Chapter 8: The Foundation of Faith
Brisk and decisive steps.
The kind that says you know where you are going. The kind that warns people to make way. The kind that says a Turk is on a mission.
But this Turk is not on a mission.
He doesn't know where he is going, his thoughts entrenched in the foggy shallows of his mind. It flounders back in the lab, endlessly witnessing those scenes replay themselves. For every time he relives, them they grow darker and more sinister.
A brewing storm of emotion threatens to burst out of him. The torrents of feelings are only reined in by the ingrained professionalism required by his occupation. Instead it clouds his judgment and bogs his senses in a mire of numbness.
His usual grace is replaced by the mechanical gate so commonly seen in city-dwellers as his legs move by themselves. Fuelled by his suppressed outrage, they bring him away from the acts that choke his faith.
He can not even spare the thought to recognise his surroundings. The little control he has to his disposal is all sett to keeping a stony mask on his face. To maintain it's integrity and keep any cracks from appearing.
He dares not reveal what lies beneath.
Dares not even find out for himself.
Distantly he notices something gripping him by the elbow. It firmly but gently steers him down another corridor and into an elevator.
He doesn't have the presence of mind to identify his guide, but he surrenders to its direction. Blindly trusting it to lead him to solace.
A short eternity passes of struggling uselessly through the muddy battle fields of conflicted thought before he dimly feels the guiding force change its nature. He stumbles backwards on to a firm surface, feeling hard edges dig into his arms and back. The fall jolts him far enough out of his stupor to realize that he is on a chair in a dimly lit room.
A warm hand touches the side of his face. "Veld." Deep and musical, the voice of his superior. His mentor. "Breath and relax. We are alone."
"Malkhaz… Sir." His ingrained conduct in his superior's presence rouses him enough for the older man's lined face to come into focus. Short, black curly hair. Tan skin. Deep, dark, enthralling eyes.
"Relax, Veld. Breath. Then talk to me." The man hooks a chair leg with his foot, pulling it over to sit in front of his younger subordinate. The well-tailored cloth of their trousers' brush against each other. But the younger man's troubled mind barely notices.
Silence falls as time passes, measured only by the unsynchronised breathing of two men. "Tell me what you saw." The deep voice murmurs, at once commanding and coaxing.
"I…" Veld's voice cracks. He clears his voice and breathes deeply. "I keep seeing the boy on that… table. Lying there, letting those people do whatever they will. Pinching, prodding, stroking..." To check for numbness or nerve oversensitivity they said. A typical after effect of petrification, even when it did not take hold. But the boy hadn't even twitched, answering the questions disinterestedly, not even bothering to look at what they were doing.
When the report of an urgent request for a large amount of Vagyrisk claw had come in, signed by Professor Hojo, something had felt off about it. When he retained the lab assistant for questioning he had been horrified.
It still unsettles him. The Professor had not even sent a report detailing the experiment before hand. This wasn't anything new per say. It had been done before, often on impulse. But those had been small, mostly unintrusive measurements or performance tests. Not this…
Petrification is an unpleasant experience at best. The thought of anyone willingly consenting to it seemed unlikely. But, Veld is not a naive man. He knows what desperate people are willing to do given the right conditions. However, Sephiroth had been neither desperate nor promised anything in return.
Even so, if it had been an adult the Turk would not have cared, much. Life was harsh after all and no one was truly guiltless enough to say they didn't deserve what life gave them. But a child is a whole other matter. When they give their consent a child has no real ability to judge consequences - to understand the implications - nor do they have the same ability to say no. Even more so for those under the age of five.
It is a guardian's responsibility to use their greater experience to decide what is best for their charge. But this guardian had not deemed it fit to protect their child from this experience. Instead he planned and instigated it himself.
"Did you think of Felicia?" Malkhaz breaks of Veld's brooding abruptly. Reminding him of his presence.
"No, I…" Veld pauses as a vission of his daughter's face flashed through his mind, her eyes wide with a silent fear. "Maybe I did, in a way. I suppose I kept expecting him to act like she would have. I thought he would be afraid. But…" The younger man exhales heavily, pulling a hand down his face.
"But he was not afraid…" Malkhaz finishes for him. His eyes draw Veld's attention back to his leader.
"No… not even anxious or nervous. He seemed… apathetic. I find it disturbing. Even more than if..." The younger trails off, not quite ready to detail what he had been expecting.
It was the first time he'd been to one of his charge's experiments. He knew about SOLDIER, how the boy was a forerunner for the whole program. Like many he thought the hair an eyes were an unfortunate side effect of the early Mako formulas. But he hadn't truly realized what it entailed. Was this what the boy had grown up with all along? Veld can barely imagine it, yet the boy treats it as if it were mundane.
"Sephiroth is… special." For a moment Malkhaz gaze darkens as his gaze drift. Then he turns his attention back to the younger man, his eyes sympathetic and his voice reassuring. "Veld. You needn't fear that your daughter, or any other normal children, should befall his fate."
And Sephiroth is special.
In more ways than one. His strange alien appearance. His cold unchildlike behaviour. His seemingly unsocial nature - only engaging with people when he wants something from them. Uncaring for people's attention or approval. Never sharing his thoughts or feelings. Never playing or partaking in the imaginative games characteristic to children. All the thing his daughter and any normal child does naturally, Sephiroth is never seen doing. Children developed fast, growing in both size and character, but Sephiroth's behaviour had not change much in the year Veld had observed him.
Veld was by no means a saint. He had killed, kidnapped, bribed, spied and betrayed many times before. It is his job and something he had done as a living even before Shinra. It was a life born out of necessity, and his moral sense had long been blunted. But for this very reason he holds even more strongly to his principles. All of his kind had a threshold they would not step over, for if they did they would be monsters.
Like many of his kind, killing or harming children unnecessarily is a taboo. Though the threshold for what a child may be varies, it is unquestionable that among humans there is nothing more innocent or deserving of mercy.
He looks to his superior and asks. "Why did you allow the experiment to continue when we first heard of it?
Malkhaz leans back in his chair with a sigh. "Oh, Veld…" He chides softly as he leisurely adjusts his cuffs than places them on the chair's armrests. "Have you forgotten what department we work in?" He gives his subordinate a meaningful look. "We are Turks. Our job is to do what Shinra wants us to do. Without question and with professionalism."
He is right. That is, in a nutshell, what his contract had stated when he signed it. A contract for life that promised a good pay, stable work and respect. At the time, Veld had thought he was at the bottom of the gutter, as a human he could not be worse.
But a creeping realisation comes upon him. It sends shivers up his spine yet it is too faint for him to articulate.
"Surely you can understand the benefits of allowing this action." Malkhaz continues. His gaze is steady, quietly evaluating.
The benefits for Shinra, unspoken but a test of it's own. Veld easily slides into the role of the Turk, analysing it as he has been taught. "Professor Hojo is currently learning the benefits and testing the limits of his new station. This is an opportunity to show him Shinra's favour while at the same time reprimanding him for the recent liberties he has been taking. Additionally…" Veld hesitates a moment, realizing now that he hadn't entirely thought through the implications of this outcome. "This experiment was unlikely to cause lasting harm to the subject and even provided highly unexpected results that greatly benefit Shinra." No doubt it would even endorse future experiments of similar nature.
Again the creeping unease made itself known to him.
Malkhaz looks at the younger man quietly for a moment then nods once in acceptance of the answer.
Suddenly he leans forward placing a hand on Veld's knee. "But Veld, know this." His voice is commanding and holds a hint of urgency. His deep gaze seemingly sees through his subordinate soul as the dark-haired man speaks. As if knowing where the younger man had fallen and offering his salvation. "After the job is done we always take care of our own." Warm fingers squeezed the knee reassuringly. "The Turks are family and their family is our family."
With that the older man stands, pushing the chair back to it's original position. He continues in his business tone, signalling the end to this discussion. "I'm sorry to leave you Veld. But I have work to attend."
As Veld makes to get up his boss presses a hand down on his shoulder. Malkhaz stoops down to speak in his ear. "Take a few days off. Go to Kalm and spend a few days with your family. I'm sure they will be happy to see you." He pats the shoulder and promptly exits through the door, leaving Veld in what he suddenly realized is an unlit office.
Veld leans back in his chair, letting his head loll back. "Thank you, sir." He sighs to the empty room.
Author's notes:
This chapter is, to a certain extent, relevant to the plot. But it's immediate purpose is it remind people (including myself) of what a real toddler is like. Being immersed in Sephiroth's POV I often forget what age he appears to the people around him and what behaviour they would expect from a toddler. It is hard to imagine jus how unnerving. I try to imagine a younger brother or pre-schooler acting as he does, but even then it is hard. I've just never met anything like it. I'd love to hear any thoughts you may have on this chapter.
I just realised while reding through that in the last chapter, Sephiroth was disturbed by the thought that Hojo might actually care a bit for him. In this chapter, Veld is disturbed by the thought that Hojo as a guardian doesn't care for Sephiroth. Well…
Next chapter: A gift from the Mideel continent