Chapter 24 – Loss

When Zack had first arrived in Midgar, all those years ago, he had gotten lost. But who could blame him, when the enormous steel labyrinth of a city was unlike anything he had ever seen before? While there was the general sense that he should make his way towards the striking tower rising from the center of the maze, that task turned out to be easier said than done. The streets followed such crooked paths that Zack could hardly recognize left from right, up from down, and every turn seemed to lead him around in awkward circles. After several hours of aimless wandering, the young man found himself sitting on a grimy sidewalk in the middle of Sector Eight (or at least what he thought was Sector Eight), wondering if by coming here, he had just made the biggest mistake of his entire life.

But then, out of the blue:

"Hey. Do you need some help?"

For his first instinct, Zack could remember being indignant, like any other bratty teenager with a proud streak. Luckily, he also remembered what his mother said to him before he left. Try not to be too foolish. So, he had replied, "Yeah, man," with a sheepish grin. "Know how to get to Shinra Tower?"

The stranger that had approached him appeared to be around the same age – late teens – and had honeyed-brown hair that poked out in small tufts from beneath a battered blue baseball cap. His eyes were friendly, and without any of the judgement that Zack cautiously expected from city people. And when the guy responded, he did so with a kind smile.

"Sure thing. Headed there myself, actually. I'm guessing you're signing up for SOLDIER, too?"

Zack blinked, surprised. "How did you know?"

A shrug. "Your bag tells me you're not from here, and every guy not from here tries out for SOLDIER."

Briefly, Zack shot a glance down at his backpack, an old thing that had been stitched together with various patches of grey. He did not think it looked that bad, maybe a little worn, but certainly nothing that screamed poor country-bumpkin. He reached down to lift the bag and hoist it over his shoulder. "Or maybe you're just telepathic," he commented.

"Not telepathic," the stranger replied. "Just observant."

"Well then, Observant," said Zack, putting on his most charming smile. "The name is Zack Fair. Future SOLDIER Hero."

The man laughed, again without any sign of condescension or disbelief. It did not sound like it was out of indulgence either. There was a genuine niceness reverberating in the warm tones. Zack liked that a lot.

"Okay then, Zack," the guy said. "Nice to meet you. I'm Kunsel."

That brief exchange had occurred a lifetime ago, in a world that felt much simpler, much easier, more black and white. But despite all that had happened and all that had changed, one of the few things that had remained the same was how much Zack relied on Kunsel. He could count the moments on the fingers of a single hand in which his friend's advice had (not purposefully, because of course there had been those more-than-occasional pranks) led him astray. When he needed study help during the SOLDIER training program, back-up on a mission, support after Genesis and Angeal's desertion, a friendly face upon his return to Midgar, Kunsel had been right there. Without the man's support, the attack on the Sector One Reactor would not have gone as perfectly as it did – a truth that even Barret begrudgingly had to concede.

And so armed with similar information now, as Zack, Jessie, and Barret traversed the steel corridors leading into the heart of the Sector Five Reactor, there was no reason to assume that anything would go differently.

In fact, the night had started out just as planned. As reported, there were six Shinra troopers positioned near the train station, all easily dispatched by one of Jessie's well-timed smoke bombs. Then, there were a handful of Third Class SOLDIERs (an uptick in the level of resistance, but that was to be expected) waiting in the outer rooms of the reactor, but even with the advantage of numbers, they were no match for Zack. Throughout the hallways, the cameras and automated mechs were easily disabled using Kunsel's intel, and all the doors opened with the access codes he had provided. Even the escape route that Wedge and Biggs had stayed behind to secure was located exactly where the schematics said it would be. Once again, the uncomplicated execution left Zack sitting somewhere between exhilarated and anxious. But maybe because the last mission had gone so well – and maybe because he still, deep down, was an optimist at heart – there also simmered a different feeling. It was something good, something natural, a small echo of what he once had as a carefree Second Class, running monster-hunting missions with the kind of bravado that only came with the belief that the world was on his side, with the confidence that everything, including his farfetched dreams of being a hero, would turn out alright.

Zack supposed that he really should have known better by now.

"One more, and we should be in mako storage," Jessie said, her fingertips flipping on the computer screen. The three of them were standing at the edge of a square metal room, the last in a series of identical spaces that they had been running through for the past half-hour. Just like the ones that came before it, the walls were windowless and lined with grey steel, and on the north and south sides there were two sliding metal doors, each with computer terminals perched beside them. Jessie stood in front of one such terminal now, typing away at the keyboard with the list of memorized access codes, while Zack waited behind her, watching the numbers and letters dance over the screen. Meanwhile, Barret was scanning the corners of the ceiling for any lingering mechs or cameras. All night, the gunman had performed this check, though as far as Zack could tell, he had yet to find anything, at least beyond the level of security that Kunsel had reported there would be.

That did not the stop the man from being wary or impatient anyway. After another second of glancing at a door that refused to open, Barret interjected, "What's taking so long?"

Jessie's brow was furrowed, but not in the way it would be when she was tinkering with her bomb designs or playing a game of darts with Wedge. "Not sure," she replied. "For some reason, the codes that Zack's SOLDIER friend gave us aren't working."

"What?"

Zack stepped forward. "You sure you typed them in right?"

"Yeah, I'm sure, I—"

She did not get a chance to finish.

It happened fast. Suddenly, the right wall collapsed, revealing two lines of Shinra troopers – their guns pointed straight at them. Zack barely had a moment for the recognition to hit (It's a trap!) before the bullets began flying. Quickly, he leapt in front of Jessie and Barret and flung up a haphazard Barrier. Each shot pounded loudly against the magic, like ceaseless marching drums, and it was all Zack could do to focus, to keep his ears from popping underneath the stress. Over his shoulder, Jessie screamed, and Barret yelled out a continuous string of curses, even as he ducked in and out of the protective spell to fire back at their attackers in short bursts.

"Get that door open! Now!" Barret demanded.

Jessie's fingers were zooming over the keyboard. "I'm trying! I'm trying!"

But it was to no avail. No matter what she typed, the screen continued to blink red. Passcode incorrect. Please try again. She slapped the side of the terminal in frustration.

A sinking feeling started to grip Zack's gut. What happened? Why aren't these codes working? Did Kunsel – no, he wouldn't. He wouldn't! But he knew better than to let himself succumb to those thoughts now. The focus had to be on surviving the next moment, and the rest could wait until later.

"We have to turn back," Zack said. He could hardly hear himself over the chaos, his voice straining with the effort to break through. "We have to retreat."

At that, Barret grunted something that sounded like a No, although once the first wave of gunshots began to fade and were immediately supplanted by the explosions of several grenades, his protest became much less insistent. Zack did his best to keep the Barrier charged around them, his right arm aching from the mana pulsing through it. His eyes drifted over to the other side of the room, to the door they had just come through minutes before. Though it was only a several feet away, the distance to it felt like a yawning chasm. But the keycodes they possessed had managed to open that door before, and their only hope was that they would do so again.

"Jessie," Zack called, insisted. "Jessie! C'mon!"

The young woman paused, her gaze flickering between the keyboard, Barret, the door in front of them and the door behind them, as if contemplating which direction, which choice to make. Then, she stepped away from the terminal and drew her gun.

"Cover me," she said.

Zack nodded. He lifted his left hand and used it to power up a lightning spell. The electricity crackled forward, breaking the disciplined formation of the attacking Shinra troopers, and in that sliver of an opening, both Barret and Jessie made their moves. The gunman unleashed an onslaught of bullets of his own, mowing down some of the men that dared inch closer. And Jessie ducked her head and darted quickly to the other side.

A single glance in her direction, to make sure that she did make it to the terminal, was all Zack could spare before the next rush hit. From behind the line of troopers, a new enemy emerged – a Sweeper, imposing in both its speed and its size. The sharp blades attached to the end of its arms whirred loudly, and that noise was the only warning Zack and Barret received before it charged. The former SOLDIER responded by instinct: in a split-second, he quickly dismissed his weakening Barrier (years of fighting Scarlet's mechs had given him enough experience to surmise that the spell would not have survived the blow) and pulled the other man to the ground with him, just barely avoiding what would have certainly been a premature, and very bloody beheading.

"Goddamn it!" cursed Barret again.

Zack himself swallowed the urge to swear. There just was no time to. Instead, he rolled over, drawing his sword in a fluid motion, and used the lower vantage point to strike at the Sweeper's leg. The now unbalanced machine crashed into the wall, and before it could lash out again, he followed up with another blast of lightning. In the close proximity, the magic made his teeth chatter and the hair on his skin stand on edge, but it was well worth the discomfort to see the mech shudder and shake, and then finally collapse into a heap of disjointed parts.

One down, he thought.

And for a moment, the echoes of a prior fight, in a dirt-covered town square, against three inhumane creatures, pounded straight through him. The memory left Zack suddenly breathless, his muscles tight, his chest aching, and it took a second for him to blink away the flash, to recenter on the present, to remember where he was.

It was one second too long.

Barret's voice cut through the fog.

"Jessie!"

"Ah!"

The screams of pain came first, before the recognition of the bullet holes dotting her thighs, her chest. When Zack turned to look, to witness, Jessie was sinking to her knees, her hands somehow still clinging onto the sides of the terminal for purchase. Time seemed to slow right then, but even with that, Zack found that he could not move, could not react. All he could feel were the senses of his own body: the grip on his blade wetting with sweat; the sounds of Barret scrambling to stand upright, firing more shots and more swears at the troopers remaining; and the sight of Jessie, blood pouring from her wounds, somehow still pushing, still pulling her torso up, still fumbling around to press a few more keys – all to open the door on the other side of the room, for their freedom, for their escape, for their lives.

"Go!" she yelled.

Despite the danger, Barret's response was immediate: "Not without you!"

For some reason, that made Jessie laugh. She turned over, rested against the computer terminal, reached into the pack strapped on her leg and pulled out three grenades. "Sorry, Boss," she said. "I think you're gonna have to let me call the shots on this one."

There was no time for further discussion. The final few troopers moved again, but now, Jessie moved faster. Her explosions flew, one after the other, and in the fire, in the chaos, in the smoke, Zack was once again reminded of a time that he had to run and keep running, even though the world felt like it was collapsing around him. He hated it. He hated this feeling. He hated losing people even more.

But because he knew there was no other way, because he was beginning to think that this – running, losing, failing – might be all that he was good for, Zack stood up, grabbed the straps of Barret's vest and ran.

He did not stop to breathe, not even when his eyes met Jessie's briefly (she smiled at him, fondly, thankfully, just like Angeal had, why do they always do that, did Cloud do that too?) as they passed her and left her, not even when they rendezvoused with Biggs and Wedge and had to stop both of them from dashing straight back for her (body). And Zack kept moving, dragged the others with him, because he recognized that if he did not, the pieces of him would break all was only after they had sprinted through the escape route and emerged out into the streets of Sector Five that he finally relented, finally breathed. But even then, there was no relief. When the night air hit his face, Zack found that it tasted too bitter, from far more than just the faint stench of mako.

The night did not end there.

No one said a word about Jessie the entire journey back, though they had to take more than a few detours. Sector Five was crawling with Shinra Public Security, and a few of the central areas had some Second and Third Class SOLDIERs lurking in the corners. The heightened surveillance only confirmed Zack's earlier suspicion: it had to have been a trap. Shinra had been waiting for them in the reactor. They had used Avalanche's own complacency to lure them in and then struck in such a way to deliver maximum impact. They were still waiting for them now, in the streets outside the reactor, to pluck them from the crowd. It was only due to a combination of sympathy from some pro-Avalanche bystanders and clever planning on Biggs's part that the four of them managed to sneak their way back into the train tunnels and obtain the motorbikes that they had carefully stashed away there. And yet, though the ride back to Sector Seven was relatively smooth from that point forward, the silence over what had just happened, over who they had just lost, lingered on.

("Welcome to the Avalanche family, Zack.")

They did not have to explain anything to Tifa either, because it turned out that she already knew. She was waiting for them on the steps of Seventh Heaven, her arms wrapped around her body as if to brace herself from another blow. But her presence, the mournful way her lips were pressed so tightly together, somehow, those were not the details that caught Zack's attention. Instead, his eyes were transfixed on the person standing beside her – a red-headed young woman that he had not seen in the longest time.

"Cissnei," Zack said.

The Turk was not dressed as a Turk, which was probably just as well. Cissnei had donned an unimposing skirt and sweater, and at her feet was a beat-up brown bag, packed as if for a weekend trip. (She's leaving. Why? Why?) However, even in the casual attire, her stance stayed rigid and disciplined, like her body was trying its best to hold itself together.

"Zack," she responded. And then, swiftly, directly, just as she always had been, "We need to talk."

"Hold on a second," Barret interrupted. "Sorry, miss, but we're in the middle of—"

Tifa stepped in. "Barret, let them go. I'll explain," she said, and there was something in the simplicity of her statements, like sharp staccato notes, that chimed the alarm bells in Zack's mind. It did not help that sadness trembled in every syllable she spoke, it did not help that regret danced in her eyes. It also did not help that when she brushed past Zack and touched his shoulder, she whispered, almost involuntarily:

"Zack…I'm so sorry."

It was only a few minutes later, after Tifa had led Barret, Biggs, and Wedge into the bar to drown their sorrows, after Cissnei motioned for Zack to follow her down the familiar roads back to the slums of Sector Five, that he learned why.

"Kunsel is dead."

At first, Zack thought that Cissnei was joking. That the universe was playing a cruel prank on him. That at any moment, Kunsel was going to open a random trap door somewhere, pop his helmeted head out, and say, Ha! I got you, all the while grinning as widely as he did back when they had ruled those hallways of the SOLDIER floor. But the problem was that they were no longer shielded by the false comfort of that Tower. Now, Zack was standing on some dirt road in Sector Five, with Cissnei in front of him, small and solemn in her sweater. She looked like she had been crying – red rimming the bottom of her eyes, the dusty specks of black mascara marring the tops of her cheeks.

(Were they close? Did they become close? How had he not noticed that before?)

He found that he could not respond to her statement, not right away, so Cissnei continued, words spilling out like a flood breaking through a levee. Said that Shinra suspected there was a traitor in SOLDIER after Nibelheim. Said that Kunsel had been under surveillance due to his close relationship with Zack. Explained that she had warned him, told him to stay low, to wait until the suspicion had faded. But Kunsel did not listen. He kept digging, kept fighting, kept trying to ferret out evidence and information, and Shinra used that tenacity to their advantage. Following the first reactor explosion, they knew a repeat performance by Avalanche would come, and they laid the groundwork to catch the traitor in the act. They planted false information, and once Kunsel was caught passing it along, it was only a matter of time. In the end, Turk or not, there was nothing Cissnei could do, except watch as Heidegger and Scarlet had ordered a few other SOLDIERs to corner him, had him dragged into some dark room, had his helmet ripped off, and had him shot right in the head.

"I called his family," Cissnei said, her head bowed to hide the fresh tears. "Told them he died in an accident, on a mission. He had a sister who just gave birth to a baby boy. He was to go see them when he took leave next month."

Zack knew that he was supposed to be listening, and a part of him was registering every word the redhead spoke, locking it away in a box so that he could torture himself with the details later. But the rest of him was already in the process of digging through the old memories. Kunsel helping him navigate the floors of Shinra tower. Kunsel telling him to avoid the barista at the stand in the lobby, because she was the type to spit in your coffee if you so much looked at her wrong. Kunsel organizing his mission schedule so that Zack could fit in learning from Angeal while still keeping up with the normal SOLDIER training regimen.

Kunsel, dragging his ass out of bed, shoving him in the shower, making him eat breakfast, telling him to go see Aerith, in the week following his mentor's death.

Cissnei was holding back her sobs, trying to steady her shaking hands. "I'm sorry, Zack. I would have tried, I—"

"Enough, Cissnei," Zack said. His voice sounded sharper than he meant it to, and it hurt even coming out of his own throat. "Just – it's enough."

It was not, and they both knew it. But as they continued walking, down the road that led to the church, they pretended it was anyway. From the bottom of the steps and through the slightly open door, Zack could see Aerith crouched over her flowerbed, whispering something as she stroked a petal. At that sight, and just for the briefest of moments, he was filled with incorrigible rage. Was this destiny at play? Would Kunsel have been better off had Zack been the one to lose his life? Would Cloud? It was hard to tell, when everyone was dead or dying, when Sephiroth was gone doing Gaia-knows-what, and when all that remained was Zack, confused, naive, stupid Zack, completely unsure now of what role he was supposed to play in this grand game that had swallowed their lives. It was ridiculous. It was not fair.

Was this the price to pay for defying his fate?

Suddenly, Cissnei reached up and touched his arm. "I should have said this earlier," she began, fishing into the pocket of her skirt. "I managed to go through Kunsel's things before they threw them away. He left something for you."

The redhead dropped it into his palm. It was a key, just like the one Kunsel had handed to Zack weeks ago in a crowded Wall Market bar.

She continued, "There was a note too. Something about—"

"The lockers in the gym," Zack finished.

Cissnei looked at him. "I really am sorry, Zack."

"Yeah," he replied. "Me too."

She started to step away. Zack grasped her hand to stop her. His eyes flickered to the bag looped over her shoulder. He now understood its purpose.

"Be careful," he said, begged.

I can't lose you, too.

Again, she looked at him. Somehow, a tiny smile curled over the corner of her lip. "Okay," Cissnei promised, and squeezed his hand.

He waited until her retreating form vanished down the curve of the road before starting the short climb up the stairs of the church. When Zack pushed open the door, Aerith turned to face him. In her eyes, in her brow, the tiny expressions were all there: surprise to relief to happiness to recognition to sorrow to regret, and at the end of it, her hand pulled away from the flower, as if abruptly burned by its touch.

"Zack," Aerith began.

The anger returned, quickly, unexpectedly, and though he knew that it was not her fault, the words barreled out before he even recognized their meaning. "How much more?" Zack asked, striding forward. He could see her fear building in her body, her shoulders tensing, was sick at himself for even making her feel this way, but he could not bring himself to stop, not now. It was too much. It was far too much.

"How much more is this going to take?" he asked.

"I —"

"How many more people have to die to make up for my life?"

Aerith's eyes were bright with tears. "I don't know," she confessed. "I don't know."

The uncertainty stung deep. Slowly, softly, Zack bowed his head. The question he had been asking all his life, as a boy growing up in a sleepy village, as a teenager who had dreamed of strength and honor and glory, as a young man who had fought too many battles and lost too many friends, climbed from him.

"Am I really worth all this?"

Angeal. Cloud. Jessie. Kunsel. Four lives too many. And for what? Zack was not the strongest. He was not the smartest. He was nothing. Modeoheim, Nibelheim, and the Sector Five Reactor proved that much.

But even so, Aerith walked toward him, walked into him, and wrapped her arms tightly around his torso.

"Yes," she said, unequivocally, with all the conviction she could hold. "Yes, you are."

("I'd choose being alive with you.")

Once upon a time, Zack would have done as he had twice before: fall to his knees in the center of this small paradise and cried as she held him. But now, he had no more tears to give, and this patch of wonderous life in the middle of a dying steel city had begun to feel more and more like a suffocating cage.

"It hurts," he whispered into her hair.

"I'm so sorry, Zack. I'm sorry."

"I couldn't do anything. I can't do anything. People keep dying, and I can't stop it."

Aerith squeezed him tighter. Her fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt. "I love you," she said.

He closed his eyes. There was a time when that would have been enough. Back then, he had a simple life, with a dream. He thought he knew what would happen next. He would marry this girl. He would become a SOLDIER hero. And now, everything had slipped away. He was not a hero, not even close. He probably never would be. He had killed Angeal. He had let Cloud die. He could not save Jessie. He pushed Kunsel to his death. The bodies were piling higher and higher around him, forming walls that he could no longer see over. Perhaps he would be trapped by them forever. Perhaps that was the price he had to pay. Perhaps this was his new destiny.

If it was, could he even fight it?

Did he even have a choice?

It took him a few silent seconds. But eventually, Zack lifted his arms, completed the embrace, let the warmth of Aerith wash over his body and start to calm the anger and the grief.

"I love you, too."

He meant it. He did. Though every limb in his body seemed to ache, Zack kept still, let Aerith hold him. Because he knew the painful truth: that he had to keep going, to ensure that it all would not have been in vain. The weight of the sword on his back was a constant reminder. Angeal had trained him. Aerith had chosen him. Jessie had welcomed him. Kunsel had believed in him. And, in what seemed like ages ago, so had Sephiroth and Cloud. Zack could not stop. He could never stop. Not until it was all over. Not until he paid them back fully for all they had given him. If it would take the last of his sanity, if it would take the rest of his life, if it would take his life, then Zack would give it. There was no other option.

He reached into his pocket, clutched the key, the final piece of an old friend.

("The name is Zack. Future SOLDIER Hero."

A laugh.

"Okay then, Zack. Nice to meet you. I'm Kunsel.")

And then, years later:

("I can't think of anyone better to be the hero, than you.")

In the wake of his broken dreams, that statement, that belief, however false or true – it was all that Zack now had left.

"Get up."

Muffled noises, buried underneath piles of pillows. Then, "No."

"Zack."

"Go away."

A pause. Suddenly, the curtains were thrown open and the sheets were pulled off his body. The air in the room was cold enough to tickle his toes.

"Kunsel, fuck you."

"No, Zack. Fuck you. Get up and go shower."

He stared hard at the other man, cursed the day he gave Kunsel the spare key, even though he knew it was necessary because of his bad habit of locking himself out of his apartment. But still, Kunsel continued to look at him the same way he always did. There was concern, there was worry, there was care, but there was no judgment, even though the room smelled like dusty air, even though Zack hadn't done the dishes in days, even though he had spent the last week since returning from Modeoheim holed up in his bed, ignoring all texts, ignoring all calls, ignoring everything in this cruel and unfair world.

The eyes softened. "Zack," Kunsel said. "I'm here to help."

Zack breathed. Sunlight was flickering in from the window. It looked like the weather was going to be nice today, not too hot, not too cold. That was a small start.

Slowly, he sat up.

"Yeah, Kunsel. Thanks."

The next day, after sleeping in far past what was acceptable, Zack and Aerith made their way to Wall Market. The afternoon was warm, and the town was abuzz with people partaking in the wares or grabbing brunches and coffees in an attempt to recover from the prior night's festivities. As they walked, Aerith kept her fingers intertwined with his, a gentle pressure, a soft promise. Similarly, Zack's left hand remained buried in his pocket, folded around the key, as if afraid that if he let go, he would lose it.

The gym was busy, grunts and pants and music from earbuds ringing in the space. Zack moved through the bodies and made a beeline to the back, to the locker indicated by the number on the key: one-hundred and sixty-five. It was on the bottom level, and he had to crouch down to push the key into the slot, but when he finally finagled the lock and swung open the door, Zack had to stifle the groan that nearly broke out of him.

"It's empty?" Aerith said, the surprise evident in her tone.

Zack frowned. This was unlike Kunsel. They must have missed something, or something must have gone wrong or –

"Hey, are you Zack Fair?"

They looked up. A man in a blue body-builder suit, with curly hair that was only partially tamed by a sweatband, stood in front of them. His expression was friendly, albeit curious and maybe a bit apologetic. "Sorry, the name is Jules. I own the gym." he explained, lifting his hands in a disarming fashion.

That motion was enough to remind Zack to relax, the tension rolling out of his shoulders. "Hi," he replied. "Yeah. I am. I'm Zack."

Jules smiled. "Oh good. Your friend said you'd be stopping by to collect the things from his locker. I have them behind the front desk."

"You have them?"

There was a bit of laughter, followed by a shrug. "I was a little weirded out myself. Renting a locker and then asking the front desk to keep an eye out for anyone who came by to open it, and to only give his stuff to a guy with dark, spikey hair and a giant sword. Your friend was right though. That I'd know you when I'd see you."

Zack and Aerith exchanged a look. That extra layer of planning, now that did sound like Kunsel. That fact tugged at his chest, but Zack swallowed the feeling, stood up and followed Jules, who had ducked behind the desk to pull out a small, black duffel bag.

"Whatever's in here must have been pretty important, if he wanted to make sure it only got to you," Jules noted.

Zack grasped the straps, pulled the bag over his shoulder. It felt a little heavy, like it contained a compact, dense object. Odd. But they would find out what it was soon enough.

He dropped the key on the desk, registered the clink it made as it hit the wood.

Like a goodbye.

Aerith reached for his hand.

"Yeah," Zack said. "Thanks for your help."

"No problem."

They left shortly thereafter, briefly stopping for a bite to eat, and then returned to the comfort and privacy of Aerith's house. Elmyra had gone out to do some shopping, and in the shady space of the kitchen, Zack unzipped the bag. There was only one thing inside: a camera, black and about the size of his hand. It appeared relatively new, with the gloss of a fresh piece of technology, and as he turned it over, he recognized the model as one of the fancy digital types that littered the front stands of the electronic stores in Sector Eight.

"A camera?" questioned Aerith. "Does that have any special meaning?"

Zack shrugged. He was not much of a photo enthusiast. Neither was Kunsel, really, but the man always said that pictures and videos were excellent pieces of information, that an image could capture so much more than even the most well-written reports.

"Maybe we're supposed to view the pictures," he said.

Aerith stepped closer. She scanned the back of the device for a few seconds, before lifting a finger and flicking a switch on the top right. The screen of the camera blinked to life, glowing a soft blue, and at the center was a green play button, indicating that what they were now viewing was a video of some kind. Currently, the image remained frozen on a doorway, one that Zack had seen before, though only in very brief bursts: the entrance to the Shinra Science Department, to the exam rooms that SOLDIERs traditionally reported to for their injections.

Anticipation lodged in Zack's throat.

"Is that in the Tower?" Aerith asked.

Quietly, he nodded. Zack did not like where this was going. Normally, SOLDIERs had to leave their PHSs and any other electronics or weapons behind before their appointments. A precaution, they had been told, in case of any adverse reactions to the mako. But he knew now that the rule was really in place in order to help maintain Shinra's tight hold on any secrets the Department may have stashed away.

But of course, leave it to Kunsel to try and dig them out.

He pressed play. The video was blurry, sometimes obscured, as if the person who was taking it was trying their best to keep the presence of the recording device hidden. It walked them past the exam room door, further down the hall, deeper into the winding halls of the Science Department. Zack spotted tanks containing large beasts lining the walls, computer terminals dotting the random spaces, people in white laboratory coats flitting about left and right. Tiny specks of conversations were also caught by the muffled microphone, words centered on feeding specimens and finalizing data and writing laboratory reports. From what he could see or hear, it seemed like another typical day, if you could call a floor full of highly unethical experiments typical.

And then, there was a crash.

Call the protocol!

What happened?

Specimen C tried to escape again!

Zack almost missed it. The camera was moving so quickly, as if the hand holding it had started shaking. But the flash that darted through the screen was unmistakable. He had seen it so many times before, in training rooms, on missions. And even beyond the familiar movement, there was only one person on the Planet that owned those blond spikes.

"Oh, goddess," Aerith said, covering her mouth with both hands.

Zack hit pause. He put down the camera and pulled out his PHS. Automatically, he dialed the number he was looking for, waited until the trilling tones ceased, until the line on the other side clicked definitively in response.

"Hello?" Sephiroth answered.

For a moment, Zack wondered if this was even real, if he should even be doing this, if this was just another dash of false hope in a world that seemed fully intent on crushing such things. But then, he remembered that it was Kunsel who had given him this information, and that it was the last thing his friend had left him. That had to mean something. And if there was just a remote chance that this was even real–

His heart was beating so loudly, he hardly could hear himself speak.

"You need to come back to Midgar," Zack said. And then, before Sephiroth could reply, the real truth:

"Cloud is alive."