'…To see a world in a grain of sand,

And a heaven in a wild flower,

Hold infinity in the palm of your hand,

And eternity in an hour….'

- William Blake, Auguries of Innocence

Her leg is throbbing where the animal's teeth tore into her flesh, but that pain is overshadowed by the fire racing through her veins, by the sound of her straining heart pumping frantically. She tries to move, tries to drag herself away from the beast that lies still beside her, the knife she'd been using to chop vegetables for dinner embedded in its ribs, but it's like trying to walk underwater – her movements are slow and uncoordinated, and the very air seems thick and unyielding. The rain falling through the unfinished section of the plate is cool on her skin, and strangely comforting, as if it might put out the fire raging within her. She whimpers, clawing at her skin.

The dog's eyes are glazed in death, but even now they still glow with that cold, emerald light that had unnerved her so as it approached her down the narrow, filthy alley. As darkness encroaches on her she screams against the unfairness of it all, shouting at her unresponsive body to move dammit, because she won't die in the rubbish here like some pitiful whore, tossed aside by a client with tastes beyond human morality. There's still too much to do…..

* * *

When she wakes, she is surrounded by cold white and chemical smells. Strong leather chafes her wrists, ankles and torso, and she is horrified to discover she is naked beneath the thin sheets. She thrashes, trying to escape, and slumps back, suddenly dizzy as the world rotates around her. Everything is too bright, too loud, too clear, and she feels like electricity is racing through her body, feels strong enough to do anything and yet so weak she can barely move.

'Please, be calm.'

The voice echoes around her head and she cringes away, yelping.

'Ah, sorry, I didn't think.'

The person – male, middle aged, and she isn't sure how she knows it – has lowered his voice, to almost a whisper. It's still too sharp and clear, but it doesn't send pain lancing through her head, so she grudgingly opens her eyes. Someone was thoughtful enough to dim the lights too, and she squints up at the blurry figure hovering over her. He's wearing a lab coat, a tie tucked into the front, and a clipboard in his hand.

'How are you feeling?'

'Where am I?' she croaks, wincing as her own voice comes out like a shout.

'You're in Shinra HQ, the SOLDIER medical wing to be precise.' the man tells her. 'My name is Doctor Zane. And you are?'

'Ren.' she manages to rasp. 'Ren Wolfe.'

'Good, they were right.' Dr Zane murmured, checking something on his clipboard. 'We found your ID on you, but we wanted to be sure. Your parent's will be worried about you; I'll send someone to tell them you're alright immediately. You live in Sector Six, right?'

'Yes. How…?'

'Considering what had happened, Shinra gave me permission to use their database.'

She tries to breath slowly, the way her uncle taught her, in through the nose and out through the mouth, but the mounting panic makes her lightheaded.

'What…what happened to me?' she whispers almost angrily, unable to raise her voice above a rasp. Her throat feels dry and rough, like the sandpaper Dad had been using to smooth the new banister for the stairs.

There's the sound of a chair scraping on hard floor, and a deep sigh as Doctor Zane sits beside her bed, offering her a plastic cup filled with water, a straw bent over the top of it. She sips gratefully and nearly chokes – she can taste the water, feel it swilling across her tongue, is acutely aware of the metallic tang as it slides down her throat.

What's happened to me?

'What's the last thing you remember?' the doctor queries and his voice is somehow soothing now, human and normal.

'A…a dog.' she replies, her voice steadier. 'I was making dinner, talking to my Mum. There was a noise outside, and I thought it must be the stray that had been hanging around scavenging in the dustbins again. I went out into the back alley to scare it off, but…'

Her voice cracks, and she swallows, staring at the ceiling. 'It was the stray, but it was…different.'

Doctor Zane mutters something under his breath, makes a note on his clipboard, and looks at her gravely over his rectangular glasses. 'The beast had been badly infected with mako. Even now, we don't fully understand the effects mako poisoning can have on animals, but it does make them stronger, and wilder. However they don't last long.'

'It was sick…' Ren recalls, trying to focus long enough to recall those frantic, terrifying moments. 'It was reeling all over the place and foaming at the mouth. And its eyes…'

She shudders, an instinctive reaction that she is unable to control. Dr Zane pats her shoulder, and the touch feels too heavy, too hot. She cringes away.

The doctor flips through his notes and looks at her gravely. 'Miss Wolfe, I regret to have to inform you that you have suffered an overdose of mako. As you likely know, mako does not mix well with the female biology.'

Ren's eyes widen, memories of her high-school science class rushing back to her, back when she had been sure that if she worked hard enough she could do whatever she wanted.

'…there's one big reason that there are no women in SOLDIER, and that is because of the way they react to mako. The average mako dose can kill a woman with minutes. However, strangely, an overdose of the stuff takes over a woman, and makes her completely dependent on the substance. Somehow the sheer amount of mako in her blood keeps her alive. Only one woman has survived mako poisoning before, but she died of complications a few months later. With the male SOLDIER, they need a booster every year or so, or else they go into withdrawal – not pretty, but except in extreme cases, they survive. A woman who had been exposed to mako and survived however, needs boosters at first every day, followed by every week, eventually they got it down to once a month. And if she goes into withdrawal, she will die…'

* * *

The next few weeks are hell. Every day, a white gowned nurse injects the green poison into her system, and as much as she hates it, she can feel her body relaxing as it receives the drug it craves so. She hasn't looked in a mirror, but she knows her eyes, before a plain hazel, will have already acquired the inhuman glow of mako.

She's sick, the first few days, every time they give her the shot. Slowly she becomes used to the sensation of the viscous, crystalline solution flowing through her blood, until she no longer notices it. With the amount being pumped into her body she wonders morbidly, if she were to slice her vein open, whether the liquid flowing forth would be crimson, or the brilliant, viridian hue of poison.

Slowly, she becomes used to her new strength and heightened senses. Eventually, she stops breaking things every time she touches them, and is able to feed herself again with bending the cutlery, or accidently stabbing herself in the face with the fork so hard she bled.

If she hadn't felt so much like crying as the nurse cleaned the wound and dressed it, she would have laughed.

Her parents aren't allowed to see her, and for the first time in nearly ten years, since she was about eleven, she desperately wishes her mother was there to sit beside her on the bed and stroke her hair while she sleeps. But she's a grown woman now, and grown women don't need such things.

She hates feeling so uncertain, so alone. She has always been in control, always been calm and calculating, ever since she was a teenager, always known exactly what she wanted. Now she just wants to go home, go back to normal. She curses her over-analytical mind, as it informs her of her likelihood of survival against the mako – and her likelihood of survival as a worrying unknown in the middle of the Shinra labs.

Once they get her down to one booster every two weeks, she's allowed out the lab for the first time since she woke. One of the nurses brings her clothes – a plain black business skirt, pale blue shirt and black business jacket – and she dresses for the first time in something other than a thin hospital gown. The clothes feel rough against her skin, and she's aware of them in a way she's never felt before.

Doctor Zane takes her out, and they wait for the lift at the end of the corridor. When they step inside and the doors swoosh shut behind them, she jumps, spinning round, heightened senses flaring – and is completely distracted by the woman staring back at her.

She's lost a lot of weight in the labs – mako made it hard to keep anything down, and over time she'd lost her appetite. Before she'd been an average size young woman, average skin, dark blonde hair and plain hazel eyes, the most forgettable face on the street. Now the woman staring back at her is thin to the point of emaciation, pale and sickly. Her hair is still blonde, but it seems to have lightened several shades, and become dull and lifeless.

Her eyes – such eyes! – they are no longer the plain, warm hazel of her childhood, but glow a deep electric violet, lit from within by the glow of the mako. She can barely recognize the person in the mirror.

* * *

Before she realises it, a year has passed. Doctor Zane promises that with each day she lives, her chances of surviving increase – so long as she keeps up with her boosters. She's become used to administering them herself now, although she has to collect the vials from the lab each month – Shinra protocol.

She spends her twenty-second birthday alone in her modest flat. She never properly returned home after the incident, only once to collect her belongings. It wasn't right for a high ranking member of Shinra to live below the plate, and that was what she was fast becoming, like it or not.

Her uncle called by on her birthday, the only visitor she had. He brought her a gift, and a card from her parents – they'd sent her money, despite the fact she probably earns more now in a month than they do in three.

Her uncle had watched her move with the easy grace of SOLDIER, trapped in the body of twenty-two year old woman, and shook his head, sighing. He hadn't stayed long, but before he left he had asked her if this was what she truly wanted.

I am dependant on Shinra to survive. I cannot decline the job they offer me, nor the promotions. To commit suicide, ordinary people have to go out of their way to injure or poison themselves. Me? All I have to do is quit my job. I'd be dead within a month.

Maybe it's cowardly of me. But even living this half life…is sweeter than death.

She tore the birthday card up and threw it in the trashcan, unable to stand the brightness of it against the stark, empty walls of her apartment.

It is not until many days later, on one of her rare days off, that she finds the brown paper package, kicked under the coffee table. Curious, she pulls it out, realizing as she undoes the string it was the gift her uncle had brought her.

Inside rest two perfectly crafted tessen, the war fans of the Wutain people. She could remember her uncle teaching her how to use them, promising that one day he would make her a pair of her own.

She cradles the fans gently, carefully flipping them open and closed as memories of her training filter back into her mind.

Perhaps…even if this is not the path I wanted for myself…perhaps I should start trying harder.

That afternoon, she goes out into the city and buys new clothes – fitted skirts and plain blouses, well-cut jackets and black shoes with small heels.

* * *

The next day she rises at dawn, and trains with her fans on the roof of the apartment block. She showers and dries her hair carefully, brushing it through with the new products she had bought and clipping it up with a delicate tortoiseshell clip. The two tessen are slipped into a specially made harness so they rest in the small of her back, hidden by the cloth of her plain black jacket.

At work she is as calm and competent as always, but tries hard to be less distant as she files paperwork and sorts appointments for Professor Hojo. The man himself creeps her out, but she allows nothing through her professional façade. She's going to make her way to the top, no matter what.

* * *

Promotions come thick and fast. Soon she becomes known as the only person in Shinra HQ who knows exactly where everything is and who is using it – because she makes it her business to know. At her next check up, Doctor Zane comments on how much healthier she looks, and how much more alive. She smiles her professional smile, and thanks him for everything he's done for her.

There are rumors, of course, but she can learn to ignore them easily enough. Any woman who manages to work her way up through the ranks of a predominantly male company at any kind of speed is subject to such rumors, but they were born of jealousy, and came only from those who didn't matter to her.

It's a very normal day, when things change again. She knocks on the door to General Sephiroth's secretaries' office, and walks inside. Professor Hojo had requested a check up with the General, and wasn't about to take no for an answer. She knows that the General was just beyond the door on the other side of the room, so she keeps her voice calm and polite as she passes on the message.

She is turning to leave, when the door bursts open and four masked assailants lunge into the room. Instinct and mako-fast reactions take over, and she drops to the floor, rolling, the tessen already in her hands – even as the first man draws his gun and shoots the screaming secretary clean between the eyes. Blood and bone sprays in fine mist across the desk and papers.

She spins the first tessen open, whirling in a crouch and knocking one man's feet from under him, not pausing in her turn and slicing the bladed fan across his neck, almost severing his head from his shoulders. It's fast and bloody, and there's no time to think, only do. She's aware that the door to the General's office has opened, and a shadow of black leather and silver hair is dancing in her peripheral vision, engaged in battle with two of the men, but her entire focus is on the fourth and final assailant, who is aiming for the General's unprotected back. His two opponents are dispatched with movements so quick even her mako-enhanced vision has trouble following, and he turns to protect himself, would have made it anyway – but her second fan has already left her hand before he completes his turn, and the fourth man makes a strange, gurgling noise as it embeds itself into his chest. She sinks the second one through his sleeve and into the wall for good measure, pinning him there.

She picks herself up from her crouch, and half-turns to check the secretary – but it's obvious from a glance there is no helping the woman.

The General is watching her with narrowed eyes, and she lifts her Shinra ID from where it hangs around her neck, offering it to him.

'Hojo's assistant.' he states flatly. She grimaces slightly.

'I prefer 'administration officer'.'

She counts the bodies mentally, just in case – four attackers, four bodies. Good. She crossed the room and removes her tessen from the limp body of the fourth, allowing him to slide down the wall and onto the floor. He leaves a smear of crimson behind him, and she grimaces again.

'Sorry sir. I'll clean that up. Tessen aren't the cleanest of weapons.'

He holds out a hand, and she hands one to him after the briefest hesitation. Without seeming disturbed by the gore covering the spikes, he examines the fan.

'Wutain? These are well made.'

'My uncle is a weapon crafter. He taught me how to use them.'

The door crashes open again, and a tall young man with spiky black hair, dressed in a SOLDIER uniform almost falls into the room, his violet eyes panicked.

'Seph! Are you…woah. Shit.'

His eyes take in the blood and bodies, in the middle of which stands his CO, without a speck on him, and a young woman who seems vaguely familiar, one of the similarly dressed assistants who wander the corridors and shout at him to do his reports.

'Well done Zackary.' Sephiroth says crisply. 'I believe the saying goes 'here comes the cavalry'?'

'Several minutes too late.' murmurs the young woman, who is examining a blood spattered fan with a distracted frown on her face. Some of her hair has escaped the very feminine clip holding it back, and her blouse is bloodstained. She seems strangely unbothered by this fact.

'What happened?' Zack asks, cautiously stepping further into the room, and grimacing as he steps in a pool of blood. 'Who are these guys?'

Sephiroth frowns, jerking his head in a very clear 'Shut up!'

Zack remembers suddenly Shinra protocol and the need-to-know basis they operate on constantly. 'Ah. Sorry. Are you hurt miss?'

The young woman glances up from her fan. 'Hmm? No, I'm fine sir.'

'You should go get checked out, just in case.' Sephiroth says firmly, handing back her second fan. 'And thank you.'

She nods, calmly professional, and leaves the room.

Doctor Zane pronounces her well, and tells her to go home and rest. She does as she's told, changing into some more comfortable clothes, and throwing her blood stained blouse in the bin. She can buy another one to replace it.

She sits on the edge of the bath for about an hour, carefully cleaning her fans with a damp cloth, rinsing the pinkish water away. That night, lying in bed, she considers the day's events and wonders at her reaction. The mako has done more than change her physically, and she's fast becoming scared of this detachment it causes inside of her.

She closes her eyes, and forced herself to remember the sound of her fan biting into the man's flesh, and the spray of blood across her face, and that memory gives way to another, of rain on her face and the smell of mako-tainted blood and rubbish, and the fear of death.

There's a raw tearing sound which echoes around her lonely apartment, and it is several moments before she realises it is her making it. She curls in a ball beneath the blankets and surrenders to the hysteria.