Snapshots

A Final Fantasy VII Fanfiction by ntc

Part 5

"What do you mean you don't know where they are?"

Rude and Elena exchanged a sheepish look before redirecting their contrite countenances at the regal man sitting behind the mahogany desk. It was Rude who spoke up. "They haven't been back at the apartment for days and Cloud Strife's motorcycle is nowhere to be seen. It's our belief that they might have left Kalm altogether."

"Someone would know where they might have gone to. Have you tried asking his friends? That girl… what's her name… Tifa? She opens a bar in the same town, doesn't she?"

"She has no reason to tell us anything and has even said as much. However, she was genuinely surprised when we told her that Strife was gone. I don't think even she knows where they are."

"What about his neighbours? The people he works with? Those street orphans he dotes on? Have you…"

"We've questioned them all."

"Of all the times that moron could have chosen to lose contact with us." Rufus scowled over his interlocked fingers at his two tense subordinates. "It has to be now."

"Erm… Are we still talking about Strife or…?"

"I'm talking about your dimwitted, obsessed colleague."

"If you don't mind me asking, sir," said Elena timidly. "Why are we wasting time looking for them when we should be hunting down…?" The hard-edged glint in Rufus's eyes shut her up effectively.

"Hunt down?" Rufus's voice had a mocking lilt to it. "Are you presuming that you can take on our adversary on your own?"

"We don't need Strife's help!" declared Elena, red-faced with injured pride. "So what if he once possessed a SOLDIER's capabilities? Who's to say he hasn't lost them all to the Geostigma by now?"

"I can understand why you don't wish to owe him anything further, Elena, but do try to leave your personal grievances out of the business at hand."

The stab of guilt that Elena felt upon hearing that subtle reminder silenced her abruptly.

Rude came to her defense. "Sir, Elena has a valid point there. Cloud Strife may have defeated him several years ago, but there's no guarantee that he could do it again. Especially now, when his body is rejecting the very Mako that makes him stronger than the rest of us."

"While Strife would prove to be an invaluable ally, I need to get hold of him for other reasons as well. He has to be warned."

"Warned, sir?"

"It is highly likely that Strife's nemesis would seek out and destroy the person responsible for his demise, don't you think?" The cold, dispassionate delivery of those words caused Rude to swallow uneasily. "I know I would. And that is what'll make him the perfect bait if we are to ensnare and eliminate this current threat we're facing."

xXxXxXx

There were whispers in his head, punctuated by flashes of images, of snippets of memories that must have meant something to him. Earlier, he didn't need to think about what he was doing, or why, when he cut down those people in their pristine white lab coats; no longer white when he was done with them. They had hurt him, or had hurt someone who used to be him, so they deserved to die. He derived no satisfaction from their deaths. He only did what was necessary.

He left behind a trail of dead bodies, most of them consisting of uniformed guards who were foolish enough to hinder his escape. They had initially attempted to capture him alive, and had paid dearly for that arrogance. Soon, the gunshots that were aimed at him were no longer meant to disable but to terminate instead. He could not understand why only fear and violence greeted him in this strange and hostile world. He hadn't done anything wrong, had he?

When he was confident that he had escaped his pursuers, when he was no longer driven by his desperation to survive, he began to think. That was when the whispers, the images and the fragmented memories began to flood his mind. The whispers were oily and seductive, telling him of his rightful place far above the jealous, inferior creatures who were determined to end his life. They feared his greater powers, but were at the same time in awe of it, and had dared to harness it for their own selfish purposes. All of them deserved to be wiped out, together with their hateful little planet… He tried to block out those vengeful whispers when he could, only because he felt that he would lose what was left of himself, of his identity, if he listened too closely. The images were harder to block out, each of them more confusing than the last. However, all of them shared something common. Or more specifically, someone.

He remembered dying several times before. In different forms. In different places. In different times. But some things had remained the same. The sharp broadsword that pierced him, for one, and the blue-eyed person who held that sword. There was so much rage in those blue eyes. Rage and hurt and torment. He must have done something terrible to evoke those emotions, and it bothered him that he couldn't remember what he had done. If there was anyone who would know the kind of person he used to be, it would be the owner of those blue eyes. It would be his killer.

He could run and hide like a fugitive. He could learn to blend in with the crowd and disappear. His enemies would never find him if he did not want to be found. But such an existence would be meaningless. His quest for his forgotten identity became his new mission. He needed someone to help him make sense of what he was, who he was and who he should be. So far, the only clues he had to go by were his shattered memories and his haggard appearance in the mirror.

For days, he had wandered aimlessly. He ate when he was hungry and slept when exhaustion set in. The rest of his time, he walked. As if pulled by the strings of fate, he found himself striding into an exhibition gallery one day.

xXxXxXx

The curator of the gallery was locking the glass doors at the entrance when he noticed the lone man standing at the end of one of the corridors. The visitor appeared to be wholly captivated by the picture on display before him, not even turning his head when the curator approached him.

"I'm sorry, sir, but we're closed for the day." When there was no response from the man, the curator cleared his throat and spoke more loudly. "Why don't you come again tomorrow? We open at—"

"Who took this picture?" interrupted the man, still not looking away from the object that had captured his attention.

"Well… All the photos that you see here are the works of the same man…"

"Name!" The curator jumped slightly at the barked command. "Tell me the name of this photographer!"

"Eh… um…" The curator was about to chew out the stranger for his rudeness but thought better of it when he took note of how tall and well-muscled the other man was. And was that a sword hilt sticking out from the folds of his black cape? The curator began to wish that he had not granted the security guard his afternoon off. "The photographer's name is Cloud Strife. Shouldn't you know that already before you visit this gallery? Isn't that why you've come?"

His question was completely ignored. Not surprisingly; the rude man. "Cloud… Strife…?" The curator could tell that the name was unfamiliar to the tall stranger, but what was odd was that the stranger seemed to be immensely frustrated by the fact that the name was unfamiliar to him. "Cloud Strife… Cloud…"

Seeing that the stranger's intimidating aura was diminished somewhat by his confusion, the curator grew bold enough to put forward his request. "I really have to ask you to leave now, sir. This gallery closes at five o-clock…" The curator's gaze flitted towards the picture that was the cause of his problem and what he saw caused his eyebrows to climb towards his hairline. "It can't be…" A shiver coursed through the curator as he realized the danger the man before him represented. "You're…"

"I'm…?" Why did the man choose now to look at him directly? Those eyes… They seemed capable of seeing through any of the lies that he was planning to use on the man.

"Uh… No, eh, um… I-I just thought you look a lot like the m-man in the picture, that's all. But y-you couldn't possibly be… I mean, the G-General… he's dead already… killed by… Well, I just thought y-you look a lot like him, that's all." Cold sweat rolled off his forehead and into his eyes and the curator blinked it away anxiously, too terrified to even raise a hand to wipe it away.

"You're scared." The luminous eyes that studied him rooted him to the spot. A gut feeling told him that any attempt to flee would be at best futile and at worst fatal. The curator suddenly felt like a mouse about to be devoured by a hungry snake. "Why are you scared?"

"Huh… I-I'm not…"

"I despise liars."

A trickle of urine ran down the curator's pant leg. He was openly sobbing now.

"You have nothing to fear from me." Disgusted by the curator's open display of fear, the stranger turned his head away to face the picture on the wall again. "All I want is some answers. You will provide me with those answers, won't you?"

Even the two Shinra Turks who came to interrogate him a few days ago did not terrify him so. At that time, the curator had managed to keep his promise to Cloud not to reveal his whereabouts to anyone who came searching for him. The curator was not so confident that he could keep that promise this time.

xXxXxXx

"The handcuffs are beginning to chafe, Reno." With his cheek pressed against the space between Reno's shoulder blades, Cloud watched the scenery zip past him as the motorcycle they were sitting on streaked across the dry plains. When no reply was forthcoming from the unusually quiet redhead in front of him, Cloud spoke again. "Reno?"

"Shut up. I'm still too angry to talk to you now." Due to their proximity, Cloud could sense Reno trembling with barely suppressed emotion.

Cloud sighed as he clasped his hands to reduce the drag of the metal cuffs on his wrists. Given that his arms had to encircle Reno's waist before his hands could be brought together, he was grateful for Reno's trim waistline. "You do realize that what you're doing now is almost criminal, don't you?" Fuming silence. "We certainly drew a lot of weird looks from the folk back in that town, thanks to you."

"That's what you get for that stunt you tried to pull this morning," snarled Reno, his voice tight with fury. "That's what you get for trying to run away…"

"You said I could go anywhere I like…"

"… without me!" finished Reno heatedly. Ah, now that's the whole crux of the matter, isn't it? "Where would you be now if I hadn't taken the precaution to equip myself with a Reflect Materia?"

"I admit it was sneaky of me to try a sleep spell on you…"

"Try that one more time, and I will break your legs."

"Um…" Cloud could tell that Reno was not making an empty threat. The Turk sure had a psychotic way of showing his affections. Maybe all the Turks were like that. "Don't you think that's a rather extreme punishment for someone who just wants to grant you a good night's sleep?"

"Good night's sleep my ass!"

"You're right. You are still too angry to talk to me right now." Cloud tried to settle himself in a more comfortable position. He was not used to being a passenger, as well as a prisoner, on his own motorbike. "Where are we going?"

"As far as I'm concerned, our destination hasn't changed." Reno's voice took on a dangerous note. "Don't tell me… All your previous talk about wanting to go to the Forgotten City was only meant to mislead me." The period of silence that followed was incriminating enough. "You sneaky bastard!"

"No, I really do want to visit the City of the Ancients. Just, maybe, not immediately… so that you wouldn't find me."

"You're bringing the concept of 'anti-social' to a whole new level, you know that?" growled Reno irritably. "What is wrong with you? Why are you treating me like some gum on your shoe that you couldn't wait to scrape off?"

Cloud had no answer to that. He knew he would hurt Reno, and continue to hurt the man, no matter what he did. He wanted to spare Reno some of that, but apparently his efforts weren't appreciated in the least. He let his mind wander and something about their current situation brought back memories that made him chuckle.

"What's so funny?" Reno snapped, indignant.

"It's just… I'm getting a sense of déjà vu here. Aren't you?"

Cloud recalled the first time he met Reno; the time when circumstances had forced him to become well acquainted with the brash and stubborn redhead. It was during a time when his strength and agility had not yet been enhanced by Hojo's experiments; when he had been nothing more than a tool to be used against Zack. He was Zack's biggest weakness; a weakness that was most easily exploited. Reno was his kidnapper then, and the two of them had unwittingly forged a bond while journeying to the rendezvous with his other teammates.

"Heh… the difference now is that there's no one coming to rescue you this time."

"That, and the fact that I can now kick your butt ten times over without breaking a sweat." Reno was wrong about one detail. Zack hadn't 'rescued' him that time. Reno had let him go. The redhead was either too embarrassed to admit it or he had genuinely forgotten. Somehow, Cloud doubted that he had forgotten.

"Those are mighty big words coming from you, Shorty."

It had been a long time since Reno had last used that nickname on him. During his days as Reno's captive, it was nigh impossible to get Reno to call him by his real name. That man had no shortage of derogatory terms to be used on anyone who wasn't a fellow Turk. "You know I can easily free myself should I choose to do so. These handcuffs can't hold me."

"They're not what's holding you here. I am." The redhead sounded… smug. There was no other way to describe it. "Trying to free yourself now would mean having to injure me to do it. And you can't, can you?"

Cloud was glad that, due to the way their bodies were positioned, Reno wouldn't be able to witness the flush that was creeping up to his face. "Don't tempt me."

"Ooh… I'm quaking in my boots."

"I hate you."

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A/N: Hmm. I should really rename this fic 'The one-shot that had blown out of proportion'. Gaah, when is this story going to end? I wish to take this opportunity to thank my wonderful reviewers (yes, all two of you). Till next time then.