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47. Zack: Killer

Zack resisted basic truths with all his strength. Call it denial if you wanted, but he called it survival. As long as he could preserve his sense of self and his hope, he could at least maintain his sanity and reason.

For example, as he traipsed through yet another of Hojo's 'developmental tasks', he thought about one day seeing his home town again and worked on persuading himself it was actually possible. The kid who'd left at thirteen to be a SOLDIER had never wanted to go back, even for visits, but now Zack badly wanted to see Gongaga again. His house. His room. His posters on the walls and photographs stuffed into drawers and into books as markers. Dirty socks next to the bed and an array of only slightly pre-worn clothes scattered about, ready to be worn again. Intellectually he knew his mother would have cleaned up those clothes and reordered his things, if she and his father hadn't just converted his room into something else altogether, but when he thought of it, that was the image that came to mind.

Mom and Dad. They'd been okay parents, he could see that now. It couldn't have been easy, raising a kid as wild and adventurous as Zack had been. His mother had been driven to distraction by all the scrapes he got into, constantly worried he'd injure himself beyond repair and end up in a wheelchair, or worse. Zack had thought her too fussy, always getting into his face and trying to mollycoddle him. He'd felt stifled by her when she was only trying to show him affection. His father, by comparison, had been the stern disciplinarian, or at least he'd tried to be. Zack hadn't really learned how to follow orders until he joined Shinra. He wondered what his father would have thought if he'd seen his wayward son doing push-ups as punishment for being cheeky to his training officer.

Zack tried to focus on his parents' faces, but it was hard. Everything was a little hazy with time and trauma, but he knew now that they weren't nearly as bad as he'd believed when he skipped town and went off to find his destiny in a hypodermic filled with mako. He wished he could tell them that. He wished he could tell them they'd done a great job – a better one than he could have done, given the opportunity. He wished he could apologise for not being a better son when it counted.

He missed them.

He didn't want to die. Or forget them. Or forget himself.

Too bad Hojo only seemed interested in the first, and that one only under strict conditions.

The VR tasks had continued, interspersed with more physical experiments that crossed the line into full-blown torture more often than not. Sometimes Hojo or his minions asked him questions, or tried to convince him of things when his brain was too fogged with pain to resist. They were attempting to implant suggestions in his mind, he knew, but he could never remember what afterwards – which, actually, was the point of the exercise, and all the more terrifying for it. The idea they were succeeding in whatever they were trying to do to him was his greatest fear, next to them going too far and killing Cloud when they used him as a bargaining chip.

Most of the time, however, Hojo and his band of merry idiots said nothing. Then they put Zack back in his tube only long enough to make sure he didn't die before they took him out again. He wasn't induced into unconsciousness nearly so much anymore, so he had a better idea of real time. There was no point in knocking him out. The time between extractions was shorter than ever, a pattern designed to keep him disoriented and even more biddable. They deprived him of sleep, too. They were trying to break him, and it was getting more and more like taking a titanium cudgel to a walnut. Sometimes he couldn't tell reality from the evocative fantasies of the VR equipment, which fooled far more than just his eyes and hearing, the way the holo-chamber at Shinra used to.

He remembered sneaking Cloud into those chambers to help him practise his swordsmanship. He wondered whether Cloud would ever be Cloud again, even if they were ever freed. In Zack's hastily snatched sleep and even hastier dreams, he sometimes envisaged other SOLDIERs, ad sometimes even a few Turks, bursting into the lab and shutting down these 'terrible and illegal experiments that Shinra obviously didn't know about otherwise they would have stopped them a long time ago'.

Yeah, right. Shinra? Shit-ra, more like.

People swam before him as he lurched from task to task. Those he'd known and worked with, and those he'd only seen in pictures or at a distance. President Shinra. Rufus, the president's son. Godo Kisaragi of Wutai. Heidegger. Scarlet. Reeve Tuetsi. Their names loomed bigger than their faces, and clamoured against the more familiar ones Zack struggled to hold onto when his grip on his sanity seemed thinnest. Cloud Strife. Angeal Hewley. Aerith Gainsborough. General Sephiroth. Genesis Rhapsodos. Tseng. Kunsel. Cissnei. He needed those memories. They defined who and what he was: Zack Fair, SOLDIER First Class, friend, colleague, boyfriend, pupil …

"You're losing focus, Z."

Not Z. He wasn't just 'Specimen Z'.

Zack gritted his teeth. Another day, another VR session, another attempt to break him. Fuck you, Hojo.

"Target ahead. You know what to do, Z."

Yeah, wring your scrawny neck.

Hojo was silent for the rest of the journey. Zack left the 'compound' and emerged into a brilliant day on a snowy mountainside. Previous VR tasks had put him in the Midgar slums, a desert, a sinking ocean liner and an airship, amongst other locations. Each time his senses were fooled into believing what Zack knew to be false, so the crunch of snow and biting chill in the air were no comfort. He knew he wasn't really free, however briefly. These fantasies actually made his captivity worse, as they hammered home the fact he hadn't actually seen real sky or breathed outside air for years.

Movement ahead. Zack tensed. He pushed away his hatred and anger and exhaustion to focus only on the present moment, on combat, on surviving, and on the other life dependant on his success. If he screwed up, Cloud would be the one to suffer. He had already suffered enough just by being in the wrong place at the wrong time, and then having the guts to do what needed to be done with Sephiroth. Zack was muddled with exhaustion and pain from his old wounds, but he knew he couldn't let his mistakes cause his friend any more pain. As he dredged up old tracking skills, all Zack knew was the tension, the moment that stood between him and another accomplished task, and the brief reprieve that would bring him.

He interpreted the signals without conscious thought. He needed to rest. He needed to protect Cloud. And his SOLDIER honour. He needed to rest, damn it. No, he needed to push on. He had to do this, and then he could rest, secure in the knowledge that Cloud was safe. Until next time, at least. And the time after that. And the time after that. How long would this go on for? How long would he have to do these 'developmental tasks' before Hojo figured out they'd never break him to their will? Whatever they wanted of him, he –

More movement. A shout. The world devolved into a smear of flashing colour and light. Zack saw things, but it was as if part of him had suddenly switched off. Snow flew, first white and then red. There was a noise like biting into a fresh apple. Then everything fractured into something like a screensaver of tenuously connected memories. The apple in Angeal's hand when he told Zack that story. The apple tree burning in Banora. Aerith laughing and wondering if her church could grow a tree as well as flowers. The flower cart Zack built for her. Going out into the Midgar slums to sell roses. Chasing Genesis copies through the streets. Fighting alongside the Turks on their turf when the number of monsters was overwhelming. Seeing Cissnei fight for the first time. Going on a mission with Tseng. The helicopter crashing. A regular grunt taking his helmet off as they walked and talked through the snowy wastes. Snow. White snow. No, red … and then Zack fell back into his own head with a stomach-churning lurch.

He knew the moment his knees hit the ground that this wasn't just another VR simulation. No needles were designed to make him bring up the paste that passed as food around here. Plus, there was something about the sharpness of the smell that drove into him more than any other had since Hojo started this game: blood and gore and ohfuckwhathadhedone?

Two bodies. One was clearly already dead. His head sat a few feet away from the rest of him. The other … shit, the other was still alive. Zack scrambled towards it, wiping his mouth and trying to cradle her head and shoulders on his lap.

His lap. He was wearing clothes. And he hadn't been able to tell. He'd thought it was just another simulation. Just Hojo's toys once again messing with his mind.

What had these bastards done to him? He had killed before, as part of SOLDIER, but no like this. Never like this. Never two unsuspecting people who couldn't … couldn't defend themselves … why did his arm hurt so much?

Damn it, he'd been shot?

Not quite so helpless then. But he hadn't been able to tell he'd been shot when it happened, either. He'd been so disconnected from reality that he'd managed to take out both of these armed people without remembering a damn thing.

No. No, no, no, they haven't won. No, this isn't… I'm not …

Quick, damn it, what was his name? Z …. Z-something …

Nonononononononono –

"Zack Fair?" The woman in his lap coughed, eyes going round with pain and surprise. "You're … you're dead …"

Zack! That was his name. That was who he was.

He focussed on her face. High cheekbones. Short blonde hair. Eyes like two chips of ice. Something clicked; an old memory in the very back of his psyche, where the dust was thickest. "Reports of my demise have been greatly exaggerated, Helena."

"You're … alive …"

His arms tightened reflexively around the Turk. He'd only worked with her handful of times, but he'd found her commitment and loyalty admirable. What was she doing here? And where was here? Could he really still be in Nibelheim? Hadn't they been moved in all this time? More and more mind-fuckery. It heaped on him, heavy as lead. He was sinking under the weight of it. Nibelheim, the fire, Sephiroth, the experiments, Cloud – and now this. So much tragedy.

"I'm sorry. Fuck, I didn't mean to … they've done things to my head, Helena, I couldn't stop myself … I didn't know it was real. No, that's a stupid excuse … shit. Shitshitshit. I'm sorry." The words seemed hollow and useless, but they were all he had. "I'm so, so sorry."

Helena didn't reply. Her mouth was too full of blood. Still, she managed to face death with a strange kind of serenity, as if it would be too undignified to whimper, beg, or cast blame at him for what he'd done. She didn't offer forgiveness, or even castigation, but as the light went out of her eyes Zack read regret in them, and dozens of questions that would now never be answered.

She shuddered once and went still.

And Zack's mind, stretched thin as the depth of a shadow, broke.

He fell into a raging sea of memories, thoughts and emotions. Yet again he was swept away on a tide of images that disconnected him from reality. He felt like he'd been torn right out of his body and thrown into a void where all his worst nightmares waited for him. He was fighting Angeal to the death again. He was watching Cloud stagger out of the reactor with a fatal wound from Masamune. He was in Wutai during the war, discovering the poor men who'd fallen into a concealed spike pit. He was helplessly pounding his fist against the inside of his stasis tube while Hojo made his best friend scream in agony. He was in Banora when the choppers started dropping their explosives. He was running through the burning buildings of Nibelheim to save their young guide, Tifa. He was arriving at the church to find some drunken guy had Aerith pinned against the wall. He was looking down at Gillian Hewley's body. He was fighting Sephiroth, looking into the eyes of the man he'd respected for years and seeing nothing there but madness …

Help! Angeal! Someone, help!

He was failing. Over and over again, he was failing. He'd failed to save so many people he cared about – Angeal was only one of them. Angeal had been killed by his hand. Genesis was an enemy. Sephiroth was dead. Cloud's mind was lost. Tifa had probably died of the wounds Sephiroth gave her. Those men in Wutai had waited for him, but he'd been too late. Gillian Hewley had committed suicide. Banora was rubble. Nibelheim had been razed. He had murdered Helena and the man she was with – probably her partner, since Turks often ran in twos. The only one he couldn't be sure of was Aerith, and who knew what could have happened to her in the time he'd been gone? Another drunken attacker, perhaps, and he hadn't been there to pull him off this time. Or maybe Shinra had finally recaptured her and put her in a place like this. That was what they'd wanted for the last Ancient, wasn't it? Aerith had spent the first seven years of her life in a lab just like this one, and she'd survived. She'd made it through with her mind intact.

Aerith, help me, please.

The thought was desperate and futile. He was sinking fast. Hojo had won. Despite everything he'd done to fight it, that bastard had won. He felt his mind slipping away from him, felt himself shutting down as he was drawn through the void … and drawn … and drawn … lulled into a kind of pit of hibernation, aware and yet unresponsive as images continued to pelt him.

Was this what had happened to Cloud? Was this what his best friend had been going through all this time, or was it really just acute mako poisoning? Did it really matter anymore?

And then, through the maelstrom, something twanged. He felt it. It was as though something buried deep inside him had suddenly pulled taut and was dragging him upwards like a fish on a line. He kicked feebly, but it continued to tug him out of the pit. It shone through and against everything, and the closer he got to the surface, the more it looked like a shining silver wire connecting him to somewhere in the outside world – the place he needed to be, because the pit was giving up and betraying his honour and his friends and loved ones, and if there was one thing he, Zack Fair, SOLDIER First Class would never give up, it was his honour or his precious people. Not now. Not ever.

For the second time that day, Zack tumbled back into his own head. This time, however, he saw the afterimages of the silver wire and felt it strengthening his mind against the things that had nearly shattered it.

Hojo was standing in front of him. Zack realised he was standing over Helena's cooling body. Until a few seconds ago he'd been staring blankly into space, much like Cloud, and decided to keep doing so when he heard Hojo speak.

"See how obediently he follows orders now? That is how you break a mind such as his." He chuckled. It was like the clatter of bones on a gamekeeper's gibbet. "It really was quite timely for those two Turks to come snooping around up here. Although …" He sucked in a breath between his teeth. "This does mean I shall have to return to Midgar to make sure they hadn't already communicated anything inauspicious back to that cretin, Tseng. Just because they were outside doesn't mean they hadn't already gathered things that could be used against the project. The Reunion must go forward, no matter what." Hojo sighed. "I do so hate politics, especially when one is faced with such success and yet much put celebrations on hold in order to deal with paper pushers and nosy administrators."

So Tseng was still alive. Something inside Zack cheered. Tseng was a bastard in his own way, but at least he'd never stuck Zack in a tube and spent years torturing him into submission. And perhaps, if Tseng had sent spies to stake out this facility … did that mean rescue was on the horizon?

The silver wire twanged inside him. No, he couldn't rely on someone else to save him this time. He had to take matters into his own hands, and with this latest development he might actually have the opportunity to do it. Hojo thought he was broken. Perhaps Zack could use that to his advantage.

"Z, pick that up," Hojo pointed at Helena, "and follow Gomi to dispose of it."

Dutifully, Zack picked up Helena's corpse. She was so light he could barely believe it. All the mako treatments here had made him stronger than ever.

"S-Sir?" stuttered the scientist called Gomi. "Me?"

"He's a blank slate now, Gomi. Give him an order and he'll follow it until we install the Project S programming." Hojo rubbed his hands together. He actually rubbed his hands like some cartoon villain, and Zack got the impression it was nothing to do with the cold making all their breath visible in the air. "Go on. Try it."

Gomi licked his lips. "Um, Z … t-take three steps forward."

Zack complied.

"Now take three steps back."

He complied again.

"Drop what you're holding," shouted one of the others.

Whispering a silent apology, Zack allowed Helena's body to flop onto his feet. Her blood spattered onto his legs. He didn't react, though he wished he'd at least been able to close her eyes. They stared blankly up at him. Whoever said people looked peaceful in death was full of shit. There was nothing peaceful about dying, unless he was missing something important.

"It's working," said the woman who'd spoken. "He's completely obedient, and we don't even have to threaten Specimen C to get the desired result."

"Should I dispose of C now, Professor?" a third white-coat asked.

Zack noticed for the first time that they'd brought Cloud outside, presumably to provide extra incentive if he'd refused to kill Helena and her partner. Cloud was in his old infantryman uniform. The bloody tear Masamune made when it ran him through was still there. It was probably the only outfit they had for him in this place, if this lab really was in Nibelheim. Which would probably mean Zack was back in the SOLDIER uniform he'd been wearing when he fought Sephiroth and got his ass handed to him.

"No," Hojo said speculatively. "No, keep that one alive for now. That can be part of Z's final test when I return from Midgar."

"Sir?"

"Well what better way to prove the reliability of the treatment than to make Z kill what he has so foolishly been protecting all this time? That will also prove the effects of the treatment are long-term and aren't a – to use the vernacular – 'flash in the pan'." Another gibbet-chuckle, which the other scientists all mimicked dutifully. "Enough. Gomi, clean this mess up and then put Z and C back in their stasis tubes. Don't bother to undress them this time. Just make sure Z is recovered enough to withstand the programming after his final test."

As Zack followed Gomi with Helena in his arms again, and then went back to take her partner to the incinerator as well, Zack vowed that before Hojo got back from Midgar, he and Cloud would break out of this godforsaken hellhole. He had escaped oblivion this time, but he had no desire to try his luck again if it was discovered he wasn't as broken as he seemed.