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Chapter VII: Close to the Ground
The Almighty has brought down kings from their thrones,
but he has lifted up the humble;
He has filled well the hungry,
but he has sent the rich away empty.
~The Magnificat of the Virgin Mary

"I know you must feel so lonely here, all by yourself," Aerith spoke softly, "But I promise—one day soon you'll be strong enough for the garden!"

With an encouraging smile, she poured just a trickle of water on the small and unflowered lily. After a brief, reassuring touch, she moved along to the next—a cluster of peonies "And you—don't start thinking that you're more important just because you've bloomed; there's more to all of you than that!"

Giving the rosy cluster its share of water, Aerith turned about twice—counting, then double-counting, the kitchen to ensure she hasn't missed any of her little ones, each one exuding beautiful, vivacious life, each in its own way. Sighing with satisfaction, Aerith took up her little pruners and watering can and moved to the entry way to finish her rounds.

As she surveyed the work to be done, a few raps at the door interrupted her attention. Out of habit, Aerith glided to the window to identify the visitor—a practice Merlin had instilled in her since youth. She wasn't sure why, though—she had never failed to receive whatever guest might be visiting (though she would privately admit some were more easily welcomed than others).

With a delighted smile, Aerith recognized the blown-back dark hair and fidgeting stance-along with those same old wrinkled and worn navy blue top and black pants he always wore—somehow. But this only day two of him being back—she wasn't going to let it bother her. Yet.

The skipped beat of her heart only confirmed the identity of her guest, because of course that still happened.

Ducking below the window, so as not to even be glanced at, she crept over to the big, wooden door and checked her hair briefly in the mirror beside it, straightened the neck of her simple sundress, and brushed her hands on the small towel over her shoulder. Even after all this time, seeing Zack—especially in surprise, like this—still sent her flurrying like a first date.

With a breath, she pulled down the latch and pulled the great door open, revealing his firm yet wiry form, now leaning against the doorframe with an attempted suave confidence markedly at odds with the nervous bobbing she had witnessed through the window. Even this, she loved.

"Hey there,", he greeted with that smile all his own.

"Good morning!" Aerith chimed back, "But aren't you supposed to be working your new, super-important, job?"

"Good to see you, too." Zack chuckled, stepping past her and into the house, glancing at her hands as he passed, "How're are the kids doing?"

Aerith sighed, playing along with him, "The peonies have been showing off and making everyone else jealous, the dahlia is still getting over her little bout of disease, and," she brushed at the long fronds of the plant nearest her, "the fern here just can't seem to grow any bigger."

"Well, have you tried watering it?"

"And this is why you don't take care of them…" Aerith snorted, waving him off with a finger, "that won't win you any promotions in childcare."

"Eh, you're probably right." Zack replied, moving to lean against one of Merlin's bookshelves. "Anyway, what are you doing today?"

"Well, it is my day off, so after I finished this, and read to them a little, there were some things I needed to get at the market and then, well, who knows?" Aerith took back up her watering can and began tending to the poor fern—perhaps she finally needed to get it outside?

"Sounds like a great day for you." Zack smiled. From someone else, like Cid, Aerith might've heard that as sarcasm, but she knew by now that lovely, earnest, Zack meant it. And he was right. Well, almost.

"I was pretty happy about it—but now it's perfect." She answered, betraying to him a little wink, but no more. "What brings you back so early, though, Mister-Sir-Investigator Fair?"

Zack sighed, "There's not much else to do when Ven's stuffy friends refuse to tell you what they know, Shinra won't let me back without a warrant, and Vincent is nowhere to be found," getting a little worked up, Zack began to perform his squats, "All my leads are currently dead, until I get that warrant."

"Sounds more like they were killed." Aerith replied, trimming away a bit on the small sprout before her.

"Yeah, it seems like it. I guess my boyish charm can't work with everyone, eh?" he smirked ruefully.

"Unfortunately for you, I'm pretty sure I'm the only one they work with." Aerith reminded.

"Eh, that's more than enough," Zack responded, walking over to tilt her head up toward him, "Wanna go on a date, then?"

And that was that—within fifteen minutes, the children were fed, the doors locked, and Aerith was beaming, quite content, as she marched down the wide streets of the Garden, right arm hooked in Zack's and carrying a broad basket on her left. He would, of course, believe it totally his charm that she came with him so quickly—but in truth, there was, in fact, many sights to see. The Princess' birthday was tomorrow and all of the preparations were nearly complete.

The streets themselves seemed almost alive—everyone bustling with a purpose; a certain electricity in the air as the shared spirit of the town anticipated the upcoming celebration. Not everyone was invited to the ball (for the first time ever, though, she was, Aerith reminded herself with glee), but every part of the town would celebrate in its own way—people in the squares, people in the bars, house parties, hall parties, every sort of party—the whole town alive as one! Aerith loved that feeling; perhaps more than the celebration itself.

Thus, to her eyes, the explosive purple banners and great white tents were just the icing on the cake; the signs that pointed to something deeper, more important, more beautiful than just a birthday.

Meanwhile, Zack was recounting how he got here to "save" her.

"-and then I remembered you and asked myself, 'Zack, why're you wasting all your time with these bozos when you could be with Aerith right now?' and-" Zack gave a great sweep with his free hand, "-boom, here we are."

"It seems we've both won out, I think," Aerith responded, eyes caught on another colorful booth being erected on the streetcorner," I'm sorry it had to be by so many disappointments to you, though."

Zack shrugged, "I'll survive, I guess. Part of being an Investigator."

"But you don't think you'll impress the Commanders, right? That's what bothering you?" Zack startled, and Aerith smiled contentedly to herself. She still loved how he seemed always so shocked that she could see through him like that. Zack was not a complex man, by any stretch of the imagination—and there was absolutely nothing wrong with that.

"Ah, well, I'll figure out another way, right?" Zack replied, "I just gotta get Ven's dad to talk to me and figure out how to fit in with Vincent's bigwig friends at Shinra."

"Those are some lofty goals," Aerith noted, slowing to examine the blooms of a new forsythia, seeded along the boulevard in the most recent cycle of the Garden's planting season. "Why don't you take more bite-sized steps?"

It took Zack a moment, it seemed, to realize that Aerith had stopped moving, and he nearly tugged her forward and off her feet as he kept striding. As it was, he swung back around to stand beside her—though, she noticed, his eyes continually roving above the crowd with their bright-eyed excitement, "But how will I get to the top that way, huh?"

"Who says you have to?" Aerith reached out to tug at his cheek, ensuring her next words were heard in their loving context, "After all, it seems like you haven't fit in there."

"C'mon! I need you, at least, to believe in me!" Zack's eyes flashed down at her, mock-wounded, "I mean, I haven't even really begun yet!"

"That means it's the perfect time to try another way, don't you think?" Aerith inquired, still turning over gold-yellow leaves in her fingers.

"Aw, Aerith—what other way would there be?"

"You could always go down," she responded, tugging his arm down to where she was now entirely crouched before the bush. She was vaguely aware that people were passing them by, looking at them oddly, but as it always was when she was with Zack—she didn't care what others thought. He helped her forget herself, and she reminded him how to.

"But what's down?" To his credit, he finally stooped to join her after a particularly well executed poutful face, joining her to examine the intricate branches with his more naïve eyes, "Sorry, aside from you, I mean."

"Well, there is this lovely forsythia, of course." Aerith replied, "And also, from here, you can see everyone's faces, too, rather than always looking just above and beyond them." She nudged good-naturedly, "and, that way, you can notice all the little things that are going on."

"Like?" Zack asked, earnest but skeptical.

"Like the little boy over there, carefully carrying his baby sister." Aerith pointed through the bush's thin branches, "or, over there, the father kneeling beside his crying son, teaching him something important. Or that shopkeeper, offering out a few of his apples to that group of kids-" Aerith pulled Zack's attention to the foreground, "or even just how well his little bush has grown."

"Don't get me wrong, Aerith, it's all great—but that's pretty ordinary." Zack responded.

"So?"

"So it's not going to change a lot-aside from you, no one else is seeing this," Zack paused for a moment, likely a little lost in his own incipient imaginations, "But if some terrorist came flying in who had to be fought…I'm not even twenty-I could still be great! Recognized, even!"

Aerith couldn't help but shake her head, wearing a smile that was half pity and half amusement. He just didn't get it. Taking his cheek, she leaned forward and stole a kiss, "I recognize you, Zack."

"Mmm…I think you need to 'recognize' me a little more," he impertinently replied as she pulled away.

Aerith giggling, flicking at his nose—she both loved and hated this goofball. "I'm serious. You don't need to be what the PKF says is the 'important', or what you think it is—you don't have to save the world," she turned back to look through the bush at the passing stream of people "just a life, or even a moment."

"You already know what I'm gonna say-" Zack smirked.

"—'big damn hero', not just any-old hero." Aerith rubbed her forehead, "Right."

"Right!" Zack replied, with significantly more vigor than Aerith had given the word—his bright blue eyes were nearly dancing, "I can be both! I'll be your hero—" he stooped down, back to her level, and wrapped his arm around her tiny shoulders, "—and, I'll also be the world's hero!"

"But what if that kind of hero isn't helpful." Aerith suddenly added, her voice soft and thoughtful; no longer taken in by his bravado. Her mind had inevitably returned to Cloud.

Zack's brow furrowed—he was confused, she could tell, now that she had steered this conversation in a new direction than how it normally went, "What do you mean?"

"There are people watching, you know." Aerith continued. "People who look up to you. People who want to be like you. People like—"

"Cloud, you mean?" Zack finished, matching her weightiness.

"He follows you around everywhere, Zack. You have to be careful about what you teach him." Aerith fiddled with another stem, "He needs something deeper than just saving the world—" she paused again, "He needs something more than the PKF."

Zack could only tilt his head in confusion. Why couldn't he see it like her? Was he in too deep himself?

"He came to me yesterday. He told me about the things that happen out there." Aerith sighed, "And I know you aren't a part of it, Zack, but it's hurting him; he needs the small and everyday—something to settle him, to connect him with reality."

"It can get pretty dicey out there, sure, you're right—" Zack ventured slowly, "But that's where I can make a difference. That's where I'm giving Cloud a different example. I mean, Aerith, you should see him out there—" he emphasized, "Cloud's talent is off the charts. He was made for this—if he keeps this up, he could be as good—no, better!—than Rinoa!" he snorted at himself, in a sort of astonishment, "He could do great things—he could save all the days!"

Aerith sighed. He still said it like it was the greatest thing in life. "Rinoa's had to a pay a price, too. She fights every day to keep herself grounded-"

"Why are you two hiding behind a bush?"

Together, Aerith and Zack looked up to find Squall's sharp face frowning down at them, with Rinoa beside him, index finger pressed to her lips with an amused smirk.

"Rinoa!" Aerith exclaimed, restraining almost a shriek, and jumped up to fall around her friend's neck. "I can't believe you missed dinner!"

"Was it her's or Tifa's handiwork?" Squall asked, offering a hand to pull Zack up to his feet.

"Mostly Tifa's." Zack smiled, greeting his friend with a slap on the back.

Squall nodded, face serious. "Then I definitely regret not going."

"Hey!" Aerith finally broke her hug with Rinoa to knock the taller man on the arm, before slightly turning to Zack, still refusing to totally let Rinoa go, "Why don't you be my hero now and fight off such insults?"

"I'll even give you some ammo," Rinoa began teasingly, "Guess where we just came from?"

Aerith stifled a laught, as she knew what was coming. Zack sized up Squall with a good look before shaking his head, "Seriously, man? Another one?"

Squall's dark eyes wavered between the three of them, "I have nothing to be ashamed of."

Aerith smiled, "Soon you'll need a whole suitcase just for the belts!"

"Yeah, and people might start to talk, y'know?" Zack snorted back a fit of laughter as he nudged Aerith for a response—as she did her best to refuse his infectious mirth.

"Aw, it's okay, honey," Rinoa released Aerith to put a comforting hand on Squall's stone-like cheeks, "Your belts are…very…hip?"

Squall murmured an acknowledgement, as he adjusted the two leather straps he had wrapped around his waist already. Zack, to Aerith's amusement, continued to seem to chortle at a joke he still hadn't shaken.

"Could be worse-" Rinoa whispered, as she whisked back to hook arms with Aerith, who happily accepted her, "—he could be into plaid."

"So what're we going to do now, eh?" Zack smiled, "Double-date?"

Rinoa, equally cheekily, smiled back, "How about if Aerith and I go on a date, hm? If I know her, I bet she still hasn't gotten a dress for the party?"

Feeling a slight blush come to her cheeks, Aerith could only shrug sheepishly. Rinoa knew her too well.

"It's settled, then!" Rinoa announced, steering Aerith away through the crowd.

"But what about me? Shouldn't I get an opinion on the dress?" Zack called out after them.

"What?!" Rinoa shot back, "Why would we care what you think? Aerith definitely didn't become this beautiful goddess because you gave her fashion advice!"

Aerith burst out laughing at that, managing only a half-way apologetic shrug back to Zack—who was himself laughing hard enough that he had to grab Squall's firm shoulder for support.

"-and so Cid just lit his cigarette, revved his gizmo, and gave me a thumbs up: 'just leave it t'me, darlin'" Aerith said, though a fit of giggles, attempting her best Cid impression, "and turned back, only to see that Merlin had already magicked up the trellis, along with almost all of the fence!" she laughed, "I felt bad for him, but—his face!"

Zack guffawed, imagining Cid's worked up shock, "And he still won't let Merlin help on the Highwind at all? Even after all that?"

Aerth tut-tutted, "Not even for a second—on principle!"

"I don't know how you navigate between the two of them, Aerith!" Rinoa exclaimed, from her other side, as the four walked down the emptying streets, under the chill of the sunset: Zack, Aerith, Rinoa, and finally Squall (who carried all the bags, also on principle). Under the diminishing light, the Fira lamps had already been lit by the night watch, casting dancing, joyous shadows along their walk back to Merlin's.

Zack breathed in deeply, enjoying again the sheer beauty of being home-even as the night turned colder, with a sharp wind beginning to blow down from the northern mountains. He hadn't been sure at first how this day would go, starting off with so many big disappointments, but it was no doubt that—as she always did—Aerith had enlivened every second of the day.

Zack smiled, stepping imperceptibly closer to her as they walked, breathing in deeply again of the night air and the scent of spring flowers that seemed infused to Aerith by some strange botanic magic. He loved her and he loved these days—even if the job was frustrating him so far.

Soon enough Merlin's house, running over as it did with flowers, came into view and Aerith led the threaded way through the gardens to the door. From within, all four could hear the sounds of an intense exchange and Aerith hesitated—"Maybe we should wait a moment out here—"

"And miss this? I don't think so!" Zack exclaimed, bustling past her into the cozy warmth of the house—which was, itself, somewhat disturbed by what was rapidly approaching a shouting match.

"Wizard, I swear, if you try to conversate with all that damn gobbledygook again, I'm gonna kick over a damn table—" Cid announced.

"Cid!" Aerith chided, as she followed Zack in, closing the door as soon as Squall and Rinoa had entered, as well.

"Sorry, Aerith," Cid sighed, "It's just that your old man here can't have a goddamn decent talk about science without bringin' in all his damn wizardry!"

Merlin, sitting in one of the large armchairs across from Cid, merely shook his head—though Zack could tell by now that his knitted eyebrows were holding back as much as they could, "This…ignorant ruffian still refuses to engage with a world bigger than his tiny instruments!"

"Ignorant?!" Cid exclaimed, nearly flipping over as he turned back to wizard, "Excusez-moi, but can you build a damn spaceship?"

"Cid, Merlin—" Aerith cleared her throat, voice firmer, "We have guests."

"Pssh, Squall and Rinoa don't count as no damn guests…" Cid murmured, waving his own greeting to the two officers.

"Thanks, Cid—we love you, too!" Rinoa shot back, with all the friendliness of two long-familiar duelists.

Cid smirked, flicking his nose in response as he eyed Squall, "Son, did'ya buy another belt?"

Tifa rounded the corner before Squall could respond, but Zack nearly choked laughing.

"Don't worry, Aerith—they've been at this for at least an hour," Tifa added, greeting Squall and Rinoa as she came from the kitchen, "It's as friendly as ever."

In her support, Cloud—who had been sitting between the two elders, watching them silently and intently—simply nodded.

"Plus—" Tifa continued, expression filled with self-satisfaction, "I've brought the remedy!"

From behind her back, the young girl produced a broad saucerpan, upon which sat a white-icing topped chocolate cake. A chorus of affirmations and appreciations resounded from all, praising Tifa and her excellence, and the next several hours flew by for Zack in whirlwind of joy and laughter, as months upon months of separation were recounted, exchanged, understood and surpassed by their little family.

The evening waxed late, and when things finally came to a stillness, Zack found himself-having just brought in the wood for the first fire of the season—asking of his only waking compatriot: "Give me a little light?"

Squall nodded and, moving his right arm carefully so as not to disturb Rinoa-who was almost somehow entirely curled up on his lap, sleeping against his shoulder—and caused a small flurry of sparks to catch light and burn with magic in the fireplace.

Zack nodded his thanks as he shuffled the pieces to burn efficiently, "You guys headed out soon?"

"I don't think I'll risk going anywhere at the moment." Squall replied, nodding slightly to Rinoa as he shifted.

Zack smiled and nodded, returning to his seat on one of Merlin's lounge chairs, lifting Aerith just slightly enough to return her gently breathing form to resting on his lap. All was quiet, except for the crackling of the wood. Across from him, Merlin lay slumped in his armchair, his beard shifting with every inhale and exhale. Propped up against the side of the chair was Cid, moved there by Zack from reclining beside the fire and snoring loudly. Cloud and Tifa lay stretched out on the final long lounge, heads leaning back and feet almost touching.

With a long sigh of satisfaction, Zack pushed one of Aerith's long bangs from her face, which had fallen over her thin mouth.

"We're pretty lucky, you know that, Squall?"

"Mmhm."

"What did we do to deserve all this?"

"Absolutely nothing." Squall replied after a pause, as he absently rocked Rinoa slightly in her sleep (like Zack wouldn't notice something do adorable!). It was strangely touching to see the oft-stoic, always aloof, Squall move with such tenderness.

"So…" Zack turned back to watch the small fire, "Have you decided how you're gonna ask her?"

"Not yet."

"Well, I'm still partial to the two-dozen pigeon, dancing-troubadours, and fireworks extravaganza idea myself."

"Duly noted." Squall smirked, still looking down at Rinoa, "Not my style, I'm afraid."

"But that's exactly why you should do it—your style is boring."

"Duly noted again."

Quiet crackling filled the room again.

"….So you gonna tell me what you'll actually…?"

"No."

"Right." Zack smiled, shifting himself comfortably into the seat, closed his eyes and reclined his head with a smile. "Well, when it all falls apart, you can't say I didn't try to help."

"Consider yourself blameless."

"Thanks, buddy."

And as Zack allowed himself to drift to sleep, in total comfort and trust under Squall's fire-watching gaze, he couldn't help but think that if these were the sorts of moments Aerith had been talking about earlier-well, maybe she was right.

No sleep, nor any modicum of relief, had come to Vincent Valentine. Instead, the opposite of both plagued him as he ascended the gravira elevator to the President's office. His earlier visit to Lucretia had only further entrenched Zack's bizarre warnings deeper and deeper into his mind. The rot at Shinra, the scent of which he had tried to ignore, was now an ever-present nausea.

Unable to find any rest in his quarters, Vincent had again descended into the belly of the facility-but Lucretia was nowhere to be found, even though he knew, for certain, that she worked late every evening. Even though he knew, for certain, that the building's records showed her as still signed into the laboratories.

Paradoxically, he was almost glad to have not found her. He could only have swallowed so many more of her attempts to assuage him. Her earlier explanations had been wanting, at best—Vincent was no idiot, and Hojo was no great liar. There were secrets at the heart of Shinra—secrets even he, a Turk, seemed oblivious to. That made them dark, indeed.

Even darker, Lucretia was willing to lie to him for their sake. For his sake. Maybe that was what truly bothered Vincent. Maybe that was the vehicle that had allowed Zack's paranoia to burrow so deeply inside his brain that he could think of nothing else. She had made her choice, after all this time.

A part of Vincent, the Turk-born and Turk-trained, questioned whether he was acting brashly. Whether he was losing control of the situation. Whether he was about to make a terrible mistake and if he shouldn't just stop and breathe.

But breathing hurt too much. Every breath drove the wedge deeper into his mind. Something was going on here, Lucretia was a part of, he was tacitly defending it, and Lucretia had chosen it over him. Those were the facts—and they were facts that needed to be considered far from Shinra.

So Vincent had carefully written out a final message to Lucretia, leaving it tucked in her desk: he told her his concerns, once again, expressed his regret that she had chosen to go with Hojo, and informed her of his intention: he was to leave Shinra, effective immediately, and if she, too, regretted her choice here, then she knew where she could find him—and he would be waiting.

But now, he rode the gravira elevator to the President because Turks can't just walk out.

With trained calm that failed to betray his inner state, Vincent checked and re-checked his fully-loaded revolver, before returning it to his hip. Habit, he told himself; habit.

With a chime, the elevator announced its arrival on the highest floors. The doors slid open and the scent of the President's office wafted in—a mix of intense cleaning product and rich leather. Noticeably, nearly no light emerged; the evening glow of the city behind Vincent provided more view to the office than any interior illumination.

"Come in, Vincent."

A shadow, reflecting the light of the white of his suit, shifting behind the desk. The President, brushing back the blonde hair that spilled over his forehead, leaned forward into the light of the nearly-full moon that drifted through the glass behind him.

"Mr. President," Vincent began, stepping into only as much of the office as was necessary—ensuring that the elevator behind him remained open, "I am here to tender my resignation."

"That is quite the shame, Vincent." Rufus Shinra leaned back, stroking his chin, "Might I ask what brought you to this point?"

Vincent paused, carefully eying the shadows around him. "A conflict of interest, sir. I can no longer serve the best interest of the Company."

"Ah, I see…" Rufus nodded, now almost seeming to glow in the reflected light as he stood up from behind the desk, "Your self-awareness is appreciated."

Vincent only nodded, no words were needed.

"It may have served you better, however, to be more aware of others." Rufus continued, marching out into the shadows around the edges of the desk and, reaching out, pulled another figure from the darkness.

Vincent tensed, intending to betray no response, but there she stood, gripped around the shoulder by the President. Lucretia. Amongst the shadows, he made out the crumpled piece of paper in her left hand.

"Vincent, I'm sorr—" she began, before the President touched a finger to her lips to silence her.

"We both know she's not," Rufus turned with a condescending smile to Vincent, who was now reaching steadily for revolver, expecting what was about to come, "However, I imagine Tseng might need to express regret soon."

Hearing the brush of movement, Vincent immediately drew his pistol and turned, firing into the approaching darkness to his right. Already, Tseng—utterly quiet, breathless, up till now-was within a few feet of Vincent, swinging down at him with his favored clubs. Vincent ducked out of the way as he fired, and Tseng responded by knocking Vincent's dominant hand up and out of the way, causing his shot to fire off into the ceiling of the President's office.

Immediately pressing his advantage, Tseng—without discernable reaction or emotion—swung low, cracking Vincent heavily in the ribcage with his blunted cudgels. With a sharp grunt, Vincent twisted Tseng's wrist with his free hand, turning the Chief Turk into a new line of fire for the revolver, shooting again just as Tsent flipped backward and out of the lock. Releasing him, Vincent leapt back into the opposite darkness, firing off several more rounds that tore up the walls and artwork of the office, briefly lighting the room with its explosions, but failing to connect with Tseng's twisting form.

With another hard breath that diagnosed and accommodated at least two broken ribs, Vincent knew his tactical advantage was the President. Reloading as he moved, Vincent dashed across the open office, firing another few shots to keep Tseng at bay. In response, the President, still behind his desk and holding Lucretia close for what Vincent knew was insurance, reached into the folds of his coat.

But before anything could emerge, Vincent sensed a new presence too late, as a great, gloved fist cracked into his jawline, thrown from the darkness with the force of a leap behind it. Staggering, Vincent turned the force of the punch into a spin, pulling his assailant forward, and ending up with his revolver pointed at Rude's bald head. As Vincent pulled the trigger, Tseng's club came down upon the weapon, redirecting its blast into Rude's knee, who collapsed under the loss—releasing no more than an abnormally-loud grunt.

Swallowing the blood he now tasted, Vincent grabbed at Tseng's open arm and pulled him into a solid kick to the abdomen, using the force to nearly throw the elder Turk to the ground as Vincent leapt over him. Rechambering another round, Vincent directed his barrel down to the floor, before felt something solid and heavy lodge itself in his chest, knocking the wind from his lungs.

Looking down, a small pointed cylinder—not dissimilar to a bullet—stuck out from his chest. Before he could react, the walls of the cylinder flipped out and forward, stabbing him with three prongs like the tail of a scorpion. Just as he realized what was happening, electricity coursed through his body and Vincent felt the first convulsion wipe his feet out from under him.

In a blood-freezing moment, he realized they weren't trying to kill him.

As he fell, Vincent saw the President lowering his own weapon, a sawed-off shotgun, with a smile. As the second convulsion hit, nearly rolling Vincent's eyes back into his skull, he watched the President pat Lucretia approvingly on the head, as she stood trembling beside him. Between them, Tseng helped lift Rude to his feet.

"Lucretia," the President shook his head sadly as he smoothed out his white overcoat, "Why don't you go ahead and call the good Professor up here, hm?"

Vincent, shaking on the floor, knowing his fate, tried to reach for his dropped revolver, but the third convulsion hit and robbed him of any consciousness.

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