Author's Note: Life in the big bad city sucks. Life in Chocobo Chow sucks even more.
CHAPTER 3: City Woes
The Plate of Midgar City. Or a technological pizza as some called it due to its round landscape with eight triangular divisions. The giant metal disc hovered above the Slums and effectively cut off the clear blue sky from the underworld residents. The underworld had become a dark place because of it. From his apartment, Cloud could never see the blood-red dot that rose during early morning hours or the white eye that appeared among a starry black night. Instead, Cloud saw an assortment of metal beams, cables, concrete, and pillars any time he looked up. As crappy as his job had been so far, it at least provided him a legitimate reason to go up to the Plate and view the sky. The trips topside maintained his sanity.
Slipping inside the train's closing doors, Cloud barely made it on time. He took a deep breath and pushed past the other commuters in search of an empty seat. It was a packed train. Not really a surprise for the five o'clock rush hour. Commute to the Plate usually took a good fifteen minutes. Unfortunately, it posed a constant challenge here in the Slums.
There were too many people. Too many noises. Too many potential threats. Cloud had to keep an alert eye on his person. Muggers, drugs, and prostitution… they were the norms of the underworld. Any man dressed in a work uniform served as a potential target. It was because of this Cloud wore a heavy dark coat over his Chocobo Chow uniform every day and wrapped layers of masked tape around his wrist's barcode tattoo. Cyber muggers were a rampant problem in the city. The clever thieves used portable scanners with a built-in decipher code. They'd scan the wrist and transfer their victim's Gil to an untraceable account. Anyone's accounts and lifesavings were at risk with just a quick scan of a tattoo.
"Welcome to the future of Midgar City," a calm female's voice broadcasted from a clear flat-screen above Cloud's head. "Take a peek into the bright horizon with Shinra's first line of aerial production, slated for a next year release."
Images of Shinra Inc.'s latest design vehicles appeared. The models were sleek and smooth; all constructed of gloss-painted steel.
Already, Cloud heard rumors about a big move for Chocobo Chow. The powers-that-be were scoping out a high cubicle spot in Twenty-First Street. They wanted to be ready to serve the first aerial customers. It sounded crazy. And depressing. Even as Cloud commuted with the people in the sky and witnessed these marvelous inventions firsthand, he was still a lowly employee who resided in the dirt. He could never be a part of this world, not until he made it into the army. Into the Tsviets.
"It's time to take to the heavens," the advertisement concluded with a three-beat chime.
Cloud spotted a window seat at the very back of the train. A young man donned in a black jacket and leather pants stood in the way. His face was decked out with metal studs. He sported a bizarre, yet stylish haircut. With a PHS in hand, the sharply dressed man was in the middle of passing out business cards to a group of giggling women until he noticed Cloud. He chuckled at the sight of the Chocobo Chow badge that peeked out of his coat. The blond-haired teenager withdrew a curse word and covered it. Then he moved around him.
There were a lotta guys like this in the city. Usually stationed at corners of busy streets in downtown Midgar, they wore extravagant high-fashioned attire and expensive accessories. The pretty boys handed out cards to women. Cloud wondered what sort of funny business they were affiliated with. Club promoters? Musicians? Whores?
Cloud finally claimed his seat and exhaled through his mouth. Next to him was a wrinkle-faced, lanky businessman with a cheap suit, powerful cologne, and a weirdly shaped moustache. His thick-framed glasses amplified the size of his eyes, making them as big and lifeless as a bug's. The old man gave the boy a look-over.
Not in the mood for casual conversation of any kind, Cloud slipped on a pair of ear buds from his coat and turned on his PHS. The hypnotic steady beats of ambience music pumped loudly into his ears. It relaxed him during his commutes but also blocked off all the people who begged him for Gil or wanted to sell him their stolen goods. Cloud didn't bother to lower his volume when the businessman suddenly leaned closer to whisper something to him. He already knew what he wanted. Sometimes playing deaf to the world presented the most logical solution.
As the train started its ascent and followed the long spiraled tracks up to the Plate's surface, a familiar but unwanted sensation occurred. Cloud's stomach stirred. It initially started from a small pressure point in his belly. As the walls of the train and seat rattled nonstop, though, his upper abdominal muscles contracted. Cloud's heart committed to a fast-paced tempo. The air felt warmer. He took a deep swallow and held his breath. Cloud could hear the thumping sounds of his heart through both ears. Closing his eyes, the boy bent forward to relieve some of the pressure in his stomach. His hands clenched onto the knees. The nausea only worsened.
After all these years, Cloud still suffered from motion sickness. Kinetosis, they called it. He couldn't ride on a Chocobo as a kid because of it. It was also to blame for his failure in the physical exam this past summer. Shoved inside a helicopter simulator with the rest of the other applicants, he'd puked all over them, including the flight instructor. It was a tragic nightmare that earned him a spot in the red list. Unfortunately, Cloud had to overcome this challenge if he wanted to enlist in Shinra's army. Transportation in Midgar was also a necessity. Nothing was within walking distance in a place like this.
Withdrawing a bottle of pills from his coat's pocket, Cloud popped one into his mouth. They weren't the best medication in the world but they were better than none. Cloud made a face as he swallowed it. The acidic flavor of the pill left behind a bitter aftertaste on his tongue. Nearly vomiting from it, Cloud quickly withdrew a fat stick of bubble gum. He chewed on it. Eventually the flavor of watermelon soaked across the surface of his tongue.
Feeling slightly better, Cloud stared out his window to find a horizon line. A physician once told him motion sickness was nothing more than the body's desire to re-orient its inner sense of balance. Uh. Sure. Whatever… Looking out the glass, Cloud tried to re-orient his inner sense of balance by taking in the scenery. It made him feel worse in other ways though.
Observed from afar, the Slum's decaying condition became more obvious to him. The majority of the buildings lacked roofs. Their crumbling walls revealed rusted metal beams, an assortment of crudely painted words, and stray bullet holes. At a distance, there stood the silhouette of a Church. A chunk of its roof had collapsed inward. The metal cross on top slightly bent to the side. Hard to believe anyone could still practice an ounce of faith in this hellhole, Cloud thought. The underworld festered with all sorts of vices in an attempt to survive. It didn't leave much room for faith.
When the train rode past Sector 6 of the Slums, Wall Market came into view. It was a popular hotspot. Cloud enjoyed the Wutai noodles and received his motion sickness pills from the Pharmacy there. However, he kept his visits to Wall Market to a minimum. A lot of shady activities occurred there. It was home to Honey Bee Inn, a notorious cozy spot for paid sex. Drug deals also went down with the occasional gun shoot-outs.
The man responsible for the illegal shit-fest was a mafia boss named Don Corneo. Not much was known about him, except that he professed a special love for beautiful women, hard liquor, and torture chambers. Sex, drugs, and violence were definitely his cup of tea.
The longer Cloud viewed the outside scenery the more bitter he had become. Despair and corruption hid at every corner of the underworld. As the train rose higher and higher, he wanted to escape it all. He vowed he'd make it into the army and someday forget this dreadful place.
On the window's reflection, Cloud saw the old businessman next to him again. A briefcase rested over his lap now. It hid a hand that jerked up and down between the old man's legs. Cloud's lips shaped into a sneer. This man was old enough to be his father. But that didn't stop the pervert from expressing sexual interest in the teenager.
When Cloud turned back to glare at him, the businessman flicked out his tongue. He made perverse licking motions with it. Wild bug-like eyes stared at Cloud and never blinked. The pervert lifted his briefcase high enough to offer a full view of a moist, aged cock; as if the sight of it would inspire the boy to rest his head on the lap and blow him. Cloud refrained from punching the old man. Instead, he blew up a very large bubble from his wad of gum and popped it right in front of his face. Then he looked out the window again and turned up the ambient music in his PHS.
Normally, Cloud carried a concealed swift-blade and flashed it to idiots like this. One didn't survive the Slums without proper protection. Unfortunately, he'd forgotten his knife today in his haste to catch the train. Cloud ignored whatever verbal nonsense the old man responded with and listened to his music on full blast.
It was a common experience for him during late afternoon commute hours. Both the underworld and the Plate thrived in the perversion of the youth. For a bright-eyed boy like Cloud, he represented a desired commodity due to his physique and age. His soft, nearly feminine features served as the perfect embodiment of man and woman wrapped into one. Or as one crude man colorfully pointed out to him last week: a severely fuckable pretty boy. The price for his body and youth could easily afford him an upscale apartment on the Plate. Or so the perverts claimed. Cloud wasn't sure whether to feel appalled or intrigued by this.
Within fifteen minutes, the train reached the end of the long black tunnel. He finally arrived topside. The late afternoon sky immediately lit up the train with a natural orange light. Even when the hours drew closer to the evening, steel walls gleamed under the setting sun's intensity. Cloud blinked several times and had to readjust his eyes to the light.
He'd been in the darkness for too long. His skin itched and crawled with Goosebumps in reaction to the sun's warm rays. The darkness of the Slums had been lifted at last. A sky consumed by colors of blues and soft oranges welcomed him. The proud city of Midgar now flashed by Cloud's window; complete with a sea of finely attired citizens and flashy advertisements. No more make-shift, corroded buildings. No more filth-crusted faces. No more discarded trash in the streets that reeked of spoiled and consumed goods. He'd entered the city in the sky at last.
"Soon arriving at the Third Sector," the train operator announced over the intercom, "Please collect your belongings and watch your step."
Cloud stopped chewing on his gum when he caught sight of Shinra's main company complex. It was further north at the center of the metropolis. In his mind he saw himself approach the long path of concrete steps that led up to its entrance. He imagined the rush of cool, air-conditioned air hit his face when the glassed doors automatically parted for him. The interior lights were bright. Reflections and lights haunted metal pillars. In his head, a group of elite soldiers appeared before him. They stood in a straight line, ready to greet their new member. Cloud's projected image smiled at them.
The train finally pulled to its first stop. Cloud lurched forward in his seat. When he saw a group of people quickly shuffle out, he rose from his seat to follow. It was time to go.
Cloud passed by the pervert on his way to the exit doors. The businessman hadn't looked away. His hand stayed out of public view but moved rapid. Cloud growled when a line of white abruptly squirted in the air. A few drops landed on the edge of his coat. Irritated, Cloud reacted by punching the old man on the face. A bone cracked and the nose burst with red. Cloud hurried to the exit before a Shinra infantryman arrived to investigate the screams.
His dream had to wait. Tonight, he had burgers to flip, tables to wipe, and people to deal with.
Saturday's crowd was surprisingly not as demanding and annoying like yesterday's bunch. While many came, it was not as packed like the previous Saturdays. That had much to do with the gruesome discovery in the museum earlier today. In light of the disturbing news, many customers wore protective face-masks to ward off the alleged bioweapon virus or simply stayed home. A few families kept together and whispered about the corpse. They shook their heads in fear.
Aside from a slightly tensed atmosphere, it was still a usual workday in Chocobo Chow. There was puke on a booth that required cleaning and a fight between two twelve-year-old kids had broken out. Their parents eventually intervened but they also needed to be broken up shortly after. And that was just the beginning of Cloud's shift.
Because he'd been rotated to work as cashier tonight, his life had been threatened at least three times. People didn't take too kindly to being asked by a teenager to show their barcode and pay for their meals. They also expected immediate results within seconds of placing their orders, as if Cloud had any control over that from his current station. Regardless of all this, he represented the face of Chocobo Chow from behind the register. He was the first face people saw when they entered the establishment. Thus, faking a smile, Cloud grimly recalled his small insignificant role in the universe. So long as he donned this atrocious uniform he had to play the part of happy employee.
"Welcome to Chocobo Chow. Wark. Wark. Wark. How can I serve you today? Would you like to hear about our specials?" Cloud greeted to every man, woman, and child that stepped up to his counter.
At least there was tonight's birthday event to look forward to. Cloud still had no idea what to expect. He regretted not bringing an extra pair of clothes to change into. However, it was very likely his coworkers would take him out for a movie or a quick drink at the Hobgoblins like last year. It wasn't a big deal.
Thankfully, Mr. Mukki remained unaware of the birthday celebration tonight. There'd be no unwanted party crashers. The flamboyant manager did leave a present in Cloud's locker though. When he clocked into work and put away his coat, there was a wrapped gift on the top shelf. He had opened it and quickly frowned. The present was a heart-shaped frame with a picture of Mr. Mukki's grinning face. A lipstick imprint appeared on the frame's glass. Fucking unbelievable.
At around seven-thirty, Cloud went outside to the playground and took his break. The air had become chilly. Thick, dark clouds gathered across a starless night sky with a moon half awake. A fresh smell of incoming rain lingered heavy in the air. Due to the Plate's high attitude, the clash of warm-to-sudden-cool temperatures drew a light mist. It settled over the glossy, light-reflected streets of Midgar City. Distant pillars of structured metals were reduced to mere silhouettes.
Cloud wore his coat over the Chocobo Chow uniform. He had replaced the goofy hat with his ash gray beanie. Having been born and raised in the snow, the cold air didn't bother him at all. However, he absolutely hated being seen in public with his retarded uniform on, even at work.
A multi-colored spinner and Chocobo spring riders flanked his sides while the large Chocobo animatronic stood a few feet away, overlooking the driveway. Through the large glass wall that divided the outdoor playground from the main eating area, the teenager could see directly into the restaurant. Sitting on a swing, Cloud sat alone at the outdoor playground. All of the rotten brats had retreated indoors on account of the cold and looming rain. Enjoying this moment of peaceful solitude, he heard only the sounds of rushing cars and distant sirens.
Among the colorful landscape of neon-lights and steam pipes, Cloud noticed a number of disc-shaped sentries in Twenty-First Street. These small robots hovered in the air and patrolled the restaurant's intersecting streets. Some went as high as the skyscrapers' full heights. Their blue multi-beams swayed back and forth, searching for anything amiss. No doubt their presence was in reaction to today's grisly discovery at the museum. Cloud eventually ignored them, however, and took a sip of his lukewarm coffee. His other hand held a copy of The Art of War: Ancient Teachings of the Blade.
Cloud's ears were plugged and tuned in to the sounds of electric reggae music from his PHS while he read one passage after another. There were fifty chapters but he was already on chapter forty-five. Raised in a rural community with no television and no friends, there wasn't much to do in a sleepy town like Nibelheim outside of setting up traps for potential predators, shoveling snow, and reading.
Cloud had already gone through hundreds of books; they became his personal escape. Stories of heroism and mystery stood as his personal preferences. Horror and academic textbooks, on the other hand, usually collected dust on the shelves. Unfortunately, the book Cloud currently read was a strictly by-the-numbers topic. It had been recommended material for his upcoming exam.
The exam…
There was much to cover in terms of terminology, mandatory regulations, and comprehensive knowledge. A desolate place like Nibelheim had little need for high advanced formulas, theoretical concepts related to the universe, and psychological-based speculations. Cloud grew up ignorant of the modern citizen's topics. Thankfully, he saved enough Gil this year to enroll in a class at the Slums' library. Intended for drop-outs and immigrants, it helped young men like him earn a general education certificate. They were boring as hell, though. Half the time Cloud struggled to stay awake.
As for Shinra's physical exam, that was the area he needed most work on. His motion sickness proved a liability, likewise his scrawny frame. Cloud needed to pack on more pounds and keep up with his motion sickness pills. All was not lost though. While he did terrible with the physical requirements, he did excel in one area: swordsmanship.
Reading hadn't been the only activity he'd taken up as a kid. His mother had personally seen to that.
Cloud was in the middle of a sentence when the sound of a very loud, out-of-pitched melody interrupted him. His eyes quickly shot up. A brightly colored Chocobo Chow food truck turned a corner on the street and nearly crashed into a pole. On its roof, an oversized Chocobo head on a metal spring wobbled back and forth. Thankfully, the truck veered left just in time and pulled into the parking lot without a scratch. At the driver's helm was a familiar face: Biggs.
Wedge's best friend looked worse for wear. Cloud suspected tonight's deliveries had been a pain in the ass. There were too many take-out orders tonight on account of the depressing, cold weather. That and many people chose to stay home after news of the latest corpse.
Cloud wouldn't have minded the task of being Chocobo Chow's delivery man. It would give him an excuse to get out of the restaurant and explore Midgar City. Unfortunately, his motion sickness and lack of a driver's license prevented him from taking the job. As Biggs maneuvered the vehicle to a tight-fitting parking space, Cloud took off his earphones. He waited for the other teenager to exit the vehicle before nodding a silent 'hello' to him.
"Fuuuuck me," Biggs spat and removed his Chocobo Chow hat. He tossed it in the air and didn't care where it landed. "Downtown is a cluster-fuck, man. I was stuck in traffic for over thirty minutes. Some old lady got pissed by the wait and didn't pay me. Another jerk ran off with the food. Nobody tipped either." Biggs occupied the empty swing next to Cloud and slouched in it. "It's a fucking mess tonight."
Cloud cocked a brow. Traffic in Midgar was usually okay, even during weekends. It never got bad unless there was a major public event called by President Shinra or a city-wide emergency. Curious, he asked, "What happened?"
"You know about the dead body they found today at the museum?"
"What about it?"
"It's a fucking warzone there. Lotta roads at the Entertainment District have been blocked off."
Cloud's mouth partly dropped. Confused, he waited for Biggs to elaborate.
"The museum was lit up with sirens, man. I saw a lot of Shinra IM trucks and ambulances at the scene while I took a detour," Biggs soon revealed, "Some dark, bald-headed guy with sunglasses was there too. I think he was a Turk. He stood at a check point and scanned and verified IDs. It's why I was so damn late on my deliveries. I swear; I nearly pissed my pants. The Turks don't fuck around."
Cloud set the book down on his lap, interested in this shocking turn of events. So far, Shin-Ra News made no mention of the ID checks. All evening long there'd been the usual line-up of sitcoms. Even now, as Cloud glimpsed at the translucent flat-screens that floated above the restaurant's seating area, he saw only popular cartoons and commercials. No news on the traffic lock-up.
The blond-haired teen scooted forward in his swing and now faced Biggs' direction. "Are you serious? Didn't the Turks already remove the body earlier today? Why were they still there?"
"I don't know," Biggs responded and shook his head. "Like I said, it's a warzone at the museum. But it may have something to do with the crazy shit I heard while I was waiting at a checkpoint."
"Crazy shit? What crazy shit?"
"Some people at the checkpoint with me claimed they heard gunshots coming from the museum."
"What?"
"Yeah." Biggs paused when a sentry floated above their heads. The disc's beams briefly showered over them. It scanned their profiles for only a second. Then it moved on. Biggs watched it fly away and whispered, "One guy even said he saw a Tsviet enter the museum."
From where he sat, Cloud shifted his focus to the direction of the museum. He saw a few helicopters circle the skies. Confused, he asked, "Why would a Tsviet be there?"
"Dunno. Like I said, it's what I heard."
"A Tsviet… at the museum?" Cloud allowed himself a moment to soak in this information. It sounded like a bogus claim. The Tsviets rarely appeared in public. Shinra's elite group of soldiers was assigned only to top-class missions. All low standard affairs were left to the IMs.
Biggs pursed his lips and appeared deep in thought as well. He slowly swung back and forth in his chained seat. Quietly, he remarked, "Maybe it really is a bioweapon caused by Wutai rebels. Why else would someone hang the body like that? It's to send a message."
"You think so?"
"Yea. It has to be, man. Maybe the Turks are in downtown right now because they're trying to flush the rebels out. It'd explain the gunshots and why a Tsviet was in the area."
"Hm. No wonder Shinra wants to send more troops to Wutai this year." Cloud scratched the bottom of his chin. He felt tiny, oddly placed stubbles there and mildly reminded himself to shave soon. "It's kinda weird though. Wutai rebels manufacturing viruses? Wutai always struck me as a country that fought their battles in a more traditional sense…"
"I know, right? I never figured their country was into biological warfare shit either. But I guess if they're into it, then we got no choice but to take them out." Biggs shook his head. "Man. These deaths… They've been going on for years now. If it's really a manufactured virus then I hope it's not airborne."
Cloud sipped his coffee and stared out in the distance. His eyes strayed from the helicopters to Shinra's Headquarters.
The Investigation Sector of the General Affairs Department, otherwise known as the Turks, resided in the main company's complex. Donning black business suits, they served as President Shinra's investigative unit. Not much was known about the Turks. Their group mostly dwelled within the shadows and underbelly of Midgar City. With the simple flip of a PHS, they could order the destruction of a city or remove a person's entire existence. Nobody fucked with them. A persistent rumor circulated in the streets though: anyone who joined the Turks couldn't leave except in a body-bag.
Cloud wondered who would be crazy enough to join such a crazed organization. Perhaps the pay was really that good?
With the Turks apparently neck-deep in the city's unexplained corpse cases, Cloud wasn't sure whether to feel worried or fascinated. A lingering sense of danger consumed the air. Corpses. Creature sightings. Wutai rebels. The Turks and the Tsviets had their work cut out for them. Cloud wondered if he'd see any action once he was accepted in the army. The thought of it both terrified and excited him.
"What are you reading?" Biggs suddenly asked.
Lost in thought, it took Cloud a moment to realize Biggs had just addressed him. When he finally understood the question he grabbed the book from his lap. "Hm, this? Just a book about swords."
The other boy studied the cover with his eyes. "Ah, that's right. You're enlisting in Shinra's army. Right?"
"I am," Cloud confirmed. He added with an annoyed grunt later, "I'm trying to anyway."
"I heard it's hard to enter the army. Just the infantryman level is hard as balls. A few buddies tried to enlist. It didn't pan out." Biggs stopped swinging when he spotted a pair of attractive ladies pass by. He grinned and winked at them. The girls ignored him but giggled with a blush when they noticed Cloud sitting next to him. Rolling his eyes, Biggs later asked, "I'm guessing you're gonna shoot for the Tsviets too, huh?"
"That's the plan," Cloud replied, completely oblivious to the girls who eyed him as they entered the restaurant. With a small smile, he declared, "I'm gonna shoot my way to the top."
Biggs quickly frowned. "But it's impossible to join them. You have to be… exceptional."
"And you don't think I can be?" Cloud gave out a loud snort when Biggs didn't have a reply.
Just the mention of the Tsviets sent Cloud's mind coiling with erratic and anxious thoughts.
Their faces. Their names. Cloud knew all about them. Several years ago, Shinra introduced the world to the Tsviets: an elite group of warriors that had been genetically modified and endowed with unusual gifts. There was Weiss the Immaculate, Nero the Sable, and Rosso the Crimson. The latest recruits who joined the group were Azul the Cerulean and Shelke the Transparent, their youngest member. Together, they possessed extraordinary strengths and abilities, all thanks to the special engineering teams from Shinra's Science Department.
The architect behind it all was Dr. Hollander, some fifty-six-year-old chubby man with a scruffy face who hailed from Banora Village. His group of perfect soldiers took on most of the Shinra's perilous missions. Populations of dangerous predators outside the borders of human towns had been dwindled by half because of them. Even the fabled Behemoths, prehistoric giants that once dominated the lands, had met their match.
Scientists from across the world declared the Tsviets as superior beings. Their existence demonstrated the next stage of human evolution. Spiritual protestors, on the other hand, denounced them as abominations of Gaia and decried the use of genetic engineering. A few of them claimed this was not the first time Shinra's mad scientists had meddled with human life in an attempt to create the perfect soldier. There'd been previous experiments and candidates. They ranged from an army of undead men to striking figures with starry-blue eyes. Or so the stories went.
Some decade or two ago, Shinra's entire science department was wiped out by a great fire. The fire took with it the laboratory's former headman, Dr. Hojo. Only Dr. Hollander survived. No one could explain what caused the fire. Protestors attributed it as a deliberate act against Shinra and its unethical practices.
No matter the debates and questions, the Tsviets remained mankind's most promising children. They served as beckons of light that ushered their species into a new era of human superiority. Cloud Strife aspired to become such a beckon.
"They're the best of the best," Cloud proudly proclaimed, feeling like a ten-year-old boy again. "I heard Weiss the Immaculate has the strength of ten men. His brother is younger than me but can manipulate the elements of shadow. Can you imagine? People with powers like that? It's… incredible."
"Yea, I guess." Biggs slowly swung in his seat. His voice sounded low and distant. "You checked out that website I linked you awhile back, right? AVALANCHE? It's got more information on the Tsviets."
Cloud figured Biggs would bring that website up. The boy hosted a fond fascination toward the occult. He also enjoyed investigating events and mind-numbing discussions, particularly conspiracy theories related to Shinra. Biggs received most of his information from an underground website called AVALANCHE. Run by a weird environmental hipster named Fuhito, it was one of the first sites to leak photos of today's corpse.
Fuhito had claimed Shinra already knew the cause of deaths but concealed that knowledge from the general public. Cloud wasn't too keen on this man or his so-called AVALANCHE movement. The majority of Fuhito's posts read like angry rants against Shinra as well as environmental-related sermons. Recycle. Repent. Pray for all sins made against the Planet. That sort of thing. Fuhito's followers consisted of gas-masked individuals who tagged the walls of subways with President Shinra's head on fat dicks and infected people's computers with viruses. It was hard to take them seriously.
"According to Fuhito, the Tsviets receive regular showers of Mako and reside in an underground section of Shinra's complex; the rumored Mako Zero reactor," Biggs disclosed. His eyes wandered to the tall building that stood at the center of Midgar City. "Genetic engineering and Mako consumption… I don't know about you, Cloud, but that sounds dangerous."
"I don't see how. Mako is safe. I mean, look around you." Cloud glanced up at the sky to prove his point. Soft glows of green Mako energy floated across the cloudy sky of Midgar. "We live and breathe this stuff every day. If it was poisonous we'd all be dead by now."
"What about that Mako-related virus that might have killed the guy in the museum? Sure, it could be a bioweapon from Wutai extremists, but maybe the Mako mutated. That's what some AVALANCHE followers think. This virus could very well be the Planet's way of fighting back."
"That's all paranoid hearsay," Cloud shot back, tempted to roll his eyes. "Fact is: no one knows anything about how these people are dying. But Mako itself is safe. Shinra wouldn't expose its greatest soldiers with toxic energy. Right?"
"I guess. It's just …"
"Just what?" Cloud pressed him.
"I dunno. According to Fuhito, the Tsviets aren't the only super soldiers Shinra created. There were others before them, soldiers from a predecessor program. Powerful ones. Perhaps more powerful than the Tsviets themselves. But for some reason, that program was cancelled and…" Biggs stopped himself when he noticed the unconvinced look on Cloud's face. He sighed. "Ah, never mind. It's nothing." He pointed at Cloud's book. "You know how to handle one, by the way?"
"Hm?"
"Swords," Biggs specified. "You know how to handle one?"
"Oh. Um, yea. Been training with the sword since I was a kid."
"For reals?" Biggs' eyes widened, obviously impressed. "I don't know many people who can use a sword. Machine guns are the way to go these days. I'm guessin' your old man taught ya?"
Cloud shook his head. "My mom, actually."
Biggs blinked several times.
"Back home, the Nibel wolves get really aggressive during winter time on account of food scarcity," Cloud explained. "Hunters have to ward them off from the village every year. Nibelheim also has to deal with creatures from the mountains and forest area. My mom had me accompany her on the hunts. She taught me the sword and how to track."
Biggs blew off a whistle. "Whoa. That's cool! Beats my childhood. I learned how to tie my shoe."
The other boy smirked back. As Cloud's eyes fell on his book, his thoughts drifted to his mother.
Cloud was grateful she taught him the blade. He'd taken to it naturally, despite his short size and frail frame. Initially, he thought his mother trained him to keep him outta trouble. And rightly so. A reckless child, Cloud had punched, kicked, smashed, and spat his way up to a very bad reputation in the village. It was an entire childhood consumed by self-hate and rage. His mother helped him channel that anger toward something more productive through the hunts. But Mrs. Strife also wanted her boy to protect himself.
At home it was just the two of them. No father. No extended family. Mom's peculiar ways had made her the black sheep of Nibelheim. They were on their own. Determination and a need to protect her only boy drove Mrs. Strife to teach him the ways of the sword, however. Every winter at least five villagers died to the predators that stalked the land. Cloud nearly joined that number.
Instinctively, the solemn teenager placed a hand on his belly. The years had reduced his scar to a thin line of beveled flesh; a parting gift. Cloud's hand gripped the fabric of his clothes tightly when he recalled the night of a great blizzard.
He was eight at the time. A pack of wolves had infiltrated the village during the winter storm. In a panic, he had retreated to the forest by himself. His mother always warned him never to go alone, yet his fear had gotten the best of him that day. Visibility was low and Cloud remembered the numbness over his body. The snow had rushed down hard; his snot turned to ice. The steel sword in his hand had weighed a ton. You'll need to build the strength to lift it, silly boy, his mother used to tease. He must've wandered in that forest for over an hour. As he had tried to make his way back to the village, though, a giant wolf emerged from the snow storm. Its fur was an ash-gray color; the eyes an ice-blue shade.
It was a giant Alpha male. However, it didn't belong to the Nibel wolf pack. It came from a different breed altogether. His mother called it the Fenrir; a rogue wolf who had settled in the Nibel area long ago and acquired leadership among the Nibel wolves. Cloud thought it was strange. An outsider? Who was leader of a powerful pack?
Cloud couldn't recall who'd made the first move back then. Him? The beast? It had happened so fast. Details of the battle were blurred by his state of panic. But Cloud remembered drops of blood on the white snow. And the scream. In the snowy haze, he thought he saw his mother with wide-opened eyes and a ready sword.
The elder villagers had long ago dismissed the Fenrir as mere myth. It belonged only to the stories of the old Gods, they claimed. But Mom knew. Mom knew that such a giant beast existed. She just never imagined her boy would become a firsthand witness to its apparition.
Stupid, silly boy, Cloud thought as he sat alongside Biggs. He quickly wanted to cut himself off from the memory. He didn't want to think about the blizzard that brought with it a fiery-eyed beast. Not a day passed when he didn't fear the Fenrir's return; when he'd hear its terrible howl during some deep, cold night. Cloud hoped that night never came.
Despair. It was a promise he never forgot.
"Your mother sounds like a bad-ass," Biggs remarked, interrupting Cloud's thoughts, "And you being a hunter, that's cool too. You probably can adapt to any cold setting. The army will like that."
"Yea, I guess…" Cloud observed the chaotic scene of Twenty-First Street. He saw a handsome young man in a fine suit pass out a business card to a woman. "It's a shame I'm still trying to adapt to this terrain though. Everything here is strange."
"Aren't we all trying to adapt?" Biggs chuckled. "By the way, what about your dad?"
"What about him?"
"Did he help with the hunts?"
"My dad died before I was born."
"Oh…" A pause. "I'm sorry."
"What for? You didn't kill him." Cloud sipped the rest of his coffee in silence. Afterward, he crushed the empty paper cup in one hand and tossed it at a nearby Clean-Up robot. He always hated these types of personal questions. Quickly, he muttered, "We should head inside. My break is over."
"Yea," Biggs agreed. He got up and stretched his legs. "More take-outs for me to deliver, I bet. Thankfully, we got only an hour left before the shift is done. Then it's onto some serious partying."
Nodding back, Cloud was also ready to join in some festivities after work. As he stood and headed for the entry, he noted, "You guys still haven't told me what we're doing tonight or where we're going."
"Pft. Don't worry about it. Telling you would defeat the purpose of the surprise." When he noticed the frown on Cloud's face, Biggs laughed and patted him on the back. "Sheesh, Cloud. Take it easy. Sometimes, you gotta let nature take its natural course and just hold on for the ride."
Cloud made another face. He was incapable of taking it easy. His own mother named him Cloud after she noticed he didn't smile much: he frowned. A lot. Cloud had arrived into this world as a bundle of uptight nerves. He rarely cried nor giggled. Nearly every photograph from his childhood revealed a wide-eyed, blond-haired boy who blankly stared at the camera; caught in the middle of some distress or confusion. The whole world posed as a giant puzzle he couldn't figure out. There were days Mrs. Strife teased him. She insisted he was really a paranoid ninety-year-old Gramps trapped inside a kid's body. Whatever.
Both teens headed back inside the restaurant.