XVIII
CHAPTER XVIII
FRIENDSHIP IN THE WILDERNESS
"Cloud, ye alright?"
Cloud sat up groggily, gagging for oxygen, spluttering violently as he inhaled a mouthful of swirling dust. He had landed hard on his back after the fall from the dank sentencing chamber, sending a mighty eruption of gritty sand into the air around him as he was spat out by the winding chute into a pit of arid soil. The tight shaft down which they had plummeted had seemingly been pieced together using uneven panels of scrap metal, tearing at his clothes as he hurtled through the lower depths of the Gold Saucer's interior, and carving bloody gashes on his bare skin.
Swiping aimlessly at the wisps of dirt with his arms, Cloud coughed and clawed through the dancing veil in an attempt to locate Cait Sith. Finding the thick limb of a protruding pipe, he heaved himself up, shielding his eyes as he began to breathe normally. He brushed the layer of grime from his face and hair, shaking his combat trousers to rid them of sand, and gazed beyond the clearing smog to examine his surroundings.
The world beneath the sprawling reach of the lofty artificial branches was a desolate wasteland, an infertile terrain forever doomed to remain broken and dry. The sweeping flats of red earth were ablaze with heat waves from the early morning sun, causing the Corel Mountains in the west to appear as a rippling vista. To the east, the expanding wilderness crept slowly towards the horizon where a distant mesh fence warned of a vast canyon and the impassable natural perimeter. Scavenging harriers circled overhead, watchful eyes set on a potential feast as they floated on the gentle currents.
"Where are we?" asked Cloud, conscious of the investigative glares their sudden arrival had attracted from a nearby gang of hostile-looking men. They were crowded around a victim who had apparently been shot at close-range, the twisted corpse smeared with blood and tissue; an easy meal for the harriers.
"Corel Prison," Cait Sith replied quietly, wrapping his cerise cape around his tiny black and white feline frame, infinitely more vulnerable now that he was without his toysaurus bodyguard. His golden crown had fallen lopsided between his perked ears, and he scrambled nervously to readjust it.
"You can't be serious?"
"Aye," he nodded solemnly, "a penitentiary in the middle o' the desert, surrounded entirely by quicksand. I heard once yer in, yer no gettin' out. No unless he says so, that is…'
"Who's 'he'?" frowned Cloud.
"No idea," Cait Sith shrugged. "All I know is: they call 'im the Boss."
"Then, you'd better start thinking of a way to escape."
"Me?" gasped the cat.
"Yes, you!" snapped Cloud. "You got us thrown in here. You ran from security! We were innocent, remember? We wouldn't be in this hellhole if it wasn't for you!"
"Well, I'm sorry," he retorted with sarcasm, his gloved hands pressed on his hips, "but arguin' 'bout it's no gonnae help, is it?"
"Well, well," came a snarling voice as the group of convicts abandoned the cadaver and skulked towards the pair. The man who had spoken wore a hockey mask under his strip of dyed orange hair, squat with a baked and swollen gut, and appeared to be the leader of the mob. With the Buster Sword confiscated, Cloud felt exposed, but not defenceless, and swiftly adapted his footing to a more appropriate stance. "What's this, then? A pretty boy an' a little kitty?"
"We're not looking for trouble," said Cloud, meeting his hardened stare.
"Y'hear that, boys?" chuckled the man over a crescendo of guffaws from his trio of subordinates. "This 'ere rookie don't want no trouble. Well, lemme tell y'all somethin': you've come to the wrong place."
"I need to speak to whoever's in charge," Cloud responded indifferently. "I have to get out of here."
"Why?" snapped another of the group, a boy no older than eighteen in a sleeveless leather jacket, his dark adolescent features partially disfigured by a scar which slithered from his forehead to his mouth. "This place's heaven. Right, Vice?"
"That's right, sugar," agreed the leader, a strange and crazed expression peering out from behind the sockets of the mask. "Who wouldn't want to live 'ere forever? But, I guess if you really wanna leave, the shiny big elevator can take y'all to the top o' the sky. You just have to get a pass first."
"How do we do that?" posed Cloud.
"You can start by payin' your respects to Mr. Coates," boomed a third voice from behind Vice. They all turned to see a powerfully built man in the same cobalt uniform and cap as the security grunts of the amusement complex. His rifle was pointed in their direction, specifically at the youngster with the scars. "And, Two-Face, put down the godsdamn knife."
"Whatever you say, chief," the boy giggled, casually tossing aside the crooked blade he had been covertly clasping at his back. He winked at Cloud. "Maybe another time, handsome?"
"Don't bet on it," growled the ex-SOLDIER, barging through the mob, Cait Sith scurrying upright at his heels.
"Looks like it's a good job I found you when I did," said the patrolman with a smirk, his moustache twitching as he observed the curious childlike cat.
"I can handle myself in a fight," Cloud muttered, squinting in the brilliant sunlight.
"Perhaps," snorted the man, lowering his weapon and gesturing for them to follow, "but that lot don't play fair. Down here, there ain't no rules…"
He led them from the hulking iron foundations of the Gold Saucer, the pedestal upon which the scaling eyesore rested. The gilded trunk of the great tree loomed above them like a gleaming colossus, a stark and daily reminder to the inmates of this open-air dungeon that freedom and civilisation continued as normal just out of reach; such was their wretched reality. The name and emblem of Shinra, Inc. were crudely painted on the exterior of the structure, peeling and weather-beaten by the heat and terrible sandstorms, but no less dominating.
After a short hike, the three rounded the southwest corner of the immense support, and were greeted by a ghost town; it was the scant remnants of what had once been Old Corel. Few buildings in the quad had survived the annihilating blaze or subsequent demolition, and Cloud counted a meagre four erections in the local vicinity: two houses, a half-collapsed chapel and the leaning timber reservoir. The outer walls of the ruined redbrick homes were lonely and charred, decorated with gaping black hollows of former windows and a scarce number of tiles on the tarred roofs. But for the plethora of fragmented edifices and eerie scorch marks left on the soil, it would have been impossible to know an entire village had historically existed beyond the frail picket fence that bound the bleak square like cordoning tape. It was as awful a sight as Barret had described.
At the corner of the area, past the water tower and against the western threshold of the Gold Saucer's base, a small enclosure enjoyed its spot in the long shadow cast by the sun. Not unlike the chunky pipes that snaked up the iron construct, the steel bars criss-crossed to form a cramped yard within an outdoor cell, and was occupied by a handful of timid men. As Cloud watched, there was a rumble of activity from the heavy security gates of the enormous portal that accessed the segregated confinement, and they began to part. A middle-aged woman wearing a souvenir cactuar hat emerged from the doorway, escorted by two rough-handed personnel who presently pushed her to the ground and returned to the elevator.
"Hey, you assholes," she shouted as she staggered to her feet, drunkenly slurring her words, "gimme back my GP!"
"That's the detention zone," Cait Sith explained quietly, reading Cloud's perplexed expression. "That's where they send anyone suspected o' gamblin' fraud. Or just need a wee bitta time to sober up."
"Good to see they've got their priorities straight," he answered sardonically, nodding towards the giant billboards on the fringe of the town plaza. Their advertisements showcased the various bookmakers' rates for the races at Chocobo Square, and stood in full view of the detainees.
Ignoring the vile taunts from a circle of prisoners who were playing cards around an oil drum, they crossed the quad in the direction of the old church, the broken paving underfoot almost completely hidden below the dirt and discarded scrap. The ancient religious symbol atop its steeple was badly bent and hung limply above the arched portico, the image reflective of the general ambience here.
Adjacent to the crumbling south side of the chapel were the metallic communications trailers of two haulage trucks, both identifiable as Shinra, Inc. vehicles. The driver's cabs of the wagons were wired to a rattling Mako generator and, despite being safeguarded by armed sentries in cheap suits, bore anti-Shinra graffiti, cracked windscreens, and seemed to be missing several tyres. As the three approached, the watchmen fashioned a makeshift barricade, puffing out their broad chests and adjusting their sunglasses.
"What do you want?" growled one.
"They're here to see Coates," their escort replied.
"Mr. Coates is a busy man," he said, glancing down and studying the bizarre animal that stared back through contracted but jovial eyes. "Do you have an appointment?"
"He's expecting them."
"Fine," the bouncer grumbled, ushering Cloud and Cait Sith forward. He trudged a few paces to the less shabby of the two trailers, knocking the hatch with his huge fist. "Sir, some fresh blood for you."
"Send them in," was the muffled response from inside.
"Go ahead," instructed the patrolman as he yanked the door open, "but be quick about it."
"Thank you kindly," chirped the cat as he clambered up the steps.
The interior of the wagon was dimly lit, shaded from the climbing sun by fully-drawn window blinds along the back wall. The main compartment was a confined office space comprised simply of a plastic desk with a computer monitor in one corner, and a ragged sofa in the other. A copper-skinned gentleman with stylish white hair and clad in an unusual jade-coloured safari suit greeted them with a polite smile from behind the table as he stuffed something into a filing cabinet, motioning for his guests to take a seat. Cloud declined, choosing instead to remain standing.
"Welcome," said the man, his courteous words laden with contempt and condescension, "I am Mr. Coates, the warden of Corel Prison. And you must be the one who shot up Battle Square, yes?"
"Both o' us," Cait Sith corrected him, then quickly clarified his remark. "But, we didnae do it."
"Sent here for a crime you didn't commit, you say?" Coates chuckled as he reached for his coffee mug, sipping it slowly and resting one leg over the other. "Murdering soldiers is a very serious offense. However, lying to me is worse. You've sure got guts, my little friend."
"It's not a lie," Cloud said blankly, unimpressed by the warden's attitude. "I'd like to take the elevator to-"
"Go up?" his gaze turned sour. "You don't seem to understand how things work down here, boy. This is the Gold Saucer's garbage dump. And that makes y'all my property now."
"How do I get a pass?" demanded Cloud.
"We," Cait Sith squeaked timorously from the sofa. "How do we get a pass?"
"The only way y'all are gettin' back up there is with the Boss' permission," grinned Coates, tapping his fingers together.
"The Boss?" frowned Cloud. "You mean Dio?"
"Dio?" the warden cackled, slamming a palm on the desktop with mock hilarity. "Don't make me laugh."
"Doesn't Dio own the Gold Saucer?" he asked, confused.
"Owner? No," Coates shook his head. "Dio's little more than a puppet; a glorified tenant. He manages the park's affairs, but Shinra hold all the genuine titles. The thing is, they don't really want much to do with the place. When they built the Gold Saucer, they caused so much damage to the land that sinkholes appeared everywhere, creating a giant ring of quicksand around it. We call it the Deathdealer; it's nothing but a miserable pit.
"The Executive must have decided that a penal colony was the best use for Corel. This place is a veritable fortress; no-one can escape. Dio has no say over the running of the prison, and once he sentences someone here for good, only the Boss can send them back. Nobody but the Boss can go freely between the two. So, it's not as easy as you rookies think."
"Where is the Boss?" probed Cloud. "How can I find him?"
"I wouldn't recommend it," answered Coates with a shrug. "He was in a really bad mood last night, and that was one of his better days."
"I'll be the judge of that," he said firmly, resolute in his mission. "Now, where is he?"
"He's at his lair, out in the wastelands," sighed Coates, setting his coffee on the edge of the table. "But, I'll tell you one thing, boy: the desert is extremely dangerous. It'll welcome you in, but when you try to leave, it'll swallow you whole. And that's if the abyss worms don't get to you first. The heat does funny things to a man. I've had countless inmates swear they've been visited by a mysterious chocobo carriage. If you don't know where you're going, best to stay out of the desert entirely."
"How do I get there?"
"You're a stubborn kid," Coates tossed his arms in defeat. "It's like talking to a godsdamn diceratops. If you must go, head east from here, then follow the ravine north. That's where you'll find the Boss. But, don't say I didn't warn you."
"Whatever," muttered Cloud, kicking open the door of the trailer and descending the steps as the warden cursed after him, inviting a series of glowers from the watchmen.
Marching back in the direction of the quad, the stifling temperature mounting by the minute, he heard the patter of Cait Sith's boots on the hard soil behind him. He peered down at the black and white humanoid cat as it appeared at his side, but neither spoke; a vivid sense of apprehension had unquestionably fallen over them. Cloud considered his options: the thought of blindly navigating the unforgiving plains was unappealing, but not as unappealing as that of lingering in Corel beyond nightfall.
We have to escape. We have to convince the Boss we're innocent…
At the southwest corner of the site, a short distance from the trucks, a graveyard of burnt-out construction machinery surrounded one of the village's former houses. By the condition and faded lettering of the signage pinned above its entrance, it could be identified as a shanty saloon, its periphery infested by insects warring to claim the contents of the discarded beer bottles. Another man slain from a gunshot wound was slumped against a large clay plant pot near the bar, as lifeless as the flowers inside it.
Murderers…thieves…rapists…all just left to rot in this grim underworld…
As Cloud arrived once more at the town square, he and his new companion still the object of much nosiness from the prison's foul residents, he froze, an unpredicted sight reaching his strained eyes. Below the neglected water tower knelt a lone figure, as tall and broad as any he had ever witnessed, his head lowered as if in solemn veneration. The dark-skinned giant was propped up by his right limb, the heavy chain-gun thrust deep into the earth.
"Barret?" yelled Cloud, his voice like a crack of thunder through the otherwise subdued yard.
"You know that guy?" Cait Sith whispered hesitantly, tugging at his wrist. "He…he sure looks dangerous."
Barret spun at the sound of his name, an expression of utter bewilderment etched on his bristly features. Spotting Cloud, he immediately rose to his feet, the bare muscular torso beneath his ripped jacket pulsing. Rapidly snatching the thirty-five-millimetre bandolier from around his waist, he jammed the feed into the bullet chamber of his gatling-gun, his mouth thinning to a snarl as he strode across the plaza. Without warning, he aimed directly at his AVALANCHE comrade, the six barrels of the fearsome weapon beginning to rotate.
"Wait…Barret, wait!" Cloud roared, his hands held out in submission.
"Get down!"
As Cloud threw himself to the ground, the chain-gun exploded into action, the volley of ammunition blasting over him. He could see the panicked convicts around the area scatter and hastily retreat, some scrambling to dive behind improvised bulwarks for cover. After a number of seconds, the bellow of gunfire died away, and all that hung in the air was the weighty rasps of Barret's panting.
He gently dropped his arm to his side, staring vacantly at Cloud. The ex-SOLDIER slowly glanced back, unsure what to expect, and watched the tattered body of a male collapse into a barrel only a few feet away, brandishing the same crooked hunting knife he had noticed before. Cloud instantly recognised what remained of the boy's facial scars and sleeveless leather jacket.
Two-Face...
"Uh…thanks…" he stammered gratefully.
"C'mon," said Barret, offering a hand, "we gotta find somewhere to lay low for a bit."
One by one, the inmates of Corel Prison started to re-emerge from the gnarled barricades and rusted car frames under which they had sought shelter from the giant's destructive onslaught, stunned and speechless. As silent glares fell upon the crumpled heap of Two-Face, a low murmur arose, but those who regarded the dead youngster were callously apathetic.
Barret led them hurriedly from the heart of the quad, through a parted gathering of men, ducking behind the abandoned scrap to conceal themselves from the imminent swarm of security. Weaving among the junk and drifting black fumes of stale fuel oil, he brought them to the rear of a rundown redbrick bungalow, one of the four buildings to have endured the tragedies here. Through the dismantled windows, they could see that the lounge was unlit and unoccupied and, checking that they were not being pursued, Barret steered them past the coal shed and inside.
"This belonged to Mayor Deenglow," he coughed, choking on the dusty air as he carefully closed the door after him. "Damn, look at the state o' it…"
The spacious room had undoubtedly once been a pleasant setting for local council meetings, with a luxurious double suite atop a valuable patterned rug its centre. Now, the twin sofas were decorated by grime and most of their stuffing had been ripped from the cushions, not unlike the armchair strewn upside-down in the corner. Along the far wall was the chaotic remnants of an aging mahogany mantelpiece, the shelves of which drooped lazily, its books and ornaments cast disrespectfully across the floorboards.
"So terrible…" whimpered Cait Sith, picking up an old edition of Velvet Voix.
"Who the hell's this, then?" Barret asked flatly, gesturing to the cat as he quickly scanned the perimeter through the cracks in the windows.
"He's the reason I'm in this shithole," grunted Cloud, sitting on the mouldy settee.
"Just hold on a wee minute," Cait Sith yelped defensively. "That's no very fair."
"He accosted me at Wonder Square."
"Is he trustworthy?" said Barret, making no effort to conceal the suspicion.
"I dunno."
"So, what happened?"
"There were murders at the Battle Arena," Cloud told him, absently gazing into the ramshackle fireplace. "Six people were killed, including two Shinra soldiers. We heard that the shootings were done by a man with a gun on his arm, but they blamed us anyway. We were just in the wrong place at the wrong time-"
"A gun-arm…?" gulped Barret.
"Yeah," he nodded. "Was that you? Is that why you're here?"
"No," Barret shook his head vigorously, finally pausing as if pondering how to continue, "I didn't do it neither. I came for another reason. Figured they'd toss me in the detention cell for a while if I started actin' aggressively at the casino."
"You're here on purpose?" gasped Cait Sith, scratching the tuft of fur between his ears.
"This village used to be my home," he answered sombrely. "This is all that's left of Corel."
"You mean you wanted to see it again?" Cloud presumed.
"Not quite," he swallowed hard. "I didn't want none o' y'all involved."
"Well, we're already involved now," Cait Sith waved dismissively, still clutching the famous drama. "Just tell us what's goin' on."
"Corel wasn't the only thing I was lookin' for down here," he began, his words bearing much sadness as he overturned the armchair in the corner and sank into it. "When I told my story on the Skytrain, there was one part I left out."
"Okay…" Cloud frowned questioningly.
"Four years ago, when I first got my operation, I heard Old Man Sakaki say that the surgeon had done the same for someone else. Identical procedure, but his was on the left hand. Afterwards, the other guy got a gun grafted to his arm. That's where I got the idea."
"But…Dyne's injury was the same as yours, right?" Cloud understood; the pieces of the puzzle were gradually coming together. "That's why you're here: to see if he's still alive."
"Yeah…"
"Didn't you ever try to find him before now?"
"Dyne's Marlene's papa, but I got my reasons," Barret retorted quietly.
"He was deceived by the Shinra, too; probably would've joined AVALANCHE."
"Wouldn't count on it."
"Huh?" Cloud snorted. "Why not?"
"'Cause Dyne never left Corel…"
"Ye mean he was imprisoned?" asked Cait Sith.
"No-one could ever put Dyne anywhere," Barret said softly, his eyes distant and glazed. "He runs this place."
"So, Dyne is…the Boss?" realised Cloud.
"I'd heard he was 'ere," Barret sighed. "I didn't wanna believe a lotta the stuff I was told 'bout what goes on in the prison. He was my best friend. We was close ever since we was kids. Had to make sure, y'know?"
"What're you gonna do?"
"I gotta 'pologise to Dyne before I can rest in peace," he replied. "An' I gotta go alone."
"What do you want me to say to that?" Cloud contended, leaning forward. "'Go ahead'? Is that what you wanna hear? Well, I can't let you do it."
"This ain't your fight!"
"If we're gonna get out of this dump, we need Dyne's permission," Cloud persisted. "Now, even if you think this is the end of the line for you, it's not for me. So, there it is: we're coming with you. The warden said he's at his hideout right now. Do you know where that is?"
"Yeah."
"Then, let's go," clapped Cait Sith, darting towards the door, "while our fortune's good."
"Huh?" Barret mumbled with bafflement.
"Ignore him," said Cloud.
Even with Barret's familiarity of the surrounding wilderness, the trio's subsequent hike was sluggish, the uncompromising balminess draining their energy. From the directions Coates had given, Barret had quickly concluded that the only place Dyne could be was his old family croft a few miles from Corel. Sneaking around the foundations of the Gold Saucer as the midday sun peaked high above the pinnacle of the colossus, they avoided the patrolmen. Cloud had observed a ropeway shuttle as it sailed gracefully across the sky, concluding that the glimmering blue carriage was bound for the southern prairies that lay beyond the red wastelands.
As Coates had suggested, their route had first taken them due east. A hazy veil of quivering heat beckoned them forth, partially masking a horizon that Cloud knew contained the wondrous backdrop of the Corel Mountains cascading into the Jatayu Sound, and the border of the Grangalan Peninsula. Standalone sarsens and slithering creeks of slurping quicksand were all that marred the seemingly unending flats of arid loam save for what sporadic stems of determined weeds battled through the surface.
After more than two gruelling hours of traipsing across the sweeping desert, their legs sore and heavy, they came at last to the darkened canyon whose craggy precipices vanished deep into the Planet. An inadequate mesh barrier sagged lethargically before the chasm, offering little in the way of defence from the vast unstable shelf and the fifty feet of gaping abyss between it and its opposite counterpart. A horde of death claws scurried over the jagged bluffs, the creatures' green hind pincers snapping at each other's necks in territorial skirmishes.
Trailing the ravine north, they soon neared the location Barret had described; they could see a faint wisp of smoke filtering into the atmosphere above the high mounds of a crude junkyard. The leering heaps of twisted steel flanked a meandering path the colour of rust, disconcerting and paved by thin shards of rock that crunched underfoot.
Most of the waste here was various automobiles and manufacturing equipment, and contained models ranging from the archaic pA-16 sedan all the way to a crimson sports version of a pA-86 coupe, a vehicle Cloud recalled from the display area in the lobby of Shinra Headquarters. The tyres of this once-grand race car were melted and its corroding shell now a shredded abomination, riddled with bullet holes as were the parts amongst which it was nestled.
Barret motioned for them to reduce their pace, creeping among the debris, his gun-arm poised to strike. Vigilant to remain undetected, he stepped lightly over the withered and stinking corpse of a bald figure, his contorted skull missing what chunks of flesh had been stolen by the vultures. Signalling for Cloud to cover him as they approached a sharp bend where they could hear movement further ahead, Barret hastily turned the corner, but stopped in his tracks, his face filling with emotion.
They had come to a wide clearing amid the scrapyard which was enclosed on one side by dense chunks of rubble that blocked a great deal of natural light, and a crumbling homestead on the other. Several sections of the croft's roof and brick foundations had already collapsed, and signs of a dying fire could be made out from inside, along with an upturned chair and a substantial armoury of rifles and pistols. In the centre of the space was a small concrete well, long since been in use according to the state of its foul wooden bucket, and yet another destroyed saloon vehicle close by.
The far side of the setting overlooked the canyon, the raised outcrop there projecting somewhat over the void. A lone man was crouched at the ridge, his focus fixed on a faded patch of soil where a simple hewed stake had been bent into the shape of the ancient religious symbol. A second smaller picket had been erected next to the makeshift grave, but was set in unspoiled ground. Pounding the earth with his right fist, the man fired a single shot into the gulch, bowing his head.
"Dyne…?"
Pausing, the Boss gradually stood, his muscular shoulders slumped, his back to the intruders. He was clad in a thin vest-top and green combat slacks that were ingrained with dirt and blood, his short hair matted with sweat and neglect, so dark it bore a purple tint. Strong arms hung at his side, the submachine gun grafted below his left bicep still smoking from the discharge. An ominous silence fell between the man and the three for what seemed like an eternity, the sounds of the wastelands drifting from a distance. At last, Cloud strode forward, but was immediately halted by Barret, who instead found the courage to continue.
"Dyne…is that you?"
"Now, there's a voice I haven't heard in years," growled the Boss. He slowly turned, his lean features dominated by a fierce and maddened glower emanating from sunken, blackened eyes. A majestic silver pendant was draped around his neck, smooth and polished, a stark contrast to his tanned, leathery skin and ragged attire. Dragging a crippled leg awkwardly behind him, he advanced a short way across the clearing, stopping a number of feet from Barret so that only the derelict well separated them. "A voice I'll never forget…"
"I always hoped I'd see you again someday," Barret responded softly, his bristly jaw trembling. "I knew you were alive somewhere; we had the same surgery."
"Did you now?"
"Listen, Dyne, I wanna-"
He took a step towards his old friend, but sprang back as Dyne fired at the ground before him, splattering gravel into the air as the bullets struck the loam. Breathing quickly, Barret glanced up, his arms held high in surrender, but found nothing more than hollowness in the Boss' expression. Lifting his gaze to the heavens, Dyne whispered something inaudible, his lips barely moving.
"Dyne?" gulped Barret, studying him closely.
"I hear her voice," he said, his mouth curled in fury.
"What?"
"I hear her voice," Dyne repeated with a snarl, clenching his fist. "Eleanor's voice. Beggin' me not to hate your rotten guts. That's why I didn't hunt you down."
"I know I was stupid to trust the Shinra," Barret sniffed, shaking his head. "I ain't askin' you to forgive me. But…what in the name o' the Gods're you doin' in a place like this? Why d'you wanna slaughter those that ain't even involved, huh? Why?"
That's good coming from him, Cloud mused sardonically, reflecting on their first mission together at Mako Reactor1 and the lives of more than two-hundred civilians that were claimed.
"Why?" spat Dyne, swinging his weapon angrily. "The hell d'you care for? Are the people that got killed gonna understand 'why'? Are the people of Corel gonna understand what happened that day just by listenin' to Shinra's excuses? I don't care what their reason was! All they give us are lies an' artillery to wipe each other out! What's left is a world of despair and corruption…and emptiness…"
"Then blame Shinra!" Barret barked back. "Not those 'round you. Why you doin' this?"
Exhaling irritably, Dyne swept his absent scowl out over the canyon, his face awash with slender strips of penetrating sunlight. Reaching unhurriedly into his pocket, he removed an ammunition clip, slotting it into the chamber of his gun-arm. After a number of seconds, he took aim once more in the direction of the murky crevasse and unloaded a series of random bursts. Dissatisfied that the act brought him no respite, he hobbled a few paces to the doorway of the rundown house and fired again, causing a segment of the wall to cave.
"Dyne?" Barret called futilely.
The Boss wheeled around and shot, the shells exploding the glass windshield of the wrecked automobile beside Cloud. Cait Sith instinctively hurled himself from sight, diving into a bundle of trash and cowering there. As Barret opened his mouth to cry out, another blast sent grit spraying wildly across his legs, forcing the giant backwards, staggering as he guarded himself, but showing no signs of retaliation.
"You really wanna hear 'why'?" bellowed Dyne. "Alright, I'll tell you: it's 'cause I want to destroy everythin'; the people of this prison; the prison itself; the whole godsdamn Planet! I've got nothin' left in this world. Corel, Eleanor…Marlene…"
"Dyne!" yelled Barret, almost pleadingly. "Marlene's still alive."
"What did you say?"
"After you fell, I managed to escape the Shinra, an' went back into town," Barret explained frantically. 'I thought Myrna was gone for sure. I wanted to be by her side 'til the end. That's when I found her…found Marlene. I took her to Midgar with me. She's bein' looked after by a friend. Let's go see her together, alright?"
"So…she's alive…" Dyne said quietly, his voice thoughtful as he peered at the smaller of the two grave markers. Suddenly, he spun and drew his weapon towards Barret's head. The shock of the revelation had rapidly passed and now, as he glared at his former colleague, his eyes screamed with lunacy. "I guess that means you an' I gotta fight."
"What?"
"Eleanor's lonely; she's all by herself," hissed Dyne, his chest heaving. "I've gotta take Marlene to her."
"Are you insane?" spluttered Barret. "You're talkin' 'bout murderin' your own daughter!"
"Marlene wants to see her mum, doesn't she?" Dyne asserted manically, unleashing another foray of bullets. Barret launched himself behind the isolated vehicle, the submachine burst tearing through fragments of rusted metal next to his shoulder.
"Barret!" called Cloud, seeking the cover of a large boulder to his left.
"You stay the hell outta this, Spiky. This is my problem!"
"Indeed it is," cackled the Boss.
"Stop, Dyne!" Barret implored, scrambling to his knees, his hulking body pressed against the side of the automobile. "I can't die yet!"
"Oh, yeah?" laughed Dyne, a second shot shattering the glass above his prey. "Well my life's been over since that day on Mount Corel!"
"Stop it! I don't wanna fight you!"
"You ain't got a choice!"
Barret's ears were ringing as slug after slug skipped over the saloon's bonnet, closing in, though it was clear Dyne was toying with him. His heart was thumping so fast he was worried it might rupture his chest, and his gatling-gun was rotating before he even registered what he was doing. In a blur of movement, he stood and discharged a volley of warning rounds in his friend's general direction.
Dyne manoeuvred more agilely than expected, shifting his weight from his damaged leg and propelling himself through the warped entrance of the homestead. He ducked as the Boss returned fire from within the fissures on the walls, sparks zipping like pyrotechnics overhead, ceasing only for him to reload. Hastily smearing sweat from his brow and adjusting his bandolier, Barret faltered; the abrupt lull in the confrontation was unnerving.
The molotov gave a soft whistle as it cruised through the air and bounced on the gravel by the deflated wheels of the car. Several lines of blue LEDs flashed on the grenade's shell, emitting a series of menacing beeps that quickened as the countdown approached zero. Seizing the molotov, Barret hurled it over the dune of trash, shielding his face as the detonation sent a powerful wave of dust and shrapnel his way. Composing himself, he turned in time to see Dyne leap onto the vehicle's hood, shooting wildly at him.
Barret rolled forward, keeping low as he heard the tell-tale sound of a jammed chamber, and found his feet in the same motion. Spinning, he tackled Dyne, both men landing hard on the dry earth. Dyne swung his fist in an effort to break free, catching his opponent's jaw. Barret tumbled backwards, grabbing helplessly at something for support. He had barely hit the ground when Dyne pounced, smashing his metallic weapon against Barret's skull.
Barret howled in pain, blood splattering across his temple. Mercilessly, Dyne swiped once more, the thick machinegun barrel making contact with Barret's nose in a dull crack, causing him to roar in agony as he clutched it for protection. As he hauled his arm back to strike again, Dyne hesitated for an instant, then dislodged the faulty clip and snatched another from his pocket. In realisation, Barret lurched at him, thrusting his foe against the rough building. As the Boss regained balance, he slammed the ammo into its slot and, taking aim, a single round was fired.
Dyne stared at Barret, his features suddenly weighed down by sadness. In that moment of serenity, there was an understanding between the two companions: a mutual acceptance that they had not felt in years. Slowly, Dyne traced his hand to his gut, wincing as his fingers caressed the bullet wound. With a weak smile, he sank to his knees, gasping for breath. Barret heaved himself up, his aching swiftly leaving him as he tried to assist his rival.
"Back!" he snapped, targeting Barret with his trembling gun-arm as he dragged his ruined body across the dirt, propping himself against the wall of the croft.
"Dyne, I…I'm sorry-"
"It wasn't just my hand," Dyne croaked, panting. "Back then…I lost somethin' irreplaceable. I dunno where we went wrong…"
"I don't know either, man," sighed Barret, hanging his head. "Ain't there no other way to resolve this?"
"I told you: I…I want to destroy everythin' in this crazy world…even me…"
"An' what 'bout Marlene? What's gonna happen to her?"
"Think about it, Barret," he shrugged solemnly, grimacing as the pain ascended. "How old was Marlene when her mother died? Even if I did go to her now, she wouldn't even know me. An' what's more…what's left o' these hands are a little too stained to carry my darlin' girl anymore."
As he spoke, he examined himself, looking between his blackened palm and the automatic weapon still dripping with Barret's blood. He exhaled long and deep and, glancing skyward, offered a silent prayer. Cringing in discomfort, he reached around his neck and tore off the silver pendant, briefly cradling the priceless locket, then tossed it to Barret with what scarce energy he could muster.
"Give that to Marlene," he instructed. "It was Eleanor's family heirloom. Be sure to tell her it's a gift from her mother."
"Alright."
"Wow," murmured Dyne, his expression wistful as if all the suffering it had endured in the previous four years was gently ebbing away, "Marlene's already six..."
Pushing himself from the groaning wall, he struggled towards the edge of the ravine, his crippled leg scraping behind. Finally pausing by the pair of wooden stakes, the Boss granted himself a minute to gather his strength, then yanked the tiny grave marker from the mound in which it had resided as a memorial to his daughter. He kissed the picket tenderly before throwing it into the cavernous yonder, turning to give Barret a comprehending nod.
"Dyne…?"
"My brother…don't ever make Marlene cry…"
"Dyne?" he frowned, grasping his intentions too late. "No!"
Holding out his arms as he welcomed his fate, the Boss grinned in the cooling afternoon breeze that swept through the junkyard, allowing his body to topple from the ridge. Barret bellowed once more, rushing forward in vain, but his desperate yells were carried off by the wind as his oldest friend disappeared beyond the cliff, plunging into the darkened abyss. He slumped to the ground, his eyes burning, his loss too great not to erupt in tears of anguish.
"Dyne, me an' you were the same," he whispered into the wilderness. "My hands ain't any cleaner. I shouldn't be able to carry Marlene neither…"
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