, I hope you all enjoy it. Reviews are loved. So, don't hesitate to tell me what you think of the chapter. Thanks.

Disclaimer: Is this all really necessary?
Rated M for language and romance

Chapter 16: Old Times

Wesley couldn't believe how easy that had been. He knew that he could hold his own in a fight, but that was ridiculous. There were three of them after all. And the fact that he could overpower them easily was laughable. Really, Manning needed to look into hiring better assistants. Of course, he couldn't complain. Had they been any stronger or faster, he'd have been beaten.

He ran through the corridor. He had no clue where he was going. Just knew that Lena Mae had to be on this floor. With every door he passed, he'd peer through the square window to see if perhaps she was in there. He'd yet to find her, but what he did see while looking through the doors was deplorable.

There were many people. For some reason, Wesley was under the impression that Manning only had a few people, maybe four or five. But, it seemed that every room was being used for his sick experiments. What they all were though, Wesley didn't want to know. Nor did he care. All he was worried about right now was finding his little sister and getting the hell out of there.

He tried a few more doors. And finally, he saw her. Well, sort of. The room was dark and he couldn't make out the face of the person sitting in the chair. But, the Mog doll that the person was holding stood out in the darkness.

Wesley let out a sigh of relief and tried the doorknob. No surprise. It was locked. And, without something sharp, there was no way he could pick the lock and gain entry.

"Damn it!" he cursed.

"Vexing, isn't it?" Wesley spun around quickly and cursed again once he saw Professor Manning standing at the doorway behind him. "So, you're the one who got out?" he asked. "Impressive. Twelve years, and you're the first to manage it. I knew you were special."

Wesley stared up at him. Not by much. Wesley wasn't that short. And he stood up even taller, taking in a deep breath. "You know, Manning. I've had just about as much of you as I can take."

"And what do you plan on doing about that, boy?"

"This!" he screamed, charging at him. Before he knew it, they were both on the ground, and he was punching him with everything that he was worth. Manning got a few of his own punches in and finally, he was able to throw Wesley off of him and into the wall across the hallway.

"You can't hurt me, Wesley. I enjoy pain too much. Obviously, you should have realized that a man such as me, a man so fixated with the studies of pain, would be a sato-masochist. Not only do I enjoy causing pain to others, I very much enjoy inflicting it on myself."

"That's a shame," Wesley grunted, rubbing the back of his head. "That means I'll have to find other ways to make you suffer."

"I'll look forward to your endeavor. Yes. Yes. In the mean time, I have something that I want to show you." Gordon Manning smiled as he stood up and pulled some keys out of his white lab coat. Crossing the hall, he stuck the key into the door and turned the lock.

Suddenly, Wesley tackled him again. But, Manning was the only one who wound up on the floor. Then, Wesley tore the keys out of the door, pushed his way into the room, shut the door behind him and locked it. He just hoped Manning didn't have spares, or if he did, that they were back in his office.

Feeling around on the wall, he found a light switch and flicked it on. Turning around, he gasped. Lena Mae sat on the edge of a chair, her eyes staring vacantly in front. Now, he'd seen many people stare aimlessly, their eyes void. But this, this was completely different. There was nothing behind her eyes. No soul. Nothing.

"Lena! Lena Mae!" Wesley ran to her and fell to his knees beside her chair.

"My name is Lena Mae Storm," she said in a soft, monotonous voice. "And my father was an evil man. My name is Lena Mae Storm, and my father was an evil man."

"Lena!" Wesley shouted, trying to snap her out of it. "Lena, don't do this! Come on! Snap out of it."

"My name is Lena Mae Storm."

"LENA!"

"And my father was an evil man."

"It really is a tragedy. Yes. Yes." Wesley didn't even bother turning around. He didn't have to. Manning's footsteps told him that he was coming even closer. "I hadn't meant for it to go that far with her. She is, after all, only a child. I may be a man of little compassion, but I do not wish to kill children."

"So, you do have a soul," Wesley sneered. "I'm surprised."

"A tattered soul, but a soul I have."

"I'm glad you have one, Manning," Wesley said, standing slowly. "I want to be the one to send it straight to hell!"

Manning laughed and finally stopped advancing towards him. They were about a foot apart from each other, each staring into each other's eyes. Manning's were full of humor while Wesley's were filled with vehemence. "You can't kill me," he whispered. "Neither can your father. I won't die until I am ready to die."

"Funnily enough, I'm not ready for you to die either. Not until you set Lena right. And you will."

He shook his head. "It's too late for Lena Mae. Look at her and see for yourself. She's a mindless zombie. Yes. Yes. The first casualty of Hypnopaedia."

"Casualty?"

"Oh, it will kill her, yes. She's far too gone to come back to our world. She's lost, somewhere inside the dark dungeons of her mind. Everything she fears, everything she hates, it's surrounding her. She will never come back."

"You bastard!" Wesley screamed. "She was just a little girl!"

"Was. And now she's dead. One more life, one more soul on my conscience. But, when I compare it to the countless thousands that are on your father's, it means little difference to me."

"What?"

"I suppose you're old enough to know," Manning said offhandedly. "Yes. And I'll tell you. I'm sure that you have heard about what happened in Sector Seven so many years ago. Quite a disaster it was. The greatest man-made disaster in Midgar history, and second most catastrophic right after Meteor."

"Yeah, I know. What's that have to do with my father?"

"The history books only tell the when, where, and what happened afterward. But, they never do tell who did it. Yes. Yes. Mind, not everybody knew who did it. They just knew the Shinra was behind it. Yes. They were quite disreputable back then. Before Rufus Shinra. And the Turks. The right hand of the president. They did his dirty work. Espionage, assassinations."

"Just answer my question, damn it!"

"In good time, Wesley. Yes. All in good time. Sector Seven was a tragedy yes, but it wasn't an accident. And do you know who brought the entire plate down? Do you know who killed everybody above and below? Do you know who destroyed your mother's home? Her friends?" He was yelling now, had moved closer. "It was the Red Death. Reno Storm. Your father. He set the bomb that blew the plate and made it crash into the slums below. Yes. The most notorious, ruthless Turk of them all. Feared. Hated. Respected. His job was to kill and he did it well. Yes. Yes. And you know what else. Children were not excluded from the list. He'd wipe out entire families. Babies. Even little girls. I can only imagine how many were killed when he dropped the plate."

Wesley looked away from Manning at that point. He was trying to find words to say. It's not that he didn't believe Gordon. In fact, he didn't doubt it at all. But, he wasn't phased by it. Impressed rather, that his father had indeed been a Turk. However, he also knew that the ruthless man, the Red Death as Manning put it, was dead. His father was different.

"So…what do you expect me to do now? Fall to my knees and cry in disbelief that my father was once a murderer? 'Cause, if that's the case, I'm sorry to disappoint you. But nothing you can say will make me change my opinion of him. He's a great man now. That's all that matters. But you…you will always, always be scum. You'll never change."

"You seem so sure." He laughed manically. "At any rate, your sister is the topic at hand. And, I hate to tell you, but as we speak, some of my attendants are on their way now to dispose of her."

"Dispose?" Wesley asked in horror.

"Certainly. Yes. I can't do anything else with her. She's a shell. An imprint of what she used to be. Not capable of thought or emotion. Give it a few minutes, and then everything will shut down. Her last breath is upon us."

"It'd better not be," Wesley warned, stepping even closer, his fist raised.

"Deny it all you want. It'll happen whether you want it to or not."

"You bastard!" he screamed, about to tackle him for the third time. But, suddenly, he found himself staring down the barrel of a gun. "Heh. It shouldn't surprise me that you're a coward as well."

"No, that's not it. I'd just hate for my shirt to get wrinkled."

"If you think a gun's going to stop me…"

"It just did," he laughed.

"Do you really think so?" Wesley asked. He grabbed Gordon's wrist and twisted it as hard as he could. It did make him drop his gun, but Wesley hadn't been expecting Manning to hit him upside the head with his forearm. He cried out as his eyes watered and he fell to the floor.

He felt Manning's hand on his arm and he was turned over on his back. Then he felt his cold fingers around his neck. He couldn't breathe. He kicked, he pulled at the fingers, but the grip never let up. He was going to die. Manning was going to kill him.

"Sorry," he heard. "I just don't see any other way."

His voice sounded far away. His vision was blurred. He felt his hands fall from Manning's wrists. His legs stopped kicking. This was it. His final moments. And all he could think about was his mother. He never apologized. Never told her why. Never told her that he loved her. Never said good-bye.

And then, there was a loud bang. Manning's hands were off of him and he rolled over and began gasping for air. Cough after cough. But he was alive. He was going to live. But why? Why had Manning let go of him?

Wesley turned over and his eyes widened. There, standing in a line, their guns drawn were Elena, Tseng, Rude…and his father. All wearing black suits neatly, except his father, who had his shirt untucked and wrinkled.

"Manning, don't you ever lay your hands on my son again."