Chapter 3

Just short of an hour's walk from the Fire Cavan, life was a lot calmer. Rows of terraced housing lined the streets while blocks of flats broke the skyline, rising up towards the stars. They were cracked, crumbling and filthy buildings, most of them more suited to the rats the scurried within rather than human life – from the young, surrounded by loved ones, to the elderly, who would often die alone and unnoticed. It wasn't unusual to pass a space where a house had once been, leaving only a pile of rubble in its place. It had never been the richest area, not even before the Great War, but people lived pleasant lives that they were content with.

By the end of the war the majority of the buildings were in such bad shape that they should have been torn down, but the only people available to rebuild them were working hard on the inner city. So they remained standing, most without owners, at least officially. With so many left homeless after the war (not to mention the post-war violence), a myriad squatters had moved in and staked their claim on 'new' property. With no one to pay rent to, some of these homes had been built up and become the best in the slums. They weren't to the standards of the suburbs, of course, but they could be lived in quite comfortably. The properties belonging to greedy landlords, however, were a very different matter.

Amongst the buildings and down a thin, dingy alleyway, a man-hole cover moved. Zell pushed the heavy steel plate to one side, pulling himself out onto hard concrete. Moving over, he made way for Quistis to leave the stench of the sewers.

She rose to her feet, picking at her clothes, and made a noise of disgust. "I need a shower and then I'm burning these clothes. I don't think I'll ever get that smell out."

Zell nudged the cover back into place, nodding at Quistis' comment. He would have liked to do the same, but clothes were clothes and he needed every gil he could get his hands on.

Grinning, he turned to his friend. "Well, I'm off. See ya tomorrow."

His friend's eyes shot up to him. "What? Squall said to go back to the warehouse."

He gave a cheery wave, stepping backwards as he did so. "Tell him that I made it back okay then," he retorted, and before she could object further he turned and ran off down the alley.

Turning the corner, he slowed his pace to a jog, making his way along a row of terraced housing. Every now and then he'd pass a boarded up dwelling, an empty lot, or a house with a light still on and the sounds of a domestic argument faintly penetrating the walls to the outside world. Nothing out of the ordinary, and a far cry from the world of hot-headed teens he'd just come from. The lack of gunfire was a godsend.

At the end of the road the Fallen Tower loomed over the slumland at its feet, giving Zell a familiar sense of unease and dread. There wasn't anything that unusual about it, just a tower that used to be a block of flats before the war, but when the city was hit by a major earthquake at the end of the Great War it was too old and weak to withstand the assault. That's what his grandfather had told him, anyway. Whatever the cause had been, half the building had fallen away, lying in a pile at the foot of the structure, burying the houses that had once stood to the east of it.

When Zell was a boy, one of his friends had claimed that he had found a dead body amongst the rubble on the fifth floor. Zell had called him a liar, saying that nobody could get up that high. His friend had told the blonde to go and look for himself. He'd refused, of course. His mother used to terrify him when she got angry, and he had honestly believed that his ma would kill him if she ever found out that he had been in an out of bounds area – and she would have found out. His friends had taunted him, calling him 'chicken-wuss', until eventually they had gone up themselves. At the third floor the stairs collapsed, and two boys had been killed and a girl was left paralysed. She had been rescued, but not before lying there for two days until the other children had worked up the courage to tell the adults what had happened. They had been ten and had never mentioned the body again.

A small passageway between two houses appeared to Zell's right. It was dark and held the potential of muggers, but it was a shortcut home and it wasn't as if he couldn't look after himself. The opportunity was too tempting not to take and soon he turned down the path, stone walls raising high either side of him while his home lay just ahead of him. Nothing happened. He didn't even see anyone till he reached the entrance to the block of flats, where a group of teenagers stood to the side. They didn't look up at him, they were more interested in whatever they were crowded around. Zell decided he didn't want to know.

He barely noticed that the glass in the front door was cracked, the flickering light or the fact that his lift was out of order again. In his absence someone had spray-painted an obscene word on the corridor wall, and he could just hear his mother tutting in the back of his head. With this in mind he shot up the stairs, taking them three at a time, only slowing down when he stepped onto the fourth floor.

A young couple at the end of the corridor giggled, tipping out the contents of their handbags onto the floor, looking for their keys. Both were obviously inebriated, and neither of the women looked up as he stepped before his own door.

"I got 'em," one cried triumphantly just as Zell opened the front door and stepped into his apartment.

He softly pushed the door shut behind him, cutting off the giggling from the outside. Now that the main source of light had disappeared, the room was thrown into a semi-gloom. Only moonlight lit the apartment now, streaming in from a single window across from him, but it cast enough light for him to make out the kitchenette and the battered sofa. Three doors lead off this room, one to the bathroom and the other to two bedrooms. They were lucky to have a place like this, but his great-grandfather had lived here at the end of the Great War, so his family had lived here ever since. It was just a shame that their landlord was a dick.

"Zell? Is that you?" A voice called from one of the bedrooms and light filtered faintly through the gaps around the door as a light was switched on.

Zell dropped his keys on a battered table by the door and kicked off his shoes before making his way towards the voice.

"Yeah, ma. It's me." He pushed the door open.

The room was dimly lit by a bedside lamp. When he entered the room his ma rolled onto her back and set about pushing herself into an upright position. Zell rushed in, passing the TV he'd managed to buy to keep her occupied on the days she was bedridden.

"No, don't get up. I didn't mean to wake you."

His mother ignored him, sitting up and patting on spot on the bed, waiting for Zell to sit beside her.

"You didn't wake me."

Zell perched on the edge of the small bed. Beside him, his ma looked pale, the dark bags under her eyes alarmingly pronounced. He still remembered her as a strong woman, ready to chase him down and smack him round the head when he did something wrong, but her body was a shell of what it used to be, withered away by illness. She was so weak now, often confined to her bed to rest and save her strength, dependant on her son to provide.

"You shouldn't have waited," Zell objected. "Have you taken your medicine?" He looked to the side table where a jug of water stood beside an empty glass and a half empty pill box.

"I'm not a child, I've taken them. Where were you?"

"A job," the lie came easily to his lips, now that he'd used it so many times.

"The Kramers are good to give you so much work, but they do keep you late sometimes. What kind of work were you doing today?"

Zell avoided making eye contact, pouring a glass of water for his mother. "Delivery," he half lied. "You know, odd jobs. It's not safe for people their age to be wondering round in these times."

"It's not safe for you either. There are gangs all over the place now."

"Yeah ma, I know," he said, trying to prevent his smile from becoming strained and the guilt from creeping into his eyes. "But I'm fine," he clenched her hand. "I can look after myself."

Her hand tightened round his. "I know, but they have knives and guns."

The gun in his back pocket felt heavy, itching against his skin and burning into his conscience. He dreaded to think what his mother would say if she found out her boy owned one of those guns she so hated. He swallowed, keeping his smile in place.

"Don't worry, I'm always careful." She smiled up at him, her eyelids sliding closed. "I'll leave you; let you get back to sleep."

Zell stood and moved out of his mother's way so she could slide back to a laying position. Her head fell against the pillow and she pulled her son's hand to her lips, pressing a kiss against them.

"How'd I end up with such a good boy? With all the madness in the slum, you still managed to keep your head on straight. My boy can keep out of trouble."

Zell's stomach knotted, thankful that she couldn't see his shameful expression, betraying how he'd turned his back on all she thought he was. He watched as her breathing deepened as sleep consumed her. Zell's thumb brushed over her knuckles, watching the woman sleep. He wrestled away the sickening guilt that he hadn't felt for over a year. He'd gotten so good at pushing it away and pretending it wasn't there, but at times like these…

If his ma knew what he really did for these jobs and who his friends were, she would be so disappointed in him.

"It's all for you, ma," he whispered. It was always for her, like hell he'd sit back and watch her die without even trying to help.

(&)

There was a hum. A distant and ever-present hum, but it was so close, too close to be ignored. She could shove it to the back of her mind, but it never stopped. Covering her ears would do no good, because the noise didn't come from the world around her. If only that were the case; but no, it came from inside her head. A constant reminder of the last five years of her life, of what had been done to her, what the 'doctors' had turned her into. However, what scared her more than anything was the realisation that she had no idea what had been done and, more importantly, what she was now.

She knew some of what had been done to her, enough to know that she wasn't certain if she was entirely human anymore. Her right hand hovered over her left bicep where a large bruise was blossoming across her skin. Surely that proved she was at least partly human, but then, underneath that skin was proof of her recent status: an experiment. Oh, but she had become so much more than that; she'd become his pet project, favoured until she was no longer the one who was practiced on. That … thing, that (vile, vile, vile) man perfected his craft on others before adding to her. Then he had found a way to suppress her 'ghost' (it wasn't a ghost god damn it, it was her!) and he could switch her on and off like a toy. Turn her off, play with her, change her and then switch her back on again. She'd miss days or her life, and then weeks and then months, all in one go.

She had no idea how she came to be here. One minute she'd gone under in the lab and when she'd woken up again she was in a car, surrounded by strangers (and a certain set of stormy eyes that seemed so calm) and lots of confusion. Not much had changed now, things were just calmer. Externally, that was.

Internally, her mind churned in confusion. It tried so hard to understand what was going on, whilst simultaneously trying to order the mess that filled her head and remember things that were slowly trickling back to her. She was now beginning to remember things aside from sterile walls and white coats. All the while there was information, names, places, images and facts, that didn't belong to her. They vied for attention, trying to tear her away from the present and out-compete her own thoughts. If she managed to catch one of these pseudo-thoughts, they'd draw her in and try to consume her. She would slip under and her other part would swallow her whole. It scared her; who knew if she'd come out again? So, she pushed the unfamiliar thoughts aside, to the back of the head with the constant humming (or were those thoughts the humming?), but sometimes it didn't seem to –

"You 'k'?" She shook her head, pulling herself away from her depressing thoughts. In front of her hovered a pair of large, sparkling green eyes. The owner spoke again. "It's not hurting you, is it?"

She blinked in confusion. "What?"

"Ya bruise, yar holdin' it," the green-eyed girl explained. "I'm sorry 'bout that, I get excited when I drive. Forget others are in the car with me."

She realised then that she was holding the bruise. A small 'oh' escaped her and she dropped the arm. "No, well a little, but it doesn't matter."

"You sure?" the strange girl asked.

She nodded.

"Okay then." The other girl bounced up, straightening and grinning cheerfully. "I'm Selphie, by the way. Quistis should be back with some clothes in a minute."

The brunette's smile was infectious and she could feel the corners of her mouth twitch up. She was so happy and bouncy, this Selphie.

After she'd arrived at this building, she'd become more like herself, or what she thought was herself. She had time to try to pull herself together, but it was tricky. She and that other man – she never caught his name – had arrived at what looked like an old warehouse. She'd been lead inside and entered what seemed like a large communal area, but she couldn't tell as it was rather dark. Two large fires lit the room and, judging from the way Selphie's room was also lit, she wondered if the building was still connected to a power line.

Selphie and … Irvine, yes that was his name, arrived soon after. They had talked for a while with the man who had accompanied her, their leader, (… yes, she was sure of that much, he felt like a leader), and she had watched them all, ignoring the eyes of the other strangers who hung round the edges of the room. It wasn't long until a blonde woman, whom she now knew was Quistis, joined them as well. They didn't seem very happy at her arrival … no, that wasn't it, there was something else. The four teens had spoken for a couple of minutes before Selphie had led her upstairs…

"Ya sure are quiet. Don't worry, we won' hurt you." Once again Selphie interrupted her thoughts, drawing attention to the fact that she'd drifted away from the present.

She mentally shook away her wayward thoughts and smiled back at Selphie. She wasn't sacred; perhaps she should be, but she wasn't. Maybe it was simply the fact that she no longer feared for her life like she once had. It wasn't as if she had much of one left, after all. It may have simply been gratitude. These people had taken her out of her white world. It didn't matter what the reason for the rescue had been, she could move forward now.

No, it was more than that. She was sure that if she felt threatened, that there would be a least some fear, but she didn't feel it. She could have been insulted, raped, murdered or beaten at any point in the last couple of hours, but instead she was sitting here, on a bed in a girl's room while someone looked for some clothes for her to wear. No, she didn't think these people were interested in harming her. Though she was sure that the story would be completely different if they had met ten years ago, when she was still the rich daughter of a high-ranking general (…yes, she had been rich hadn't she? Pretty dress and pretty things…).

"I suppose I'm just rather dazed. I'm trying to put everything together. It sometimes takes a while after I wake up." She'd spend so much time under over the last few years that it was just a relief to be awake again, free to think and feel and move (aside from that damn humming in the back of head).

"So," Selphie flopped down onto the bed next to her. "Squall says ya name's Rinoa."

Rinoa, yes, that was her name, and with it so many other things came back to her. Her sixth birthday, her favourite pet, her mother's death (the blood that covered the windscreen) and what her bedroom had looked like. All of it rushed into her mind without rhyme or reason.

The door opened, cutting off Rinoa's thoughts. Quistis stepped inside, a bundle of clothing in her hands. The blonde came to stand beside her and offered her the garments.

"I managed to scrounge these from people."

"Thank you, that's very kind."

"No problem. Squall told people to give you some spare clothes, so that's what they did. Just pick some to wear and I'll take the rest back."

Rinoa shifted through the clothes. They weren't what she was used to before her father's fall from favour. No designer clothes or velvets and silks. These clothes were old, faded and poorly made, in her opinion. They wouldn't fit her very well, but then beggars couldn't be choosers. She was grateful for any attire, and not just a long coat. Picking out clothes to wear she looked up at the other two girls in the room.

"Erm … can you turn around?"

They didn't seem to mind. Quistis merely shrugged and turned to the door. Selphie, still smiling, bounced to her feet and bobbed on her toes, examining a poster of an attractive man on her wall. Slipping out of the coat, Rinoa began to dress.

"Who's Squall?" Rinoa broke the silence. If she was here then she may as well find out as much as she could about the people around her.

Selphie was the one who answered. "That guy that brough' ya here." Rinoa bite back the comment on her tongue. She may not be afraid of these girls, however she did want to stay on their good side, and somehow she didn't think the way to do that was correcting their grammar. "He's our leader. Started the gang an' all, not sure he meant to though, kinda just happened. Made our base here, 'course we had to chuck out the last gang who were here. Some joined us, but we had to sort loads of 'em out."

"Squall," Rinoa whispered. Squall. Her rescuer, her saviour.

Selphie continued talking about their leader. She spoke about him with a kind of friendly affection weaved with respect, she genuinely liked her leader and that's why she followed him. At least, that was the impression that Rinoa got. Selphie continued talking about the gang, of Squall and her friends. Eventually the brunette turned round again, correctly assuming that Rinoa had finished dressing.

She gave Rinoa a big grin and the thumbs up. "Lookin' good."

"Thanks."

Rinoa looked up. In front of her, a large mirror was propped up against the wall. It was obvious that she was wearing other people's clothes; they were either a little too tight or too baggy, and some were even men's garments. Her hair hung limply around her face. She reached up, taking a lock between her thumb and fore-finger. It was far longer than she would have liked, but then, it had had several years to grow. Maybe she could cut it at some point.

From the corner of her eye she could she Quistis turn and examine her.

"That'll do till we can return you."

Rinoa looked sharply from the mirror to Quistis, feeling fear for the first time that evening. "Return me?"

They couldn't mean back to the lab. Why bother taking her in the first place if they were just going to take her back? Maybe they were planning on ransoming her; she'd probably fetch a high price, but was it really worth meddling with the military for her ransom? It would have to be extraordinarily high and if that was the case, she had nothing to offer them to change their mind.

No, something was wrong with that idea as well. If she was just a hostage, then they wouldn't treat her like this. The girls, and even Squall in his own quiet way, had been kind enough to her.

"Yes, some guy is paying us to get you to him," Selphie replied, once again breaking her train of thought. "Your father."

Rinoa couldn't breathe. "My father?"

"Yeah," Selphie looked uncertain as she continued, "it's not a problem is it?"

Rinoa felt a laugh break free from her. A problem? She was going back to her father and away from those … scientists … men … animals. She felt her eyes prickling at the sudden knowledge that she could forget about all of this, shove it into the back of her head with that infernal humming and never look back on it again. Her laugh turned to a half sob as tears started to fall. She'd really escaped from hell. Was it a problem? Rinoa couldn't think of anything less like a problem. She hadn't felt this hopeful, this excited, this relieved, this happy, this … free, for years.

…and breath. :D After a busy first two chapters, we take time to sit back a little and relax.

Sorry it took so long, I hope the next one will be quicker, but I now have a job so...