Hi everyone :) long time no talk. If you were wondering why I was gone for these past few months, then feel free to hop over to my twitter (lRand0mSmil3z) - I won't go into it here, but thank you all for being so patient :) It was so appreciated during these last couple months.
ALSO: Shoutout to silver-doe287 for beta'ing this chapter đź’™ Always much appreciated
Enjoy the chapter :)
Previously:
Cloud, Zack, Tifa, and Aerith made it out of the sewer system and train graveyard, only to bump into Cissnei, who was waiting for them at Seventh Heaven. She told them about Tseng's plans - aka, to use Zack to assassinate President Shinra - but also that Hojo was also looking for his two escaped research specimens.
Later that night, Cloud and Tifa stay in Tifa's apartment while Zack and Aerith stay in the apartment next door. Cloud and Tifa share the bed, and Cloud ends up telling Tifa that he's not a SOLDIER after all. At the same time, Aerith heals some of Zack's hurts.
Unbeknownst to the group, Elena recorded the entire conversation and immediately rushed to tell Tseng... only to run right into Tseng's meeting with Rufus.
All of Shinra's meeting rooms looked the same. Every single one had a large monitor mounted in the left-hand corner, an oval table that stretched from wall to wall, and far too many chairs than was necessary. Beyond the furniture, the lights had been set to their dimmest setting and the wallpaper sported the same dark, geometric motif. All of them even smelled the same; lemon-scented carpet cleaner haunted Reeve Tuesti's dreams, not to mention it irritated his allergies beyond belief. As he was the director of Shinra's Urban Development project and was invited to quite a few meetings, he usually spent his days taking as many antihistamines as the doctor permitted and trying not to let the dim lighting dampen his mood.
Unfortunately, while the dim lighting didn't sour his day, the actual meetings that occurred within the rooms did. Every meeting went the exact same way: his suggestions were ignored, his requests for additional funding fell on deaf ears, and his continuous reminders regarding the Sector One mako leaks and the Sector Seven gas leaks were omitted from the schedule. Really, he wasn't sure why he even bothered some days. It reached the point where he would find himself waiting for the morning train and wondering if he should simply… walk away. Find a new job. Turn over a new leaf, where there were actual leaves to be found instead of dusty valleys and dry riverbeds.
And yet every day without fail, he returned to his office. He attended the meetings. He reminded President Shinra about the needs of Sector One, Sector Seven, and all of the sectors that made up the great city of Midgar, because if he didn't, who would?
He was reconsidering that now.
Reeve sat stiffly in the mesh-backed meeting chair, his back straight and his gloved hands clasped neatly before him. Everything about him radiated professionalism: his hair was meticulously combed, his chinstrap beard was clean and sharp, and his suit had been recently steamed and tailored. If there was anything lacking about his image, it was that he had forgotten his briefcase - and with it, all of his urban improvement plans and approval forms - back in his office. He mentally kicked himself for such a grievous oversight. It wasn't that he was concerned about forgetting one of the projects, as he had perfectly memorized all of their subtle details, but that President Shinra would take note of his irresponsibility.
Judging from the President's clear look of disapproval, he had. Reeve resisted the urge to cringe, and instead he politely listened to the rest of Heidegger's elaborate - and in Reeve's opinion, ridiculous - report regarding Avalanche operations. If Heidegger was to be believed, Avalanche not only possessed hundreds of members but also had a direct supply line from Wutai, who was continuously sent them sensitive data regarding Shinra assets. This might have been believable a decade ago… except in that time, Wutai's uprising was crushed and their once-powerful ruler Godo Kisaragi had been reduced to little more than a figurehead.
Therefore, Wutai was most certainly not providing Avalanche sensitive information; they were far too busy trying to keep themselves afloat over mountains of debt and tariffs. Reeve knew this. Judging by Scarlet's distinctive eye roll, she also knew. Hojo did as well, and he let the room know by very obviously yawning and clicking his pen. Reeve could only hope that President Shinra knew as well.
Right as Heidegger was about to drag his Wutai conspiracy theory into the realm of religion, the President gently cleared his throat. It was a subtle sound, but it had an instant affect; Heidegger went silent, Hojo stopped clicking his damn pen, and Reeve sat up even straighter than before. The only one who didn't seem affected was Palmer, who continued to loudly slurp chamomile tea from a comically petite tea cup.
"So." The President's voice was little more than a rumble, yet it somehow managed to dominate the room. Looking at Heidegger, he slowly enunciated, "What you're telling me is that despite Avalanche's alleged size, connections, and location within Midgar… you haven't uncovered a single agent?"
President Shinra's voice dripped with malice, and Heidegger visibly paled beneath his thick military coat. Sweat glistened on his brow. He stammered, "Well, sir, you have to understand that the bounty -"
"I don't have to understand anything," the President interrupted. "Fix this."
It was then that Scarlet uncrossed her legs and cleared her throat, which drew the President's ire towards her. "May I propose a suggestion?" she offered, and at his sharp nod, she turned to Heidegger and said, "Heidegger, you said that you've had trouble finding Avalanche forces because they are so deeply integrated in the slums. Is that correct?"
Heidegger's thick eyebrows furrowed. "Yes," he said, sounding entirely unsure of himself.
"And I also recall you saying that the bounty, which you had implemented and our esteemed Professor Hojo is financially backing, has also been… fruitless?"
Heidegger frowned in obvious displeasure. He did not like his failings aired publicly - or privately, for that matter. "Fruitless is a strong term," he practically growled. "My men just need more time."
"Of course they do," Scarlet diplomatically replied, and then she turned to the President. "So, this is my suggestion. Instead of hunting them beneath the plates, where we have a distinct disadvantage, what if we instead force them out into the open? What if we flush them out?"
Her words hung in the room as if suspended by wires. Reeve's eyes widened in horror when he realized what she was implying, but the President merely looked unimpressed. "How?" Shinra demanded.
Scarlet smiled, and Reeve's stomach knotted at the cruelness of her expression. "Simple, actually." She leaned back in her chair, and her scarlet dress pooled around her like blood. "We drop one of the plates."
And with that, the room went silent. Reeve could hear the air conditioner humming through the vents as his heartbeat thudded in ears, heavy and frantic. Drop the plate? he mentally echoed. But that would kill hundreds… no, more than that, thousands would die…
"Of course," Hojo suddenly said. His gray eyes gleamed behind his owlish spectacles. "Yes, that would work splendidly."
The President turned to him. "Explain," he demanded, and Hojo's expression brightened further. There were few things Hojo enjoyed more than explaining things, especially to those that he deemed inferior to himself - which was, namely, everyone.
Hojo asked, "Have you heard of the monster called Kelzmelzer?"
"No."
"I see." Hojo leaned forward, his hands splayed across the dark wood table. "Well, the Kelzmelzer is a large insect that lives in the southern woodlands. Understand that I normally I do not care for the Monsteria Hexopada Insecta - the insectoid monster class, for those of you that do not know - but for the Kelzmelzer I have made an exception. Yes, it is quite the remarkable specimen. Quite remarkable," he repeated in obvious glee.
From across the table, Scarlet glanced at Reeve and, once she had his attention, pointedly rolled her eyes. For as much as Hojo enjoyed explaining obscure concepts, Scarlet equally hated listening to him ramble.
"Now, what is fascinating about the Kelmelzer," Hojo continued, "is that unlike many members of the Insecta class, it does not hunt down or ambush its prey. Instead, it traps it. Yes… the traps laid out by the Kelmelzer are fascinating, and I have even took the liberty of implementing some of its -"
"Get to the point," the President interrupted. Like Scarlet, he also did not enjoy listening to Hojo ramble.
Irritation flickered across Hojo's expression, but it was gone the next moment. "If you insist," he said with far less enthusiasm. "As I was saying, the Kelmelzer hunts its prey by trapping them. More specifically, it sprays a potent poison into its prey's nest or burrow, which then either kills or smokes it out. There's more to the process of course, but either way, it is a highly effective tactic."
"Sounds rudimentary," Palmer scowled from across the table.
Heidegger, completely ignoring Palmer, surmised, "And you're saying that dropping the plate will have the same results. We need to poison Avalanche's nest to scatter them."
Hojo nodded and said, "Precisely." His glasses gleamed beneath the iridescent lights. "Based on Avalanche's previous reactions to perceived injustice, they will likely rally to both help the wounded and seek revenge. As the plate drop will come as a surprise to them, they will not have the time to properly prepare and - with an entire sector down - their supply chains will be upheaved. That means no communication from… Wutai," he sneered.
"And that is when we can round them up," Scarlet finished. "Avalanche will be ill-equipped, ill-prepared, injured, and at their weakest. It is the perfect time to strike."
"I see." The President leaned back in his chair with his hands clasped on the table. His expression wasn't particularly negative, which meant that he was actually rather pleased. "This does sound plausible."
Reeve nearly choked. "B - But sir," he managed to stammer, "think of the casualties. The deaths." Somehow he had ended up on his feet without realizing it, red in the face and his hands clammy with sweat. He couldn't believe they were seriously considering this. He couldn't believe that this needed to be said. "The destruction alone will cost millions - no, billions - and the sheer volume of lives lost would -"
"And?" the President interrupted.
The single word, uttered with a complete lack of inflection or emotion, echoed in the room like a gunshot. It ricocheted within Reeve's skull. It chipped away something vital. He suddenly found that he couldn't breathe; the air had left his lungs in a single whooshing exhale, and nothing had come to take its place.
"What do you mean, and?" Reeve asked, his voice little more than a whisper. "The sheer repercussions -"
The President waved his hand, completely dismissing Reeve's concerns. "If it's the rebuilding costs that are concerning, then I assure you that we have more than enough to cover the potential damage," he said. "You should know this by now."
"No, I understand that, but -"
"But what?"
Palmer lifted his tea cup with one pinky extended. "He's concerned that people are going to die," he explained.
"Horrifically," Reeve amended with a glance back towards President Shinra. "Horrifically and painfully die by the company that's sworn to protect them."
"And we are protecting them," the President reassured. "We are protecting them from the terrorist group Avalanche." Then, to Heidegger, he continued, "Make whatever preparations you need, but I want a plate dropped within the week."
Heidegger inclined his head, grinning all the while. "Consider it done."
Reeve wasn't sure if his heart was beating any longer. The air conditioning hummed; the lights buzzed with sharp white light; a moth fluttered feebly against the monitor. He sat back down in his seat, feeling sick and lightheaded and knowing that within the week, thousands upon thousands of people were going to die. He couldn't save them. Like usual, his suggestions were set aside. Like usual, his protests were ignored.
Why did he even bother?
Why was he even here?
Heidegger's lip curled in a sneer. "The stench of the director's cowardice fills the room yet again," he said to Reeve before he turned back to the President with a much more pleasant expression. "Which plate?"
The President thought about it a moment, then replied, "Doesn't matter. Any of them. And employ the Turks," he added as somewhat of an afterthought. "Make sure they push all the blame onto Wutai. The war wasn't that long ago; the people can still be convinced that Wutai is a threat."
"Many of those people will be dead," Reeve managed to add.
"Yes, they will," the President replied. His expression was steel; his gray eyes were like stone. "And when Wutai is blamed for the tragedy, the survivors will have a scapegoat to blame."
"And Shinra will be even more powerful," Heidegger finished.
Scarlet turned to Hojo and said, "And maybe you'll finally get that specimen you've been wanting."
Hojo smiled, all teeth and sharp edges. "Perhaps I finally will."
Reeve only continued to stare at the table, his eyes wide but unseeing. He contemplated quitting on the spot. He contemplated going home right then and never coming back. He contemplated standing right back up, yelling at every single board member here, and forcing them to reconsider their plans.
Yet he couldn't do it. He continued to sit in his chair and stare blindly at the table, with his gloved hands clenched in his lap, wondering why he even attended these meetings when there wasn't anything he could do anyway.
Tseng hadn't slept the night before. Truth be told, he hadn't even tried to sleep. His mind buzzed with the weight of his responsibilities… and all of the moral dilemmas that came with it. He couldn't stop thinking about Rufus' quiet return from Junon, Cissnei's fondness for Zack and Cloud - no, for the specimens, he silently corrected - Elena's damning evidence, Reno and Rude's failure to keep Zack in check, and he still had to prepare for the pending assassination of President Shinra… Well, it came as no surprise that he wasn't able to quiet his mind. It felt like if he blinked, he would miss something vital; like if he didn't focus on every small detail that passed through his orbit, something would go horribly wrong.
Maybe something already had.
A small headache thrummed between his eyes, a firm reminder of how sleep-deprived he was. He knew full well that the adult body needed between seven to nine hours of rest a night, and if lacking that, he would begin to experience symptoms such as fatigue, faint tremors, and disordered thinking. The longer the body went without sleep, the worse the symptoms would get.
But I'm a Turk, he reminded himself as he poured coffee into his mug with bleary eyes and a trembling hand. I am the leader of the Turks… I don't have time to rest. He grabbed a packet of low-calorie sweeter from the nearby counter and dumped that into his cup, mentally rehearsing his busy schedule all the while, because at nine he had a meeting with -
His thoughts cut off abruptly as he realized that he did not pour sucralose into his coffee but he, in fact, poured in a packet of salt. It took him a full two seconds to process that reality. It took him another two seconds to dump the entire mug into the trash and rummage around his desk for a Remedy pill, a healing item that he normally reserved for missions in the field. Using a Remedy in the same way as a shot of espresso was certainly unconventional, but at that particular moment, he couldn't bring himself to care. If a Remedy could wake someone up after they were knocked unconscious by a spell or an ability, then it could certainly wake him up now.
At least, he certainly hoped so. Yet he had no time to ponder if there would be any unfortunate side-effects, for the moment he swallowed the pill dry, the phone suddenly rang. The shrill sound bounced against the walls and aggravated his headache, and for a moment, he considering not picking up. It wasn't like anyone could force him to answer the phone, after all. But that would only delay the inevitable, he reminded himself, so with a stifled sigh he picked up the receiver and held to his ear.
"… Tseng speaking," he said formally.
"Tseng." Rufus' light tone flitted through the speaker, as did the distinct deafening stutter of helicopter blades.
Tseng minutely straightened. "Sir."
The helicopter blades continued to whir in the background, and Rufus had to shout to make himself heard. "Regarding last night's meeting, I've put some thought into our… mutual predicament… and have come to a conclusion." He then paused, clearly waiting for Tseng to ask him what that conclusion could be. When Tseng didn't bite, he seamlessly continued, "I believe it is in our best interest to have Cissnei eliminated. For the sake of the company, of course."
And with that, world seemed to go incredible still. Not even the air conditioning seemed to rattle through the flimsy vents.
"Of course," Tseng heard himself echo.
"I'm glad we're in agreement," Rufus coolly replied. "As I am sure you very well know, we cannot have rogue Turk operatives working in the field. Trust is everything, Tseng. Being unable to trust the people working beneath you is detrimental to all involved parties, and that is a situation even Shinra cannot afford to have."
Tseng heard himself say, "I agree."
The helicopter sounds suddenly amplified through the speaker, and Rufus' next sentence was nearly swallowed by the resulting rush of wind. "Outstanding. Then as we are of one mind, I would like to have Cissnei retired from the Turks by noon today. I don't care how you do it, just make sure it gets done."
"I will," Tseng heard himself promise.
"Good. Then I will look forward to our meeting this afternoon, regarding our… second problem." Rufus then laughed, a humorless sound, before abruptly hanging up.
Tseng listened to the dull receiving tone long after that final click. It hummed in his ear like a swarm of flies until he slowly placed the receiver back onto its stand. A strange urgency had him sitting down at his desk; a strange song thrummed through his veins as he reached into the nearby drawer for his personal PHS. He had a hard time pinning down what emotion he felt, exactly. It wasn't adrenaline. It wasn't fear, dread, or nothing either.
Melancholy. The word fluttered through his mind, and Tseng immediately knew that it was the right word. It was melancholy that filled the quiet spaces within him as he flicked through his contact list; it was melancholy that weighed him down as he found Cissnei's entry; it was melancholy that filled him with quiet sorrow as his finger tapped her name and drew up her phone number. He knew what would happen if he called her number, and for a moment, he studied the simple nine-digit combination. Turks weren't supposed to allow their personal reservations to influence a mission. He knew that, yet he hesitated anyway.
And at that exact moment - right as his thumb, hovering over the dial icon, began to press down - his office phone rang yet again. The sound didn't startle him as he was used to being called at all hours of the day and night, but annoyance - and strangely enough, relief - flashed through his being.
He picked up the phone and said, "Tseng speaking."
"It's Heidegger," replied a deep, grating voice, and Tseng immediately knew that his day was about to become a whole lot worse. He wasn't wrong either, for Heidegger's next sentence was: "Per orders of the President, we are dropping the Sector Seven plate."
Not even Tseng could have predicted a sentence like that.
For a moment, his mind emptied. The world went still around him. His heartbeat thundered in his ears as he absorbed the weight of what Heidegger just said.
"May I ask why?" he finally replied.
"You may." Heidegger was clearly pleased at the deferral of authority. "We have reports that Avalanche is holed up in the slums, and the President has decided that dropping a plate on their heads may flush them out into the light. From there," he added with dark glee, "we'll stomp on them like the sewer rats they are."
Tseng's mouth tasted like ash, and he asked, "Why Sector Seven?"
"Because that bastard Corneo has stopped responding to our questions about the bounty," Heidegger grumbled. "Though, he did mention right before he went dark that one of his men disappeared in Sector Seven, only to reappear again in Wall Market. We're assuming that Avalanche captured them during that period, so that's where we're dropping the plate."
Tseng wasn't sure he followed that skipping logic - it was far more likely that the bounty hunter stopped by a bar and drunk themselves into oblivion, as seemed to be their habit - but then again, typical logic didn't apply to the board of directors. He wasn't paid to voice his opinions anyway, unless they requested it of him. He was only paid to carry out their requests.
"Any other orders, sir?" Tseng stiffly asked.
"No… Actually, yes," Heidegger amended. The sound of a clicking pen echoed through the receiver. "There is one more objective: Hojo has requested that you also find and capture his specimen, the one he referred to as 'C'. I trust you know what the hell he's talking about?"
The room seemed to dim a fraction. "I do, sir."
"Good. Then get it done." Heidegger's statement was punctuated by the distinct squeal of an ungreased office chair swiveling in place. "I expect to be kept updated as the mission progresses."
"Of course."
Heidegger loudly huffed, as if he was just confirming the obvious, before there was a dull click as he hung up. Once again, the dreary sound of a dial tone buzzed in Tseng's ears, and it was another moment longer before he finally set the phone down. Heidegger's orders bounced around his mind:
Per the orders of the President, we are dropping the Sector Seven plate.
One part of Tseng's mind was already working out the logistics on how to accomplish such a task: take a helicopter to the support beams, disengage the supporting locks, and let the plate's own weight bring it down. Yet another part of his mind was tumbling in on itself, folding into smaller and smaller pieces, wondering how he could push the task onto someone else.
And then he had a thought: if the Sector Seven plate drop was on President Shinra's orders, then would those orders be removed if the President was… disposed of?
He wondered.
Almost robotically, he reached for his personal PHS. Cissnei's contact information was still displayed on the screen, and this time he did not hesitate when dialing her number. No more delays; no more reminiscing; no more sleepless nights trying to keep track of everyone else's plots and ploys. It was his turn to act now.
It was time to get things done.
It was quiet in the labs. Normally the quiet wouldn't be such a strange thing, but Nanaki - labeled by Professor Hojo as Red XIII - knew better. This quiet was of the tense sort, the kind that could be expected before bad news or a sudden tempest of rain. It was the quiet he recalled from his humble village in Cosmo Canyon, moments before the Gi tribe invaded and…
… and he cut those thoughts off with a swift shake of his wolf-like head. Some things weren't meant to be dwelled upon, let alone live on in memory. Besides, he had relived the moment many times before, and each time the shame had nearly overwhelmed him. It was only the recollection that that moment had long since passed, and that he was no longer a member of his tribe but a research specimen, that brought him back to the present moment.
The silence was broken by Professor Hojo's sudden hum. Nanaki flicked his ears at the warbling, off-tune song as the professor strode across the lab, his back arched forward and his head sticking forward like a stork. He was also smiling, which had Nanaki's nerves catching. Hojo never hummed, and he certainly never smiled.
An omen, Nanaki decided. He continued to watch Hojo stride across the room, his head resting on his front paws and flame-tipped tail curled around him. Though Hojo's figure was warped and twisted through the curved glass cell, Nanaki could distinctly see his smile broaden as he reached one of the empty cages across the room. Unlike Nanaki's personal cage, this new container was slightly bigger. In fact, it was roughly human-sized, which had Nanaki's curiosity piquing. Clearly, Hojo expected another specimen to arrive soon, but what?
I hope it talks, Nanaki decided. Though he enjoyed the quiet, it could get awfully lonely when the quiet days stretched on and on without company. It would be nice to converse with a being with intelligence, for once. Preferably one that wasn't trying to biologically study him.
Then, without warning, Hojo suddenly glanced over his shoulder. For a moment Nanaki thought that the mad scientist was looking at him and his heart stuttered, his anxiety warbling, but then it became apparent that Hojo had turned towards the door. As if on cue it slid open, and two assistants dressed in white coats stumbled into the room.
Hojo's lip lifted in a sneer. "Finally," he said, and flippantly waved a hand towards the empty cell behind him. "This is the one. Have it cleaned and sterilized by the end of the day. I don't want any foreign matter to taint our newest specimen. It's a special one, as you know."
At the mention of specimen, one of the assistants - a young man with short black hair and an innocent face - suddenly lit up. "Have they already found it?" he asked, his expression eager. "I heard that the Turks were good an' all, but not that-"
He abruptly went silent as Hojo pierced him with a look. "Fool," Hojo spat. "Does it look like the specimen is here?"
"Er… well, no, but-"
Hojo cut him off with the wave of his hand. "No buts. I don't care what you think, or what flawed logic you possess that led you to your erroneous conclusion. Just do what you're good at - cleaning - and perhaps I'll consider letting you study the specimen once it arrives."
The young man had looked crestfallen at the harsh berating, but considerably brightened at Hojo's final sentence. "Yes sir," he quipped, and Hojo nodded before making his way back out of the room.
But not before he paused in front of Nanaki's cell. Nanaki could feel Hojo's stare boring into the top of his head, but he did not deign in necessary to even lift his eyes to confirm. Instead he merely flicked his tail, the absolute picture of boredom, but he did make a point to flex his claws so that their sharp points peeked through his rusty fur.
Hojo snorted at the display. "And be sure to clean this one's cell as well," he said as he continued on his way towards the door. "Fair warning though: it bites."
Nanaki was nearly insulted - he could do far more than simply bite - but the rush of fear on the two assistants' faces was more than enough to quell his sudden irritation. Good. They should be afraid of him.
He was beginning to get bored of the quiet anyway.
I hope that amply set the tone for this arc?
Anyway, even though I aim to update once a month, you can any schedule changes or chapter previews at my twitter (Rand0mSmil3z), everything is posted there first! Links to my Ko-Fi page can also be found there if you'd like to support my writing, but there's absolutely no pressure to do so - if you're enjoying the story, then I'm happy :)
