A/N: At some point I will update within a reasonable amount of time. My excuse this time? I've spend the last two months buried under the construction of three cosplays. Two cons within Two weeks of each other and three new costumes to make. Never. Again. Or at least I'll leave myself an extra month next time. I didn't even get time to write/draw anything to mark the death of Brian Jacques Something of a childhood hero of mine.

Chapter 4

Squall's gang based themselves in an old abandoned building deep within an industrial estate, well within the borders of Balamb Ghetto. It had been another gang's turf before they moved in, up until two years ago when Squall and his friends had taken the building for themselves and thus secured Balamb as their territory. Defeated, the other gang had fled to lick their wounds and crumbled under internal disputes, tearing each other apart rather than banding together to take down their enemies.

There was nothing particularly special about the building itself; it was merely an old, run-down warehouse. At some point in its existence, however, it had been converted into a three story, hall-like communal living block which made it an ideal base for a gang to gather and live in. The previous occupants had lived in squalor, but Squall's group had cleaned the base up - lead by Quistis - and made it fit for human life. Getting rid of the garbage had been half the job; after the rubbish had gone, so had the rats. However, there were things that none of them could fix. There were walls throughout the structure that were damaged beyond repair, and one room was completely missing the floor. There were other problems, too; at some indeterminate point in the past the water pipes had burst, which meant that their water supply had to come from a tank on the roof. There was also no power; they were reliant on power cells to provide warmth and electricity. It wasn't a big problem in the summer when it was warm and there was plenty of light, but as winter drew closer and the days got colder ...

Despite these problems, it was a comfortable place to live, especially in comparison to the rest of the outer city. There was no landlord to squeeze money out of them, and they could do whatever the hell they liked in, and with, the building. Each member had claimed their own room, adding touches of their own personalities to the décor; posters of bands or celebrities, a lick of paint, trinkets to make the room theirs. Of course, these touches often spilled into the rest of the building. Soon after Zell became a full member of the gang he'd started showing off his artistic ability by spray painting murals along the corridors, causing an outburst of artistic competition between other gang members.

The flat roof provided a good view of the surrounding area, not that there was much to see. Besides, Squall wasn't there for the view. He stalked across the roof, making certain that he was alone, before flicking open his phone. Halting his slow meander, he punched in the number he'd memorised. He didn't have to wait long for a reply.

"Leonhart?" The voice was more distant than the last time; the reception was bad, even up high in the open air.

"Yes."

He could imagine the other man sagging in relief as the tension left his voice. "You had me worried. Why did you leave it so late to contact me?"

"You lied to me."

"Pardon?"

"You lied to me," Squall repeated, clearly and tonelessly. "You didn't tell me that the girl was an android and you didn't tell me that Doctor Odine was involved. Do you know how much shit we're in if ESTO finds out? Or the military?"

"Firstly," the man on the other end of the line stated, with ice in his tone, "'that girl' is my daughter. Not an android, or creature, my daughter. I didn't tell you that Doctor Odine was involved because he's on the run; some of his research got a little too nasty and important people began asking questions, sohe's severed all his ties and is working alone. He can't even use his own company. It hardly matters who he used to work for now."

"Bollocks. The fact that he's on the run after stealing from ESTO just means that they'll be looking even harder for him, which makes it more likely they'll find us. You didn't tell me because you knew that I wouldn't take the job."

"Now you're the one who's lying. You still would have taken the job, Leonhart, because of what I can offer you."

Squall didn't reply. Was it true? Would he have still taken the job? As much as he hated to admit it, Caraway was right; he would have, because he needed what the older man was willing to pay him.

"Is Doctor Odine dead?" Caraway asked, breaking the silence.

"He was in the room when we entered."

"I see. I can't say I'm sorry to hear that; he was a twisted man. He could have put his genius to noble use if he wished, but instead he wasted it on his weapons and projects."

"Like every other scientist in Esthar."

"That's a rather bold statement. You should know better than that."

"Yeah, because they've done so much for us." A hint of sarcasm crept into Squall's voice as he looked out over the city, at the slums that lay crumbling before him. "Science fuelled the Great War, and then ignored the slum it created. They take people like your daughter and turn them into numbers. All in the name of science, of course, but they don't tell us what their science is trying to achieve. In the pursuit of their own knowledge, they'll hurt anyone."

"Whatever was done to my daughter was done by men, not a concept," Caraway argued. "These people were not seeking truth to expand their wisdom, they were trying to play God. That selfish thirst for power and self-righteousness is dangerous and destructive, but it is the tragedy of man, not science. However, now is not the time for philosophical debate. I assume that you will still bring Rinoa to me tomorrow?"

Squall clenched his jaw in frustration, but he resisted the urge to counter the older man's arguments. It simply wasn't worth the hassle. "Of course. I want to get rid of her as soon as possible."

"You remember the rendezvous?"

"Just make sure you have the payment," Squall warned. He wasn't going through all this for nothing.

"Naturally. Within twenty-four hours I will be long gone with my daughter, out of your hair, and you will have what I promised you. I'll see you tomorrow."

The phone went dead.

Squall pocketed the device, his scowl more pronounced than before. Caraway had better make good on his promise; he just couldn't shake the feeling that he'd just picked up the biggest bundle of trouble in Esthar, and it wouldn't be as easy to shake off as it was to pick up.

(&)

Squall stepped into his room, eyes trained on the woman in front of him. Her back was turned to him as she examined the wall of his room, or more specifically, the collection of swords that he had picked up over the years. She was clothed now, a strange mixture of garments that members of the gang had been willing to give her. Though, for the moment, all he could tell was that she wore a long black coat.

He unclipped his gun holster from around his waist, throwing it into a nearby chair before dropping his shoulder holsters on top of it. She never flinched or showed any acknowledgment that one of the most powerful gang leaders in Esthar had entered the room, which also just happened to be his bedroom. He walked across the floor, to the other side of his bed, if one could call several double mattresses piled on top of each other a bed, and stood a couple of feet away from the girl. From his new vantage point he could see the sleeveless black crop-top underneath an open men's blue shirt she wore. A pair of black jogging bottoms and a pair of boots, that he was sure had once belonged to Quistis, completed the outfit. It was good; she'd blend in with the other members of the gang.

She turned to smile at him, her expression blissfully ignorant. In his opinion, the only two kinds of people who wore such an expression were the rich and the stupid, neither of whom he liked. However, people sometimes seemed innocent and care-free, like Selphie, but it was as much a mask as a legitimate veneer; it hid a certain darkness that one needed in order to survive the slums. Anyone who knew Selphie was aware of this. That ever-present light-hearted smile was the same one she had once worn, covered in blood, as she castrated a man who had 'messed with one of her sister-whores'.

"You have a lot of swords," Rinoa said, her voice completely different to the one from last night. There was a playful edge to it, as if she thought she was at a school dance.

"I've had a long time to collect them," Squall replied nonchalantly.

She tilted her head to the side. "What is it? Some kind of fetish?" For the first time, she showed a not-so-innocent streak under her sweet exterior.

He frowned down at her. "Just because I like swords doesn't mean I have a fetish for them."

The girl smiled back. "Of course not."

She looked up at the wall again, her fingers hovering above a particular sword. She traced the lines, but her fingers never touched the surface. It was just as well; he wasn't sure if he'd get paid should he break her fingers for leaving smudge marks on his favourite sword's blade.

"I like this one," she said, "It's interesting, and beautiful. I've never seen anything like it."

"It's called a gunblade. You can't buy them normally; you have to go through the black market. If you plunge that into someone and pull the trigger, the vibrations can shatter bones." Not to mention turning flesh into something resembling badly-set jelly, though he left that part unsaid.

She withdrew her hand. "I'm glad you don't use it then."

"Guns are more practical. I'm not even sure if that weapon actually works. Your name is Rinoa Heartilly." Bored with the small talk, he quickly changed the subject.

"Yes." She smiled to herself. "Yes, it is."

"Your father is paying us to return you to him. We'll take you tomorrow."

"Thank you, but if you don't mind me asking, why is a gang doing deliveries?"

Squall crossed his arms over his chest, examining the woman before him. Maybe she wasn't as stupid as he had first assumed. "Your father is a rich man."

She shook her head lightly as she replied. "Not anymore, he isn't. And even if he was, most gangs would just shoot him and take his money. You obviously don't have much love for the wealthy, even if they are ex-wealthy."

"Maybe I felt sorry for him."

She gave him a hard look. "I doubt that."

She really wasn't stupid. "You're right. I sometimes do favours for the right people and make sure I get a good price out of it. I'm nobody's lapdog, but everyone needs money and a few favours can go a long way."

"If I'm just a package, then why am I here?"

Squall bit down a smile, unable to resist the wicked urge to see how far he could push her. She was so different to how she was yesterday and he wanted to see how fragile this new persona was, how careful he would have to be when he took her to the rendezvous point tomorrow. Or maybe it was just a bit of sadistic revenge for all the trouble she had caused. He unfolded his arms and took a couple of steps until he stood directly across from her.

"Why are you here?" He took another step forward, forcing her back against the wall. "Why else would someone with your looks be in my bedroom?"

Her gaze never wavered, nor did she shrink away. She stared him in the eye without fear and Squall felt a stab of admiration for her courage, but it was soon replaced by shock when she smiled at him. She actually smiled, a sweet, closed mouthed smile.

"You won't assault me, Squall Leonhart," she announced in a steady voice. The man in question shook away his surprise; she'd been with the gang for hours now, so of course she'd know his name.

"I won't? I know you have a good body under those clothes."

She blushed, but she didn't avert her gaze. "No, you won't. Because no matter what you want others to think, I don't think you're a bad person."

A harsh but quiet laugh escaped Squall as he stepped away from her. Now, that was something he hadn't heard in a long time. So much for the girl being smarter than she seemed; she had no idea what kind of danger she was potentially in. Still, the response had been unexpected. He'd thought she would hide behind her father's name, rather than challenge him directly.

He walked away to a corner of his room where he kept his liquor. She wasn't wrong; he hadn't asked her here for intimate companionship. He had a more important matter to get to the bottom of.

"You're right, I didn't ask you here for a tumble. I have some questions." Selecting a plain brown bottle, he took a long swig before holding it out to his guest. "Whiskey?"

She shook her head. "I was always more of a sherry girl … I think."

Reaching down, he plucked up another bottle and tossed it to Rinoa. The girl caught it clumsily, laughing. "I've never been given quite this much at once, I can be sure of that much."

"You're not in the land of the rich anymore. We do things differently here."

"Yes, I can see that. I'm surprised you had anything like this, to be honest. It doesn't strike me as a slum drink."

"It's alcoholic," he offered by way of explanation. "It gets you plastered. That's the point in the end, isn't it?"

"I guess." She looked at the bottle and fiddled with the cork, but otherwise didn't touch it. "I have a question about your gang. Your call yourselves SeeD?"

"Yeah."

"Why?"

"'Murdering Sons of Bitches' and 'Friends of the Earth' were taken," he drawled in a deadpan voice, neatly sidestepping the question. He dropped heavily into a chair, taking another swig as he did so. "My turn. What the hell are you?"

"Not much for charm, are you?"

"No, and you didn't answer my question. What are you? What is going on?"

Rinoa looked at the bottle in her hand, her thumb brushing against the label. She didn't speak. She didn't want to, that was obvious, but right now Squall didn't care. She'd potentially landed him in a whole pile of shit and he wanted to know exactly what to expect. He was about to push her for a reply when she pulled the cork from her bottle and took a long drink to steel her nerves.

"The government isn't kind to those who do what they think is right, not if it doesn't fit with what they want," she began. "My father was made an example of for trying to follow his conscience. His rank was stripped away, his wealth 'confiscated'. He was arrested for treason and," here she took a bit more Dutch courage, "I was taken away and given to Doctor Odine to see what he could do with me." She shivered. "I felt like an animal in a research facility."

Squall's eyes widened. "You were born –"

"Human?" she finished his sentence for him. "Yes."

Squall leaned back, his brain working furiously. So she was a cyborg rather than an android. After finding the girl in the back of the club, he'd started to assume that she was a man-made daughter for the ex-general, or even that the other man was too embarrassed to admit that she was merely an elaborate sex toy – the pieces hadn't sat right for that idea, though, and he had quickly discarded that train of thought. Still, it was a more expected explanation than the truth. He knew that research had gone into cyborg technology, but nothing on the scale of the girl before him. It was mainly medical research – replacement limbs and artificial organs, that sort of thing – at least, it had been when he was last in touch with the inner city. The closest thing to the technology in front of him was jack-in ports that could be surgically grafted to the base of the skull, but they were uncommon and dangerous. The rich were generally distrustful of them, associating them with hackers, while no-one else could afford them. The hackers he knew who used them had gone to back street dealers for their ports, men who were as likely to kill you or reduce you to a vegetable as they were to give you a working port. There was one dealer in the suburbs who had a near one hundred percent success rate, but he was under the influence of the Sorceresses and, as such, was a liability.

Squall suddenly desired a few minutes' silence to try and get his mind around this new twist. Rinoa, however, continued speaking.

"What started as a side venture for Odine became an obsession, I think. I was soon his pet project and now I have no idea how human I am."

She didn't meet his eyes as she spoke, focusing on the bottle in her hands instead. For the first time during their conversation, the girl seemed scared and disturbed. It was strange; Squall had gone as far as threatening rape, and yet her confident visage had never even cracked. This change in her demeanour could only have been caused by memories of personal experiences, not by anything Squall could have said or done. As unsettling as the thought was, it comforted him; it made her seem a little more human. Perhaps he would have let the issue lie, but he still needed more information.

"What was he trying to do?"

She shrugged, pulling herself back together. "Who knows?"

He believed her ignorance was genuine. If she'd been in the state they'd found her in for long, then he doubted she even knew what year it was and from what he'd heard about the doctor, he wouldn't be surprised if working on her was all due to some weird fetish.

She looked back up at him. "How did you come to be here?"

"What do you mean?"

She glanced around. "I mean how did you end up here? Living the life you do?"

"The same way as everyone else does in the slums."

"Really?" She tilted her head to the side, her tone thoughtful, her eyes becoming glassy as she spoke. "You seem different."

"Whatever." He turned back to his bottle, assuming that she was pushing a false persona onto the man she saw as her rescuer. What else could it be?

"You don't quite …" he didn't see her expression, preoccupied as he was; it was becoming increasingly distant, "fit in."

"What do you mean?"

The girl's eyes went blank as she spoke. Her voice lowered, taking on a strange and unsettling monotone. "Squall Leonhart … Squall Leonhart … Squall … Leon … hart … Two matches found. …Negative…negative. Facial match search …"

The man in question looked up at Rinoa, if that was who she still was. Her voice was flat, her expression void of life; this was the girl they had found in the back room yesterday.

"What are you doing?"

"Match found: Squall Liore," she continued, ignoring him utterly. "Missing; presumed dead. Age Nineteen. Date of birth the twenty-third of August, Forty-Sixty-Eight."

The happy-go-lucky girl he was talking to a moment ago was no longer there, he knew that, but he didn't care.

"Shut up." The words came out as a growl as he placed his bottle down. She had better stop now or he would shut her up. Forcefully.

"Place of birth: Esthar City, Memorial Hospital. Mother," at this Squall leapt to his feet, "Raine Liore, previously Raine Leonhart, deceased. Father: La –"

She didn't finish.

"I said shut the fuck up!" he roared, his fist closing around her throat. The bottle fell from her grasp, smashing as it hit the floor, the dark liquid exploding onto the shoddy carpet. Suddenly her eyes cleared, going wide with fear.

"I'm sorry –"

She was back to normal, whatever normal was for her. He forced his hand to relax and released her from his grip. He couldn't let her die; they needed her for the exchange tomorrow. She slid down to the ground, where she remained. He turned away as he tried to get a grip on himself. His actions had been stupid; he didn't normally lose his temper so quickly. Still, though …

"Get out," he managed to say.

"I'm Sorry," she breathed, "I don't – I didn't mean –"

"Out!" he barked, eyes narrowing dangerously.

She didn't waste any more time. Picking herself up, she fled the room, leaving the SeeD leader alone in silence, his thoughts threatening to overwhelm him.

A/N: Okay, this was a weird chapter and really hope it worked. The first scene was inspired while watching on 'The Ascent of Man' and, if fact, a lot of what Caraway says to Squall is taken from a particular episode that really strikes a chord with the viewer. But then the scene turned out a little … blah. The second was odd because it was actually the first scene I wrote in the entire fic, kind a like a concept chapter. So it needed quite a bit of tweaking when it came time to type it up.