Hello! I hope you've all had a good weekend :)
As always, thank you so much for your kudos and comments - they're so appreciated and make my day every single time :)
So I have been looking forward to writing this particular chapter - or rather, one particular scene in this chapter - for a long time. I hope you all enjoy it when you get there :)
As always, thank you to silver_doe287 for beta'ing this chapter :) As always, your advice and feedback are wonderful
Enjoy :)
Sometimes, but not very often, Aerith would have the sudden urge to throw down all of her responsibilities and demand of the Planet, Why? The question was both specific and rhetorical, a wordless longing for answers she wasn't sure she wanted to hear. More questions would always follow: Why did this happen? How could you have allowed this? Why, why, why?
The first time she had asked had been when her biological mother had died. That day had been a blur, a shifting from metal walls to metal skies, a harsh rattling of train tracks that faded into her mother's quiet sigh when she had pitched forward, eyes open but unseeing, having given everything she could and then some. Aerith recalled how cold her mother's hands had been, how her knees had dug into the station's hard platform.
Why?
Years had passed and though she never received her answer, she also didn't wonder why as often as she had used to. Her days had become peaceful, just a series of spring mornings and summer evenings strung together like pearls on a wire. She had found a new routine, a new schedule. Morning health checkups, needle pricks, and mindless painting on the laboratory quarter's steel walls had been replaced by gardens, baking, and sunshine. The same people lingered on the roads, the same shops lined the street, the same how do you dos and have a nice days were exchanged when she had passed by. Every day had been the same.
Not that there was anything wrong with that, of course. In fact, Aerith had been grateful for the normality of it all even if she had simultaneously felt… stifled. After breathing stale air for so long her lungs ached for a cool breeze, a second wind, an adventure — and then one had crashed through the church roof. With their every meeting that feeling compounded until she had been struck by sudden clarity, a gasp of fresh air, a simple: Oh, here's an adventure I'll never tire of.
But then he had disappeared.
He had left without even as much as a goodbye, or even a gentle lie to soften the blow. She didn't quite remember when she had stopped thinking that he was simply busy and hadn't seen her message, to acknowledging that things were over and that they would never see each other again. It hadn't been a particularly heartbreaking or painful realization, but rather something else entirely: a feeling not unlike standing alone at the edge of the world, reaching out, and touching nothing at all. It had been a sense of emptiness that had her insides turning into shredded paper, a monochrome confetti that had nowhere to go but down, and that decades-old echo once again had begun whispering within her mind:
Why, why, why?
Why introduce him to her life only to take him away? —Him, who had created suns in her lungs and spun stars in her eyes; —Him, who navigated through her quirks and strangeness like she was a house he had grown up in, like he had instinctively known which hallways to roam, which rooms to keep shut, which windows to open and let the sunlight in. After he had left her, she had hunted for adventure not because she necessarily wanted to but because she felt like she had to, because if she didn't find something new — a new alley to explore, a new path to the upper plates, a new food she didn't recognize — then there would be nothing to distract her from the void yawning within her, that cataclysmic hole that had a name:
Zack.
Yet, for all of her distractions and forced routine, she couldn't stop herself from writing him letters. At first she told herself that she would only write ten, if only to obtain some closure for how he had left her, but when ten came and went and he still hadn't replied, she decided to write ten more. After some time had passed, she had decided that one hundred was the number to stop at — for real this time, no take backs, no changing her mind — and then on letter eighty-eight, a miracle happened:
Zack had returned.
When Tseng had told her it had felt like an answer to a prayer, like she had received an apology from the Planet itself. She had wanted to see him. She had been terrified to. She had decided to go see him anyway despite the fear because she knew that if she didn't, then she would regret it forever; because if there had been a reason he couldn't be bothered to message or call her for the past five years, then she felt like she at least deserved to know why.
How naive she had been.
While she had been writing letters and picking flowers for five years, he had been fighting for survival in some buried hell, desperate and frantic and unable to cry for help. So yes, he had returned to her, but he had returned in pieces, just a box full of loose parts with 'Some Assembly Required' stamped along its side.
Why, she had wondered as she held Zack in her arms, trembling and vulnerable, a used-up bullet casing from a war that he didn't deserve. She remembered looking heavenward to the dust dancing ballads on the ceiling, and demanding of the Planet, How could you let this happen?
But this time she had received a response, and the Planet's answer had been an echo.
With that the suns that had burnt within her lungs went dim; the stars that he had spun in her eyes scattered to the dark. The shining nebula within her had crumpled, unable to stand the pressure of its own weight, and its collapse left behind a void that had a name.
How could I let this happen, she repeated to herself, and then she had immediately set about to make it right. But what could she do? What could she possible say in the face of so much destruction? Zack had cried when she had placed her lips upon his topography of scars, had flinched when she had brushed her fingertips along his jaw. She found that she no longer knew how to touch him without bruising.
I'm sorry for not being who you remember, he had told her shortly after they had reunited; then just a few days later, after a long day involving the Turks and Hojo and Cloud's bounty: I don't think I can do this anymore.
Now, Aerith tilted her head up towards the metal sky, and she could just make out brief flickers of light between the hole in the church roof. The flashes were situated near where she assumed the Sector Seven plate control panel would be, which most likely meant that Zack there fighting once again to save a home that wasn't his own. She wondered if Cloud had joined him yet. She wondered if they were fighting together side-by-side, or if Zack had a small aneurysm at seeing Cloud holding a weapon again.
The thought had her lips twitching, joyless and brittle. I'll have to apologize to him, she decided as she tore her gaze away and instead looked across the church's interior. But later. That meant that there would be a later; that after all of this was over, they could all go on that picnic they had planned and her quiet, ordinary days could go on as they always had.
Her throat tightened when the thought crossed her mind. She suddenly realized that she missed ordinary with a desperation that was unlike her, and that she would be happy if she never went on another adventure again. As she swept her gaze across her small, run-down church, she couldn't help but be struck by how different things were now. Just a short month ago — no, a short week ago — her main concern was making sure that the flowers continued growing so she could sell them above-plate for some cash. Now her thoughts were consumed by the potential destruction of Sector Seven, evacuations, Zack's earlier outburst against Cloud, Cloud's bounty, the eco-terrorist group Avalanche, the unnamed informant named Nobody…
It's a lot, she privately admitted, but she tried not to dwell on it too much. Yes, things were a bit hectic now, but it would pass. Things would go back to normal, she was certain of it, but until then she would take the moments as they came. One day at a time, she reminded herself. One hour at a time. She needed to focus on what she could control, and right this second that didn't mean the plate drop, or Zack, or Cloud, or Avalanche, or any of that. It meant keeping her attention focused on the evacuations and making sure everything was going smoothly.
There were a surprising amount of people who had trudged their way into Sector Five. Aerith wasn't entirely sure what Tifa had done to convince everyone to evacuate, but she silently voiced her appreciation as she delicately picked her way across the now-packed church. She kept her gaze firmly focused on the faces around her — if they seemed comfortable enough, if they seemed tired or in need or something, if they seemed worried or not — and not her flowers, which had been trampled beneath the multitude of bodies. No, she did not look at their broken stems, their crushed petals, their torn leaves. She kept her gaze higher than that.
"I think we need more water," came a sudden voice behind her. Aerith blinked, torn out of her thoughts, before glancing over her shoulder. "Probably more food too," Folia continued as she pushed her hair out of her eyes. She was dressed in practical attire — a plain t-shirt, overalls, and dirty sneakers — which was such a contrast from the last time Aerith had seen her that Aerith couldn't help but smile.
"Folia," she greeted, and went in for a hug. She needed a hug right now, and if she hugged Folia longer than was strictly necessary, then Folia didn't mention it. "Thanks for helping," she continued, and squeezed once before she pulled away. "I guess I owe you a favor. Or another favor, actually."
"Don't worry about the first one," Folia replied with a crooked grin. "And as for this one, if you tell Cloud that he's always welcome back at the Inn, I'll consider us even."
"I'm sure he'd love to dance again," Aerith replied with a laugh. Immediately, some of the tension that had been coiling within her unwound a fraction. Just remembering Cloud's pouting expression when he had been shoved in that dress was enough to brighten her day, even despite the day it had been.
Folia also laughed, undoubtedly remembering the same thing. "But seriously though," she continued between chuckles, "Rhodea has been asking about him every night. He says that he misses his star, so if you could like, let him know or something…"
"I definitely will," Aerith promised when Folia's tone drifted off, but only because she wanted to see Cloud's expression when she told him. She could imagine it now: him blushing, stammering out excuses, before getting exasperated by the unwanted attention and storming off. She could imagine Zack laughing about it too, and maybe even asking to get in on the dance himself.
The thought had her lips lifting in a small, soft smile. It had been a long time since she had heard Zack's carefree laugh, and missing him was like a splinter needling within her skin. She could ignore it, given the circumstances, but only for so long.
"Hey." Folia's voice dragged her back to the present, and she found herself staring blankly at Folia's worried expression. "Are you okay?"
Aerith smiled easily and effortlessly, a practiced gesture. "Yeah," she replied. "I think I'm just a little tired."
Folia's lips pursed; obviously she didn't buy it, but she wasn't one to protest either. "If you say so," she said instead. "Just… take it easy, okay? Get some rest. If the plate is going to drop like it's apparently supposed to, we're going to be in for a long night."
"It won't drop," Aerith immediately replied.
Folia frowned. "You sound pretty confident about it."
"I am." Aerith tilted her chin up so that, once again, her gaze rested on Sector Seven's distant upper plate. She could still see the same brief flickers of light, but they were calmer now, more spread out and uneven. She wondered if that was a good sign. "I don't think it'll fall," she continued. "I just have a feeling."
Folia followed her gaze, her eyes narrowed against the sunlight. "If you say so," she finally said.
"I'm saying so," Aerith affirmed, and was about to add more — like why she was so sure that everyone would be okay — when the distinct rumble of a motorcycle cut her off. The sound had her gaze, as well as everyone else's, turning towards the church's wide doors.
Sure enough, a motorcycle had stopped just down the church's stone steps. It was sleek and clearly military grade, if the assortment of equipment, weapons, and gear hanging along its side was any indication. That had her mind snagging — if military equipment was here, then that could only mean Shinra — but the sight of the motorcycle's rider had all those thoughts freezing within her because that was a SOLDIERuniform.
Folia's eyes had also widened. "Is that…?"
Aerith's mouth was dry, and she couldn't respond. She could recognize that uniform anywhere, with its distinctive baggy pants and ribbed vests, except this SOLDIER's uniform color was more violet than Zack's midnight gray attire. The rider was also wearing an iridescent helmet that completely obscured their face, which made Aerith uneasy. Secret identities were never a good thing in her world.
Except, despite all of that, the longer she watched this SOLDIER the more relaxed she became. I can trust him, she instinctively knew, without knowing quite why. This person can help us.
Sharply exhaling, she took a step forward… only for a hand to clasp around her wrist, stopping her.
"Aerith," Folia hissed. "That's a SOLDIER! From Shinra! What if they found out we're evacuating early and want to interrogate us or something? This is bad, we have to —"
Aerith smiled at her, the same smile she used to soothe children and bring down Cloud from one of his mako poisoning flare-ups. "Don't worry," she said as she slowly detangled her wrist from Folia's impressively strong grip. "This person is a friend."
"Just because Zack was a good SOLDIER doesn't mean they all are."
"This one is," Aerith replied simply. "Trust me."
Folia's lips pressed into a hard line. Trust was a lot to ask for in the slums, especially in high-tension situations like this one, but finally the older woman sighed and pressed a hand against her hair. "Fine," she said, "Fine, I trust you. Just… Want me to come as back up? Moral support?"
"No, it's okay." Aerith turned back to the SOLIER and took a step forward. "I got this."
The SOLDIER was clearly out of their element. They leaned back on the bike as they stared at their phone, and occasionally looked back and forth as if searching for something. Searching for what, exactly, Aerith couldn't say, but she was determined to find out.
"Looking for something?" she asked as she got closer.
The SOLDIER snapped their head towards her, and she could hear the leather of their gloves tighten as their hands clenched into fists… and then their entire body lost its tension, which had Aerith blinking in surprise. Still, the surprise was nothing compared to her shock when the SOLDIER said her name.
"Aerith Gainsborough, correct?" Their voice was a low tenor; low, but not too low so that it was gravely. They — no, he, Aerith realized — would have made a good radio host. "I'm looking for you."
"You and half the town," Aerith causally replied. It wasn't exactly a lie, but she figured that exaggerating her importance wouldn't hurt. Maybe it would make him think twice about… whatever he wanted from her, if he knew that people would search for her afterwards. "How do you know my name?"
The SOLDIER paused a fraction, as if he hadn't considered this question before, but then he sighed. Reaching up, he slowly detached the helmet from the rest of the uniform, and soon brilliant seaglass eyes flicked towards her own. Like all SOLDIERs, his eyes had an innate glow to them, a muted translucence that reminded her of the twinkling aura of the lifestream… but that was where the similarities stopped, because unlike the lifestream, his eyes were hard, cold, and untrusting.
"My name is Kunsel," he slowly began as Aerith moved her gaze to the rest of his face. His face was thinner than Zack's and was framed by wavy brown hair that looked longer than allowed by Shinra field operatives. His expression also caught her off guard; instead of the easy confidence she had assumed all SOLDIERs possessed, he instead looked pensive, tired, and maybe even a bit uneasy… likely because of how closely she was inspecting him. "I'm a SOLDIER, which you probably already know."
"I recognized the uniform," Aerith replied. She could feel the stares of several evacuees digging into her back, undoubtedly wondering why she was talking to someone from Shinra, but she pointedly ignored them. "The motorcycle is new, though. Do all SOLDIERs get them?"
Kunsel glanced down at the motorcycle as if he had forgotten he was riding one, before his gaze dragged back to her. "No," he said delicately, as if he wasn't sure how to respond. "Anyway, I'm a friend of Zack's —" Aerith's eyes flew wide "— and you need to come with me."
He's Zack's friend? she thought, mind reeling, even as she placed her hands on her hips and demanded, "And why should I? How do you know Zack?"
Kunsel's expression soured. "Because… Zack is alive," he said, and Aerith noticed the way his hands once again tightened into fists. "I know it may be a shock, but —"
"It's not," Aerith interrupted. "I already know he's alive."
That grabbed Kunsel's attention, and the mako within his eyes flared a fraction as he intently studied her face, searching for any kind of lie. Evidently he didn't see any, because then he leaned back into the motorcycle seat with only the barest shake of his head. "So it's true," he stated matter-of-factly.
"Yes," Aerith replied, though now she was wondering if she should have kept that little fact to herself. Kunsel obviously hadn't been certain of it until she had confirmed it herself. "But," she continued, changing subjects, "I don't see why that has anything to do with me."
"Right." Kunsel's tone hardened, not in an aggressive way, but into something a little more serious, a little more somber. Maybe even a little more sad, but Aerith didn't want to think about it too deeply. "I'm… also here because I was sent by someone, an ex-Turk named Nobody."
Nobody? Aerith crossed her arms over her chest. Isn't that the same person that texted Zack? But wait… this 'Nobody' is actually an ex-Turk? "I didn't realize there could be an ex-Turk," Aerith surmised.
"There shouldn't be," Kunsel affirmed.
"And this ex-Turk, Nobody, sent you to find me? Why?"
"She didn't say."
"She?"
"Nobody," Kunsel corrected, "the ex-Turk. She didn't tell me why I needed to pick you up, just that I had to. It has to do with Zack, though. And… And I swear I'm on your side," he then added, desperation bleeding into his tone for the first time. The change was such a contrast from his previous deadpan way of speaking that it had Aerith blinking in confusion. "I never believed that Zack had died all those years ago, and I've spent all this time trying to find them. Nobody is a friend too," he continued in a rush, "and she wants to keep him safe. I can only assume that your presence is meant to help."
"My presence?" Aerith repeated, a bit shell-shocked. "My presence where?"
"Shinra headquarters."
Even the sunlight went cold at the declaration. Aerith went still, her breathing shallow because Shinra HQ was the last place she ever wanted to visit. Her memories of that place were scattered and blurred, but she remembered enough to know that she hated it there. To this day, she couldn't smell coffee or antiseptic without suppressing a shudder, and she wanted to tell Kunsel no, come what may. She never wanted to see Shinra HQ again.
And yet she knew, by some inexplicable way, that Kunsel was a good guy. He was wounded but honest, and had the same desperation she herself was intimately familiar with, but it was also more than that. As much as she hated to admit it, she somehow knew that she had to go with him; that if she didn't she would regret it forever.
Why, she briefly thought, but then she sighed and gave up that line of questioning again. Maybe she did have it in her for one more adventure.
"Fine," she said, surprising both herself and Kunsel. His eyes lit up, literally, as he looked up at her. "I'll go with you," she continued, "but if you turn out to be a creep, or if it turns out this Nobody person had been lying all along, I'll take you out. Don't underestimate me," she added, like that would make a difference. "I'm pretty strong, you know.
Kunsel's lips twitched, the barest hint of a smile. "From you," he said, "I wouldn't expect anything less."
Tseng's gaze dropped to his watch. Its onyx face reflected the dark look in his eyes as he steady watched the hands tick down the seconds. It's only been an hour, he thought, and something within him crumpled at the realization. He was quick to shove that weak, lingering feeling aside however, and instead lifted his head resolutely as he clasped his hands behind his back. Chin high, he scanned the conference room and continued to distract himself by observing the others who still remained.
Reeve in particular stuck out. The executive's face was ashen as he flipped through his binder. Tseng was familiar with this particular binder's contents, and he knew that it was full of project improvements and city-wide motions to raise the standard of living on Midgar's ground floor. It had likely been composed with years of work, but now those plans would likely have to be scrapped in favor of rebuilding procedures and emergency overhauls. One major issue would definitely have to be considered: What do you do with all of the bodies? Bury them? Burn them? Disintegrate them in mako?
Tseng's stomach twisted and he subtly shifted his weight, a small distraction from the turmoil in his mind. Disintegration was the primary disposal method during the Wutai War. Though it was technically a war crime and most certainly immoral, it was the best way to create artificial materia according to Hojo. As the scientist had put it, all bodies were naturally imbued with the lifestream, and it would be a waste to return that power to the ground rather than storing it for later use.
Tseng didn't think that he would ever get over the smell.
Swallowing his sigh — I wish I had another cup of coffee — he flicked his gaze to Nobody, who continued to stand behind President Shinra with a bland expression. She appeared to be watching the daily weather forecast rather than listening to a pending annihilation in acute detail. Tseng supposed he looked much of the same. He had been trained to keep a neutral expression no matter how disgusted he happened to be.
Besides, he figured that he had done worse. Nibelheim — the unfortunate town Sephiroth had burned off of the map — hadn't been replaced on its own, after all.
Tseng resisted the desire to shift his weight once more, and instead snuck a subtle glance at his watch. Only two more minutes have passed, he thought, thoroughly depressed at the news, and once more lifted his head. Just one hour and fifty-eight more minutes to go.
Just one hour and fifty eight minutes. That was when Hojo would leave on his helicopter, undoubtedly to pick up Cloud Strife from wherever that photograph had been taken, and then Tseng was free to begin the second phase of his solo mission: Kill the current President of Shinra.
After all, President Shinra needed to die. And Zack Fair would be the one to do it.
I'm sorry.
The strangled apology went unnoticed as the sky stretched out indifferently above him, a tangle of blinking stars.
There was a shard of glass in his mouth. It cut deeper with every choked breath, until blood smeared his lips and dripped down his chin to his hands… except that wasn't right. His hands were pressed against the sides of his head as he tried to keep his mind from rattling apart, because the memories were so big they were swallowing him, dragging him under, ripping him to shreds, filling his lungs with soot and ash. He couldn't breathe.
I'm sorry.
It hurt, everything hurt, his chest was caving in on itself. There was a nebula throbbing beneath his ribs and it was now collapsing, no longer able to stand the weight of its own self, unable to handle the pressure of its own existence. He was that nebula. He still couldn't breathe.
I'm sorry, Cloud.
Guilt ravaged him, a physical thing with teeth and claws that sank into his skin, tearing, ripping, pulling him apart piece by piece. A shuddering gasp; a strangled cry. Heat traced down his cheeks with the same certainty as a knife, and he could taste its salt on his tongue. It tasted a lot like blood. Blood was pooling in his chest, and he still couldn't fucking breathe.
I'm so, so sorry.
Muted blues and blacks were blurred before his eyes as he rocked back and forth, hands threading his hair and eyes staring blankly down. Panic swelled within him, a storm that he couldn't prepare for but had to weather through anyway, and he would weather it. He always did. This would pass, he reminded himself, this would pass and then he would get back up because Cloud needed him, because if he fell now then Cloud would too. But first he needed to breathe.
I'm sorry.
Heat cut down his face as ice crawled across his skin, and his hands pressed firmer against the sides of his head… and then he inhaled, a ragged gasp that had the ground spinning dizzily beneath him. Constellations spun across the ground in wisps of flickering light as he greedily inhaled once more, his lungs expanding with something cool, and then again and again, until his panic was replaced by exhaustion.
I'm okay I'm okay I'm okay…
But the declaration also went unnoticed as the sky stretched out indifferently above him, a graveyard full of stars.
"Barret? Come in, Barret." There was a pause, punctuated by harsh static and followed by an even harsher sigh. "Please respond, over."
Nayo had been trying to reach Barret Wallace and his team for the entire day per Tifa's request, but the only thing her radio was spitting out was white noise. Sometimes there would be a harsh crackle from interference, which never failed to get her hopes up, but then it would dissipate and her earlier optimism would sink even further. Still, she continued to talk over the radio in hopes Barret — or anyone from that abandoned sect of Avalanche, at this point — would respond.
Still, even her patience was rapidly running dry. She leaned back in the squeaky office chair and stared dimly at the dark, stained ceiling. Why am I doing this again? she wondered, and the answer was bitingly sarcastic: Oh, right. Because Tifa asked.
Damn Tifa. All she had to do was ask nicely for a favor, and everyone would bend over backwards to accommodate her. Including me, Nayo thought bitterly. When Tifa had shown up this morning, she had every intention of telling her to pound sand… and yet, here she was, talking uselessly on the radio for hours, trying to get in contact with the Avalanche branch that had betrayed them.
Maybe I lost my mind, Nayo finally decided. Maybe there's something in the air vents and I'm finally losing it. There was an inevitability to her thoughts, a curiosity of sorts, and she vaguely wondered what her final straw would be.
"Um… Nayo?" Polk's timid voice filtered over her conscious, and she dragged her eyes to him. He was standing beside her desk, his hands fiddling with one of the buttons on his shirt. "Um, I have a question."
Nayo sat upright, thinking, Ah, here it is. "What is it?" she asked with more gentleness than she felt.
"Have you been able to get in contact with Barret?"
Nayo bit back her immediate retort to instead lean back in the chair. "Not yet," she slowly replied.
"How about Tifa?"
Nayo pressed her lips together. "I haven't tried."
Polk's expression brightened a fraction, though why it brightened, Nayo had no idea. "Can you try calling her? Billy Bob asked me to get more recent information of the Sector Seven plate situation. I think he's been calling the other Avalanche branches all morning, and I guess he wants to provide them an update."
"An update?" Nayo sat back up once more, frowning now. "Why? Does he think we can't handle this?"
"N — No! No, I didn't mean that. Just… You know, as backup? You're going to have to ask him," Polk deflected. "Just… When you call Tifa, ask her for an update, okay?"
It was rare for Polk to make such a direct request, and Nayo found that she couldn't just refuse him point-blank. Besides, she had been planning on reaching out to Tifa. She didn't just give her the earpiece to be cute, after all.
"Ugh, fine," Nayo sighed, and Polk grinned in response. "I'll call her right now. Don't get your hopes up though," she added as she reached for the radio and switched its frequency to their encryption channel. "I may not get through."
"That's fine," Polk said quickly. Far too quickly, and it made Nayo wonder if Billy Bob really asked for an update after all. But Nayo told herself she didn't much care, and after locking the frequency she lifted the radio to her lips.
"Tifa, it's Nayo. Please respond, over."
She lifted her finger off the dial, and the static immediately began to hiss through. Annoyance flickered through her on habit — she had been listening this morning to enough white noise to last a lifetime — but then, right when she was about to try again, there was a harsh click and a cough.
"Nayo?" Even though the voice on the other end was rough from the patchy signal, it was undoubtedly Tifa's voice. Polk breathed a sigh of relief upon hearing it. "Nayo, is th… ou?"
"Yes. We need a status update."
"Sor… We're are approa… tor seven control panel."
Nayo and Polk shared a brief glance. That would explain the interference, Nayo thought briefly. Maybe the patrol drones up there have jamming equipment built into them. "You're nearing the Sector Seven control panel?" Nato repeated.
There was a pause, then: "Yes." The yes was punctuated by a sharp banging sound, one that sent a piercing tone ringing throughout the room. "—oud, be careful!" There was a muffled response to that, but it was too low for Nayo to hear.
"Is the situation under control?"
"Y…es," Tifa replied after another pause. There was a loud clatter and a bang in the background, and then she continued, "Making stead… gress…. ll be at the top soon."
"You're near the top?"
"Yes."
"Any hostiles?"
There was a pause before Tifa replied, "Only Slug-r…"
Polk smiled. "Slug-rays," he mouthed at Nayo, who only rolled her eyes at his enthusiasm. It was far too early to be celebrating any victories; they still had an hour to go before the predicted plate drop, after all. Still, she couldn't help but feel a bit relieved as well. If there were only Slug-rays and the like, then maybe the control panel wouldn't be as heavily guarded as she was afraid it would be.
"That's good news," Nayo said honestly.
"It is," came Tifa's response, which was surprisingly clear considering her previous communication. Maybe they took out all of the remaining drones. "And, Nayo…"
Nayo's heart did a little flip at hearing her name, but she quickly ignored it. Stupid heart. "What is it?" she asked with practiced ease.
"Have… you heard from Barret? Or any of them?"
Polk shot her a worried glance. Nayo's hand only tightened on the radio, and she slowly replied, "Not yet. But I'll keep trying," she promised, unable to stop herself in time, "and I'll let you know as soon as I hear anything."
There was a pause then, one that was lengthier than the others. Static hissed through the room before Tifa's voice finally crackled through: "Sounds good. Thank you, Nayo. I appreciate it."
Nayo closed her eyes and shakily exhaled."You're welcome," she replied, even as she thought, Damn it. Here we go again.
The dull thuds of Cloud's racing heart had been replaced by the cutthroat tempo of gunfire and metal screeching against metal. Loose wires snapped and crackled into empty air as shouts echoed beneath a silver sky, a desperate cry to a rapidly breaking world. His legs ached as he propelled himself up another flight of stairs. His fingers felt heavy and numb from the ricochets of his swings, his triggers, his wild cuts. His cheek stung from where lazy laser fire had grazed it earlier, but the pain was nothing compared to the ache buried deep within him, a place situated somewhere between his stomach and his liver, and his own words bounced within his skull:
For you, he had told Tifa when he finally reunited with her. I'm here for you.
Heat spread across his cheeks and his gaze swung towards her, automatically seeking her out during a lull in the battle, and there she was. Tall. Proud. Her gloves fists were raised and her lips were pressed into a thin, hard line as she fought to save everything she loved. It was almost enough to make Cloud trip over his own feet and blurt out something that he'd undoubtedly regret later — again, he thought dismally — but the urge remained lodged in his throat like a barbed wire. He knew the reason why, too:
She had never answered him earlier.
He swallowed thickly and tore his gaze away, choosing instead to stare at his feet. His steps sounded unnaturally loud against the metal stairway, and his breaths rattled in his lungs before stuttering past his lips. Why did I have to say that? he wondered, and he didn't have an answer. It was like he had been drunk earlier — he had been feeling a little too confident, feeling a little too capable, a little too happy to be alive — and now he felt hungover, worn-out and nauseous and blinking away from the sun. Tifa was the sun, and yet like the sun, he could still feel her presence no matter where he turned.
His thoughts continued to spiral, and so when a Slug-ray tumbled in front of him with a neat fist-sized dent in its metal hull, he smashed it to the side on pure instinct. It sagged onto the ground, sparking and dripping oil. Why didn't she say anything back? he continued to wonder. Did I say something wrong?
Obviously he had, and he knew exactly what part it was, but… why? Why, he thought, a bit hopelessly, was it so wrong?It had felt right at the time, but given Tifa's earlier stare and now drowning silence… He bit his lip, thinking, Maybe it was too much? Sure, they might have grown up in the same town and had known each other for basically their entire lives, but they also hadn't seen each other in nearly half a decade. If he really thought about it, their reunion in Midgar was purely coincidental, an accident in fact, and they were essentially strangers.
And worse, I never told Tifa I was in Nibelheim that day, Cloud suddenly realized, and dread descended in his gut like a heavy stone. She… She has no idea I was there. I never told her. That meant that Tifa thought that they hadn't seen each other for… Gods, when had he left for Shinra? Had he been fourteen? And Zack told him that he was twenty-one now, so… Tifa thinks we haven't seen each other in seven years? It wasn't a horrible number, but a lot changed in those seven short years. Too much had changed, and…
… And I should have kept my mouth shut, Cloud thought glumly. Why do I have to ruin everything? Another Slug-ray flew around the corner, its mounted guns aimed to shoot, and he batted it out of the way without a second glance. Its metal frame ricocheted against one of the supporting beams before it fell out of sight.
"Good hit," Tifa said. She watched it disappear to the distant ground below, sparking and spewing oil all the while, and then turned to him with a wry smile.
"Thanks," Cloud replied. The single syllable felt as if it had been dragged out of his throat with hooks, but he couldn't stop himself from adding, "You're… not doing too bad yourself."
He sucked in breath, wondering if that was too much to say and if he screwed up again, but relief trickled through him when Tifa's expression warmed. "Thanks," she replied honestly, and wiped her hands on her leather skirt even though her gloves were clean.
"At least we're almost near the top," Cloud continued, unable to stand the following silence.
Tifa squinted heavenward, to the metal ceiling that stretched out above them. Lights flickered beneath its midnight hull. This close, Cloud could make out the individual sheets that built Upper Midgar's belly, and those sheets were massive — too massive, and it made him wonder how they managed to bolt all of them up there in the first place. Then, with his next breath, his imagination turned to what those sheets would look like when crashing into the slums before. He could almost hear them now, crumbling under their own weight, being crushed and torn apart by their own mass.
His heart rate quickened, and soon he was hurrying up the staircase. "Let's hurry," he told Tifa as he passed her.
If Tifa was surprised, he didn't see it. All he heard was a faint noise of affirmation and then her footsteps were joining his, a symphony of sorts, a cut-throat rhythm that sent his heart trembling. They were close to the control platform now, and with any luck, Zack, Barret, and the rest of the team were already up there and were already handling everything.
But what if they aren't there?
Worry bit into him, and Cloud in turn bit his lip and anxiety flaring white-hot beneath his skin. Then I'll just have to take care of it, he silently swore. He could stop the plate from falling. He had to, because if he couldn't…
… then another town would be lost because of Shinra, except this time it would be entirely his fault, and Cloud wasn't sure if he had enough potions to handle that realization right now.
"At least there aren't as many Slug-rays anymore," Tifa told him after a lengthy pause.
The wind whistled through the stairs. "True," Cloud agreed. In fact, now that he thought about it, there were so few Slug-rays that it was almost suspicious. It was as if they were being beckoned to climb higher, and someone was clearing a path from them. Privately, Cloud hoped that it was Zack.
Not that it matters, Cloud told himself, since even if it's a trap, I'll go anyway. With that thought firmly in mind, he continued to climb and finally, after what felt like an hour, he and Tifa were finally on the same level as the control panel.
The control panel was still some distance away, but at least they could see it now. Cloud, from their vantage point behind a support column, peered at the platform, his gaze narrowed and lips pressed into a thin line. It looked exactly as he had been expecting. One side of the platform gave way to open air, while the other side formed a long interface full of various blinking lights and buttons. However, there were two controls that stuck out to him immediately: the thick red button in the very center, which was encased in glass, and the secondary level situated beside it.
That must be the plate drop switches, he figured, and then he shifted his attention. What he hadn't been expecting was the helicopter parked on the platform's open side, or the two familiar Turks loitering beside it. Reno and Rude, Cloud recognized instantly, and he immediately began looking to the sides. Panic swelled up within him. But where's Zack? Or Barret? Weren't they supposed to be here already?
Suddenly, Reno loudly sighed. "This sucks ass."
His voice was being carried by the wind, and Cloud could just make out the words. Tifa, he knew, definitely wouldn't be able to hear due to the distance. Rude huffed his agreement just as Tifa pulled Cloud fully behind the support column. Her hands were trembling against his arm, and when he looked down at her with furrowed brows, he could see the question burning in her eyes:
Can we take them on by ourselves?
Cloud, after a brief pause, smiled and nodded, Yes. What other choice did they have?
Tifa wanly smiled in return, and Cloud once again glanced over the side of the column. It would take them another minute to walk over, but if they were careful, maybe they could surprise the two Turks.
Making a decision, Cloud motioned Tifa to silently follow him. She nodded, her expression hard, and the two of them began to move forward in between two piles of abandoned crates. They were still a good distance away, and the walkway was thin and there wasn't much room for cover, but if they went slowly and didn't rush it, they should be able to make their way down the walkway and onto the main platform without alerting Reno or Rude of their position.
Or so he hoped, anyway.
"— eard anything from Tseng?" Reno asked. He was now holding a small throwing dagger in his hands and was spinning it between his fingers, a blur of white and black metal. "Bastard was supposed to contact us an hour ago. Unless he's busy with his confidential mission," he added with a sneer, and tacked on another emphatic, "Bastard."
"Reno." Rude's disapproval was clear in his tone.
"What?" Reno protested. "It's true. You were thinking the same thing, I know it."
"That doesn't mean…" Rude began, but then sighed and let the sentence drop. He seemed to recognize a losing battle when he saw one.
Reno, on the other hand, was like an alligator in the sense that he didn't let go once he bit into something. "Doesn't mean what," he jabbed. "C'mon, Rude, don't give me that look. Say what's on your mind. Go on, say it."
For a moment, all Cloud could hear was the wind moaning between the support beams, when finally Rude sighed and said, "You're hangry."
"I'm what?"
"Hangry," Rude emphasized. "You missed lunch and now you're hangry."
Reno threw his hands up in the air. "And we missed lunch because Tseng hasn't told us anything! He said that he'd give us a signal! I mean, are we dropping this thing or not?"
As Reno said dropping, Tifa made a low, strangled sound; now that they were slightly closer, she could hear them as well. Cloud's chest tightened painfully, but he continued to move steadily forward. A part of him wondered if he should skip the stealth and just start sprinting. He wanted to — his muscles trembled in anticipation — but he forced the notion down. This wasn't a situation where he could just make stuff up as he went along. He needed a plan. He needed to be careful.
But then Reno harshly sighed, said, "Fuck it," he said, and began walking to the control panel.
All thoughts of planning and being careful flew out of Cloud's mind as he sharply inhaled.
"Cloud." Tifa's hand snapped to his arm, and he could feel her fingers digging into his skin as she stared across the platform, her expression pallid and her eyes wide with horror.
That same horror snaked within Cloud's veins, chilling and aching all the while, because this was it. Reno would pull the level that would snap off Sector's Seven upper plate and send it crashing to the city below, and they were still too far away to stop him. Much too far. No matter how quickly his body could run, simple physics was against him, and he knew that he would never make it before Reno sent the plate falling. The realization had his gut sinking, his earlier optimism and hope crashing into pieces, because once again he was useless and he couldn't save anyone…
… Unless…
The world went still as his gaze dropped to his gunsword. Its blade was slick with oil and other Slug-ray fluids, the gun component had taken a significant beating during the fighting, and he only had three bullets left, but maybe…
Don't think. He clenched his jaw, dropped to one knee, and instinctively sucked in a deep breath. Stop thinking. He leveled the gunsword — Just get it done — and took aim. His finger trembled against the trigger.
And then he fired.
White exploded across his vision as the shot's recoil slammed back awkwardly into his shoulder, but the pain hardly registered as the bullet propelled forward … and slammed into Reno's outstretched hand, burning all the way through.
Reno snapped his hand back with a shout, one that was loud and laced with pain, as Rude aimed a pistol in the direction of the gunshot. Cloud turned his head, and their gazes met across the platform right as Rude fired his own gun.
The world lanced into shades of green, and with a sharp exhale Cloud jerked his sword up. The blade cut the bullet clean through, and each half slammed into the wall behind him. Now crushed, they pinged uselessly down onto the metal grating.
"Keep your head down!" Cloud shouted as he rushed forward, speaking to Tifa, and then fired once more. He had been aiming for Rude but missed, and sharp cracks blossomed against the helicopter's windshield as he dodged beneath Rude's retaliatory shot. He could feel the bullet whistle past his cheek, and his eyes widened as heat tore a thin line across his skin. Scarlet beaded from the wound.
Reno aimed his own pistol at Cloud as he kept his injured hand cradled against his chest. His suit formed a low V down his chest, and what skin he showed was quickly smeared with blood from his dripping wound.
"You're a dead man," Reno hissed.
Cloud's lips twitched into a sharp, jagged smile, and he fired his third and final shot before Reno could get another word in. Reno bit out a curse and pivoted, but not before the bullet tore against his right arm, right where his heart had been moments before. Feral joy flickered across Cloud's nerves.
I can do this, he knew as he ran for the platform — if he wanted to make sure the plate didn't drop, then he would have to destroy the control panel. A bullet embedded itself on the wall behind him but he only realized this distantly, as if he was only in a dream and it didn't matter at all. I can do this. I can stop the Turks, and then Sector Seven won't be —
Yet even as the thought formed in his mind, the sudden chopping sound of a helicopter cut him off. At first he was determined to ignore it, but when Reno and Rude glanced in the direction of those stuttering blades, curiosity overcame him and he turned as well.
Soon, a helicopter made entirely of jet-black metal rose above the platform. Its front visor was tinted entirely so there was no hope of seeing who was inside, and yet somehow Cloud's heart contracted painfully regardless. He recognized that helicopter. He didn't know how or why or even from when, but fear sang shrill within him, and his mind was rapidly emptying of thought.
"What?" A shrill voice cracked across Cloud's consciousness and he turned to see Reno glaring savagely into the ground, his expression pained and his bloody hand still cradled against his chest, and realized a half-second later that he was speaking into an earpiece. "What do you mean, do nothing? Do you know how long we've been waiting here?"
Cloud's brow furrowed. Do nothing? he thought and, thoroughly confused, turned his attention back to the helicopter. It hovered in place over the platform, and the wind was strong enough to send his hair whipping above his face and his eyes blinking into the harsh buffer. Why? Aren't they here to drop the plate?
Yet the moment the thought crossed his mind, the helicopter lowered so that it was now only inches above the platform. Cloud grimaced as the gusts increased and he had to shield his face behind his arm, but he resolutely kept his gaze fixed on the helicopter door. His breaths came in short, light gasps. His hands trembled against the hilt of his gun sword.
And then the door slid open.
The first thing Cloud saw was a white lab coat billowing in the breeze, and his breath caught in his throat. Why, he hopelessly wondered as pain lanced through his temple, and all he could do was thread his hand through his hair and bear it. No, no, no. A thin, severe face stared back at him as if looking through a microscope, and suddenly images were overlaid on each other: looking up at the bright light hovering over the examination table, the icy chill of a syringe dipping into the crook of his elbow, the electric warmth of mako hugging him from all sides. Please, Cloud silently begged as he unconsciously took a step back, please, no. Why?
But then Hojo smiled — thin, sharp, and clinical — and Cloud's thoughts emptied entirely.
"Hello, Sample C," Hojo said.
For two years and over twenty chapters, I have received so many complaints about the gunsword. Like literally, anytime the gunsword would show up in the story, I would immediately get messages about how much it was hated. So, this chapter is dedicated to the gunsword haters There was a reason I introduced it in chapter 11, and you are WELCOME.
But anyway, as always, my twitter is Rand0mSmil3z - chapter previews get posted there first, and now that we're nearing the end of Halcyon Days, I'll eventually start posting about the sequel as well. :)
Stay safe and stay well, until next time :)
