Author's note: Once again, I apologize for the delay. My plan was to post this right after Christmas; however…things got a little…complicated. I won't bore anyone with the details, but I've been struggling to get back into the grove of editing and writing for the last few weeks.
This chapter is actually quite long, but with good reason: after this, shit gets REAL. The stage will be set at the end of this chapter. Also note, this chapter hasn't been edited quite as thoroughly as the others, so please let me know if you find any errors. Thanks, and enjoy!
Chapter Four:
Expectations
"I'm searching for answers not questioned before.
The curse of awareness – there's no peace of mind."
Blue eyes blinked wearily, and she stifled a yawn. They glided over the page, deciphering the small cursive much more coherently than they had a week ago. The scientist across the table coughed dryly, taking a long swallow of his water as he cleared his throat. The silence lingered over them, no longer the awkward pauses they had been days before – though still slightly uncomfortable as eyes briefly crossed or hands brushed as they reached for the next file in rhythm.
"Some of this stuff…" Elena shook her head, eyes fixed on the file a moment longer before she forced herself to close it. Dusty hands slid it to the side as she grabbed another one, pulling it into the light of the desk lamp. So far, they had pretty much finished the files from Hojo's lab, retreating to the cramped office where another weeks-worth was waiting.
"…Disturbing," he remarked quietly, and she hummed softly in agreement. A hazel eye flickered over the page, and he hesitated. "…actually…" They moved back, reading the phrase more precisely. "…Wait – this one was a Turk!" he said suddenly, eye darting rapidly over the page.
"You've got to be kidding!" she almost shrieked, leaning over him. "What's the label?"
"T-VV?" Hart answered flipping it back to the outside quickly; he thumbed back through the pages, and shook his head thoughtfully. "Er, not sure what it means, though…numerals, maybe. There isn't a physical description…but it mentions that the subject was a Turk." Eyes lingered on a line, and he read aloud. "…'Experiment suffered near-fatal gunshot wound, leaving subject in comatose state…bullet extracted and destroyed…'" he skimmed. "Listen to this: 'will attempt to regenerate brain activity in the Turk by immortalizing the body… Test hypothesis; test ways of strengthening the endurance of the human body – hopefully to perfect in Project S…high tolerance to trauma and metamorphosis…"
"'…tests successful…brain activity not restored…'" the Turk read aloud, skimming words hastily over his shoulder. He handed her the page as he looked over the next, and she read over it as quickly as it would sink into her mind. "'…use Mako…as preservation to maintain body, though body will…will die without proper brain function.'"
"Wait – there's more," he continued as she hesitated; eyes immediately scoured the page to find where the scientist was reading. "'…life restored…using…assistant's hypothesis, though subject must remain…'" Hart hesitated as he reread the final sentence. "'…must remain sedated for safety; no further research to be conducted at this time.'"
"I…I'm not sure, Derik…" she said uncertainly. "It doesn't mention anything about the use of Jenova cells – or Mako infusions for that matter…"
"…You've got a point," Hart agreed cynically, recalling the fluorescent jade eyes that struck him even at a distance.
"…I'll leave it out, though," she decided, setting it with three others they'd come across. "After all, it mentions a Turk. I'm not comfortable ruling it out just yet. I guess I need to get these to Tseng – he's starting to get antsy about these files."
"…Why's that?" the scientist queried, a twinge of curiosity hidden beneath feigned casualty.
"I think he was hoping we'd find it before Reno got back on missions," she admitted quietly. Azure eyes glanced to the dusty and disheveled papers, and the Turk shook her head. Sighing, she tucked a lock of gold behind her ear. "I…just don't know why he's so convinced there's something wrong with him…"
"You…don't think there is?" the scientist asked, almost wary of such a bold optimism. She turned sharply, and he shrank way from the piercing gaze; cobalt eyes were glassy, but hardened and cold as they studied him a moment.
"He's fine," she snapped quickly, the response hasty and bitter. "Just because he was an experiment doesn't mean he can't still be Reno." Eyes peeled themselves from the Professor as she turned on her heel.
*~*~*0*~*~*
The results had taken a week to get back, but the wait was worth it. According to most of the evaluations, everything was normal. The scans indicated that his body was just as healthy as it had been seven years ago, with some expected muscle loss, and the blood screening revealed little that wasn't expected; Mako and Jenova cells now ran through his veins, and his DNA had mutated from the high amounts of exposure; there were some abnormalities, but nothing that were seen as cause for concern. Sleep studies showed that his brain waves were unusually active during sleep, which didn't surprise him with the unusual dreams and nightmares. Not to mention the cat-like reflexes and pain tolerance gained from the Mako infusion.
However, the conclusion was that none of the experiments caused him to be a threat. He was still, in fact, sane. Or at least as sane as a Turk could be.
"What's my first mission?" he asked, plopping down in the chair. The president blinked, sighing quietly as he finally put down his pen.
"It's three o'clock in the afternoon," he replied. "Tseng and I will have an assignment for you in the morning." Reno sighed as he stood, frowning slightly. Rufus studied the disappointed expression and added, "Get a good night's rest, Reno. Our conference begins at eight thirty." The redhead nodded, giving a half-hearted wave as he walked back to the door. It clicked unlocked, and he pulled the knob.
He started as he almost ran into the director, who had been waiting patiently on the other side. Pools of Mako eyed him suspiciously, and he thought he caught the director shrinking away from his gaze. But Tseng stood tall, clearing his throat as he gave Reno a nod and proceeded into the open office. He carried a stack of files, maybe five or six deep, but the door closed behind him.
'They'll be talking about you.' Reno jumped at the almost audible voice that echoed in his head, hesitating slightly. Swallowing, he shook his head; just his conscience.
'No…it's just assignment files,' he told himself, but the redhead hesitated. Ears pricked alert, and he leaned towards the door. Muffled voices spoke on the other side, and he focused; actually, with his enhanced senses, they weren't hard to make out.
*~*~*0*~*~*
"Tseng, you have the files?" he asked curtly. Tseng turned from the door, having been watching through the peep hole. Stern eyes caused the blonde to hesitate, and the director shook his head. He turned his attention back to the door, and the President gave him an uncertain look.
"I have the reactor files you asked for, sir," Tseng said, speaking clear and loud. "These are the ones that have been inspected."
"Er…thank you," he replied, uncertainly, eyes not leaving the director's. Tseng handed him the stack, and he could clearly tell they were, in fact, not the reactor files. But he made no remark, clearly playing along; he didn't understand the ruse, but knew well that the director had his reasons and would explain the moment he could.
"You'll see the results are all pretty standard, save for the top file," he said. Impatient eyes lingered over Tseng, but fell to the files. The president thumbed through the top one; in the meantime, he backed towards the door, and looked through. Blue eyes met his and he shook his head once more.
"Will you be okay going to Nibelheim?" Rufus asked to shatter the silence, and the director's heart fluttered despite himself. "I would understand if you would like for me to send someone else, but you are familiar with the terrain, and I would be more comfortable with you leading."
"…No, sir, that…that should be fine," he replied. "Who will accompany me?" he asked and Rufus shook his head.
"I haven't decided yet," the president confessed, and Tseng glanced back through the peep hole. "Probably Reeve, if he's finished with his investigation from the other day."
"Investigation?" the Turk replied, lingering by the door.
"You didn't hear?" Rufus asked rhetorically. "There was an incident in Edge – two days ago, I believe. A sinkhole opened up on the southern side of the city."
"Are you serious?" he asked, turning from the door.
"It wasn't a major area," the youthful president replied, fingering the files anxiously. Azure eyes studied the top file absently, hung on deciphering the label. "There were minimal casualties, though around ten are still in critical condition."
"I see…" The director trailed; he'd been so preoccupied harassing Elena over Reno's file and finding excuses to tail the recovering Turk, he hadn't paid much attention to the happenings around him. Tseng turned his attention to the door distractedly, peering back out. "He's left," he said after a moment.
"…Reno?" the president inferred.
"I had a feeling he would attempt to eavesdrop," the director replied. "Not that I can blame him. I just…I still feel like the tests missed something."
"Then these are the files Elena found, correct?" he said, flipping through the first file. The file label read "T-VV."
"So far, sir – she still has about three filing cabinets to get through," he said. The blonde skipped to the next one, a blank label. Eyes looked uncertainly back to the director.
"She's had a week," the president uttered tersely, "I understand that they are having to go through each file individually, but there are two of them. What's taking so long?"
"My apologies, sir," Tseng answered quickly. "I asked that, too…until I stopped by yesterday. I…didn't realize how many files he had – ten cabinets in total, all of them full. Not to mention those that weren't even filed." The president silenced, having clearly not expected that much to have accumulated in the amount of time Hojo had been holed up in the lab, and Tseng resisted an inward chuckle. "Unfortunately, they're having to rule out each file manually."
"What are these?" Rufus asked, skimming the first page of the top file.
"Ones they think are relevant. The first one is the only one so far that mentions a Turk in specific, but no detailed physical description is contained. The rest have common physical descriptions to Reno, or seem to follow what we suspect was done."
"Was the record of experiments on the first one consistent with Reno's?" he said, flipping back through and scanning pages.
"Yes and no," he answered hesitantly, and the president eyed him skeptically; sapphires sank to the paperwork as the director elaborated, scouring the detailed research. "The body was made near-immortal and could regenerate cells for accelerated healing. There were multiple notations of this suspicion through his evaluations that would be consistent with the file. With all of the tests, he gave almost three and a half pints of blood, which would kill even the strongest of SOLDIER. But when they tested him before each drawing, his cell counts indicated his blood was fully replenished. We didn't realize until reviewing all of the results exactly how much had been drawn. However, the file fails to make any mention of Jenova cells or Mako – aside from using it as a preservative."
"Did you read it?" Rufus asked, eyes lingering over the last page.
"I did, sir," he confirmed. "And, I'll agree with Elena and Professor Hart. I don't believe this is Reno's file – though I would like to check into it. After all, there are no records of any Turks becoming science experiments." The president nodded absently as he flipped through the next few, scrutinizing them but not seeming otherwise impressed. Finally, eyes read the label on the final file, and Rufus raised an eyebrow.
"Why did you bring this one?" he asked blatantly. "This is Zack Fair's file."
"My apologies, sir," the raven-haired director said, reaching for the file. "That one was mine." The president eyed him suspiciously as Tseng picked it up. "It was a case I took a special interest in shortly after I became the director. Zack and I…well, we had history."
The president eyed him unsurely, but gave a nod, indicating he needn't explain further. Tseng sighed to himself; he hadn't thought about the spunky raven-haired youth in quite some time, and hadn't thought about the woman he'd vowed to protect, despite ShinRa's need of her capture, for the years following. Every letter… all eighty-eight of them. He still had them in his office, along with several other files recovered after Meteorfall. Tseng shook his head.
"Elena said she would try to get through the rest of them this week," he said, and the president set the files to the side. "Are you putting him back on missions tomorrow?"
"I have no reason not to, Tseng," he retorted. "I can't keep him cooped up anymore – you know that as well as I do. Besides, I believe you were the one that made him a promise."
"Any idea what you'll be assigning him?" The president chuckled cynically, rubbing his eyes.
"No," he admitted. "I had planned to partner him with Elena, but… Frankly, shutting him down in Hojo's lab to go through experiment files doesn't exactly seem like the best of ideas. What if I put him on Reeve's investigation?"
"I…think it would be in his best interest to have something a little…more quiet," the director said hesitantly. "I'm not comfortable with him being in the city just yet."
"True…" he trailed, mind clearly wringing itself for suggestions.
"What about sending Reno with me?" Tseng suggested suddenly, and bewildered eyes met his stern gaze.
"To the Mako Reactors?" Rufus queried skeptically, and he gave half-hearted laugh. "I don't know which would be worse – Hojo's lab or Mako Reactors."
"He'll wait in the chopper," Tseng assured. "He'll keep an eye out to make sure no one interferes with the inspections." The president considered the suggestion, brows furrowing as he grappled with the decision. "The best place for him right now is under my supervision, sir. You know that."
"Fine," he agreed finally. "But he cannot go inside the reactors, Tseng."
*~*~*0*~*~*
Torchlight flickered over sandstone walls, murals dancing almost lifelike under the flames. It was damp and musty, and he placed a hand over one of the murals. Suddenly, he was aware of a presence and he turned. Tseng absently stared at the mural, eyes studying the painting intently.
"Is this the Promised Land…?" he asked the empty room. "No, it can't be…" He examined it a moment longer before he noticed the presence behind him. "Sephiroth!"
Sephiroth? Reno turned, but the room was empty. Why did the director…?
"So you opened the door." The voice was not his own, words formed against his will and he spoke them. "Well done." His lips turned, a grin of mockery slipping across his face for a moment as he stepped towards the Turk. Fear flickered behind onyx irises, but the director kept his composure.
"This place…what is it?" the Turk asked calmly.
"A treasure house of knowledge," the husky voice replied. "The wisdom of the Ancients…" There was a pause. "I am becoming one with the Planet." Arms raised unwillingly to the sky as he spoke, a tone of celebration loosely laced in his words.
"One with the Planet?" Tseng repeated with a bit of curiosity. A white film burst over his vision, like he was seeing the scene through cobwebs. Light flashed and he struggled to focus on the director. He spoke again.
"You stupid fools. You have never even thought about it." Words formed over his lips as he continued, the deep voice resonating against his ears. As if someone else controlled his body. "All the spirit energy of this Planet. All its wisdom…knowledge… I will meld with it all. I will become one with it… It will become one with me."
"…you can do that?" Tseng asked quietly; the question sounded a bit sarcastic, but sincere. His arms fell to his side with annoyance.
"The way…lies here," he said after a moment. Limbs moved of their own accord, and he felt fingers fall over the hilt of a weapon. "Only death awaits you all," he added coolly. The redhead's mind raced, and he inwardly screamed for Tseng to run. Metal flashed, and he unsheathed the gleaming blade. The Masamune slid through skin and the horrible scrape lingered in the air as the Turk crumpled. The director's eyes shined, flickering in the dim torchlight – a fear that Reno had never seen dance over those eyes. He groaned painfully, and Reno willed himself control. Metal hissed as he withdrew the blade, and breath caught in the victim's throat. Gazes met, and suddenly Reno was torn from the scene.
He woke with a start, breath catching in his chest and heart throbbing heavily against his ribcage. Hands shook and he watched them for a moment before closing his eyes. He brushed sweat from his brow and fell back to his pillow. Reno willed himself to stop trembling, but it seemed as though his body wasn't ready to obey him just yet.
Eyes opened; dawn brightened the curtains from behind, streaks of lights peering in from the blinds and trying to peek around the panels. Eyes finally found the clock beside his bed, and he squinted as he reread them. He lurched, throwing the covers clear off the bed as he raced to the closet. The conference started twenty minutes ago! Quickly, Reno threw on a faded musty suit, noting mentally to request new ones after the mission. The apartment door flung open, and he fumbled his keys as he locked the door and raced to the elevator. When it reached the top level, he raced to the conference room and through the doors. The Turks sat around the table, with Rufus at its head. The group jumped at his abrupt entrance, but settled once they realized that it was merely Reno.
"I'm…I'm sorry…I'm late, sir," Reno panted, letting the door close behind him. He stood awkwardly, waiting for the director to scold him as he usually did.
"We expect nothing less from you, Reno," Tseng jested, a smile turning his lips. Reno smiled hesitantly, and the director chuckled. "It's alright, Reno. I had Elena switch off your alarm so you could get some rest for your mission today. We're just finishing up," he added, gesturing to an empty chair. Jade eyes glanced at the blonde who nodded brightly, and he sat.
"That…being said," Rufus continued, indicating he didn't intend to recap for Reno. "You all have your assignments today. "Reeve, I'd like a full report on your investigation so far before you leave. We can go up to my office." He nodded, shuffling his own papers as the meeting closed. "And the chopper is ready for you anytime, Tseng."
"Yes, sir," he nodded. The director stood, and the others followed. Reno lingered in his chair hesitantly. Had he missed being assigned to something? "You'll be with me today, Reno," the director said as the others filed out. Onyx eyes watched him, and he nodded half-heartedly.
Metal flashed, he unsheathed the gleaming blade. The Masamune slid through skin and the horrible scrape lingered in the air as the Turk crumpled. The director's eyes shined, flickering in the dim torchlight – a fear that Reno had never seen dance over those eyes.
"What's the assignment?" Reno asked as he blinked himself free from the memory.
"We'll be…" the director's voice trailed as he reached Reno's side and his face scrunched slightly. "Reno, did you shower this morning?"
"No, I…I thought I was late, and…" he stammered. Did he really smell that bad? He took a whiff and enhanced senses twinged. The scent of Mako still seemed to radiate from his pores and it mixed with a light musk of sweat – no doubt from the nightmare. To add insult to injury, his faded suit smelled of starchy dust and mildew. "…Give me ten minutes?" A smile flickered over the director's features and he chuckled.
"You'd better take longer than ten," he jested and Reno had to appreciate his attempt at humor. Dry as it was, the director wasn't as stiff as he put on. Reno laughed, and nodded as he calmed himself. "We're in no rush, Reno. Take the time you need. I'll see what I can do about getting you a new uniform."
"Thank you, sir," he said, pulling at the unbuttoned jacket. He left the conference room, catching the elevator just as it closed. Elena gestured him in with her and Reeve, but Reno hesitated. "I'm going to take the stairs," he refused politely, now fully aware of his prominent odor. She frowned, but he took the door to his right before she could protest. It was only ten flights down, so it wouldn't be too bad downstairs. He went down one, two, three flights… Besides, his body was still adjusting, according to his most recent physical, so he could use all of the 'exercise' he could get.
Not that going down stairs was really 'exercise.'
'I wonder…'
Suddenly, the stairwell spun before him, and he balanced himself on the rail. Vision blurred and darkened, stairs swimming as he tried to focus; he needed to sit – but he needed to get to the landing. He tried to lift his foot, carefully picking out the outline of the step below him as he moved. But his vision darkened, and he felt himself falling.
He collapsed to his knees and placed a hand over the left side of his abdomen. Sticky red warmth leaked from the through-and-through, spilling on to the floor. Blood smeared tile like children's finger-paint. Tiles felt like snow against his stomach. Footsteps resonated, both sharp and indistinct; his heart pounded in rhythm. Muffled words reached his ears, but he couldn't make them out.
A twinge resonated against his mind, and weakly he forced his eyes open. Eyes fluttered open weakly, and he could make out the scuffed, coal-black boots in front of him. Cold flooring stuck to his cheek, and he blinked as he tried to remember where he was. The frigid, musty air hung heavily in his chest, thick with the bitter scent of metal. A tear slipped from his eye and rolled across the bridge of his nose, warm against death-chilled flesh. What…what had happened? Why was he on the floor…? It seemed to fall forever before he distantly heard it splash into the growing puddle around him. Vision found the growing puddle beneath him, crimson staining his navy suit. Was that…blood? Eyes closed meekly, and he tried to open them again. Eyes felt weak and heavy, and his muscles grew limp. Pain swallowed him and everything blurred, fading...
Wake up!
Suddenly, he was awake, and Reno sat upright. He looked to the grey flooring of the landing, the bloodstain now gone, and brows furrowed. Reno pulled at the suit, but no stains or sticky liquid clung to it. Clammy fingers rubbed his forehead and he winced as pain panged through his head. Fingers caught in something, and he pulled them away. Sticky warmth coated his hand and he realized that he was bleeding. Not enough to cause a puddle, but he probably had a pretty nice gash. Sighing, he pulled himself to his feet, testing his balance before he finished the flight and headed to the elevator for the rest of the way down.
Tseng would absolutely love to hear about this.
*~*~*0*~*~*
It appeared that, no matter how much she adjusted the thermostat, the basement lab remained perpetually frigid, and Elena found herself shivering involuntary as she perused Hojo's old files.
"You know, you can use my coat, if you want," Professor Hart offered, and Elena didn't miss the note of amusement in his tone. The blonde blinked, the tenor voice shattering the silence that had settled in the dimly lit office. She tucked a golden lock behind her ear.
"Oh, no – I'm fine," she responded reflexively, although she didn't know why she refused.
"No, really – I'm not using it anyway," he insisted, already searching for it. "Must have left it in the lab," he mumbled to himself after a moment. "I'll be right back." He strode out of the office door before the Turk could protest, and she smiled in spite of herself as she looked back to the files. The one on top was labeled "C-SH," and she shook her head, sighing. Hojo's coding system still made no sense. She had just begun skimming the file when the scientist returned, coat in hand.
"Thanks," Elena said absently, continuing to read the file as she slid the coat over her arms. It hung loose against her frame, and she had to roll the sleeves up so that they didn't cover her hands. After a pause she tore her eyes from the file, suddenly aware that the professor was studying her with curiosity. "Oh, sorry," she offered, blushing. "I was just…" Elena cut her gaze back to the file, "I just can't believe some of the stuff that was going on – I mean…some of these things are just…just so…"
"Horrible?" Hart finished, and Elena nodded. "What's it say?" he queried, turning back to his own pile of folders.
"Hojo…Hojo was experimenting on children," she managed finally, voice unexpectedly catching as she spoke. The scientist froze, but didn't look up.
"What does it say?" he asked quietly. The Turk hesitated.
"He…he wanted to replicate the experiment done on subject T-VV, with some additions and changes…" Elena explained as she skimmed the page. "He wanted to…to do the infusion while the subject was fully alive, and to see…see what happened if he also infused Jenova cells with it…" Her voice trailed off. A moment passed, and Hart didn't turn around; when he didn't respond, she continued scanning the file. "It says someone tried to steal her from the lab, but she couldn't take the stress…the demon took control of her, and – and killed most of the people that were there…this is horrible!" Hart didn't respond, and she skimmed the next page quickly.
"Oh my God – they kidnapped her!" Elena gasped, abruptly dropping the file. The thought made her stomach turn. Kidnapping…it seemed beneath the company at least – even the old ShinRa, although she imagined it wouldn't have been a stretch for Hojo. The late scientist had never had much of a moral compass…but the thought that the company might have condoned this…Cobalt eyes found hazel green, and suddenly the scientist's flesh seemed much paler than she recalled. His eye was wide with some emotion that she couldn't identify.
"What?" he gasped in disbelief, edging closer to the Turk but unable to bring himself to read the document over her shoulder.
"Hojo believed that the person was her brother," she explained anxiously, words tumbling quickly passed chapped lips as she continued to read, "'…as the subject was taken from a neighboring village several years prior.' I mean, I knew Hojo was sick, but…but this…" The file trembled in her hands, and wide eyes latched to the professor's, waiting for him to say something – anything. Instead, his olive eye broke away from hers, suddenly finding the linoleum tiles intriguing.
"Yeah," he managed finally, gaze meeting hers for a fleeting moment before he turned, sitting in the desk chair and picking up one of the files. He didn't open it. Elena felt a pang of guilt; the poor guy must be regretting taking this job now, just because of all of the horrible things it had involved previously…azure eyes continued to read. Suddenly she hesitated, eyes freezing on the page, reading and rereading.
"That's weird," she half-chuckled nervously. When the professor didn't respond, she continued quietly. "Her last name was Hart, too." Eyes studied him intently as she spoke, searching for any sign of a reaction. He kept his back to her.
"…Yeah." The word seemed hollow and broken, and Elena realized how insensitively she had confirmed her suspicions. Heeled shoes clicked softly across the tiles, footsteps muted by hesitation. The Turk knelt beside him, and he flinched when she touched his shoulder. "…Her name was Sephora. Sephora Hart." She closed her eyes, mind processing.
"…She was – " Elena started. The chair swiveled sharply and at once he was facing her, eye blazing with rage.
"My sister," Hart finished curtly. The Turk hesitated, taken aback by his response. Now more than ever Elena noticed the deep gashes all but hidden beneath the faded eye-patch, canyons etched in sun-kissed tan in the shadows of the desk lamp. She was suddenly aware that the emotion burning against his peridot eye was not anger…it was sadness. Pain. He sighed, gaze falling; he turned away. "Yeah."
"Derik…" she started, but quickly realized as he glanced back over his shoulder that she had not the faintest clue of what to say. Meekly she offered him the file; he accepted it gingerly, and hesitated before he turned to the last page. Eye trailed across the page slowly, absorbing every word, as though he were a child reading for the first time. He didn't shrug away when she placed a hand on his shoulder. After a moment he closed the file; silence settled in the dust around them. Without warning, the professor slammed the file on the desk and abruptly stood, seemingly unaware that the sudden motion nearly sent his companion tumbling to the floor.
"I have to go," Hart muttered, hastily grabbing his keys and wallet from a cleared spot on the desk's surface. He didn't look at her as he stormed passed.
"Derik – " she began to protest.
"I'll be back later," he threw over his shoulder. He didn't look back. Elena stood, frozen like a statue. His footsteps had faded down the hallway entirely when sapphire eyes found the file still on the desk. She turned to the last page, eyes fluttering down the page to the last paragraph.
"While project was not an entire failure, subject proved to be too unpredictable in behavior and could not be kept under control.
Subject euthanized."
The stillness of the lab seemed to press against her from all sides as blue eyes fixed again on the doorway where Professor Hart had disappeared, and she placed the file once more on Hojo's desk. She pulled the borrowed jacket tight around her frame, suddenly aware of the empty chill of the office.
*~*~*0*~*~*
Reno flicked on the lights to his apartment and hastily went into the bathroom. Sure enough, blood trickled down from the wound to his cheek, sliding off like a crimson tear-track. The gash was deep, but nothing a little coagulant and a little gauze couldn't handle. He cleaned it with peroxide and turned on the water in the shower. Quickly, he stepped inside, already braced for the cold blast of water; though he was either getting used to the icy showers or his water had finally decided to heat to an agreeable lukewarm. He lathered, shampooed, and rinsed, careful to avoid soap in his wound.
A hand swiped across the mirror as he dried off, and he hastily dipped a cotton swab into the small vial of coagulant. Eyes peeled themselves from the bottle to the mirror, but he hesitated; the wound had already scabbed over. Perplexed, he flicked the swab to the trash, fingers tracing the wound vaguely before yanking his robe from the hook and tying it loosely; after all, Tseng was going to be bringing him a uniform right? He opened the door, and sure enough, a crisp blue suit had been spread out on his bed. The bedroom door was closed, and he wondered if Tseng was still in the apartment. He heard a phone ring, and the director answered with his usual one-word greet.
Apparently, so.
Quickly, he threw on the suit, buckling the belt underneath his untucked dress shirt and pulling on the loose blue jacket. He pulled on socks and slipped his black loafers on before opening the door. Tseng listened intently on the phone, expression serious. Eyes met, and his brows furrowed as they glanced up to the scar.
"Understood, sir," he said. "I'll give you a full report when we return." He closed the phone, tucking it away in his pocket. "Reno, what happened?" he asked sternly, but Reno brushed it off.
"I tripped on the stairs," he replied nonchalantly. "No big deal."
"Did you have it checked out?" the director asked skeptically.
"Nothing to check out," he answered. "It was just a scratch. Are we ready to go?" The director eyed him suspiciously, but Reno didn't budge. Defeated, Tseng nodded.
"The chopper is ready on the flight pad." Tseng led him to the elevator and swiped his card inside, allowing him to access the upper levels. A calloused finger pressed the button near the top, reading "R". The Rooftop; the landing deck where most of the air traffic was handled. Reno swallowed, eyes fixated on the digital number display as it climbed upward; he wasn't sure which was more uncomfortable, their conversation or silence. He could feel eyes studying him, pupils cutting to the side to watch his every move.
Finally, the doors slid open, and warm morning sunlight flooded his vision as the dawn broke through. Chopper blades sliced through the air and motors created a deafening roar that resonated over the rooftop. Wind swept across him, slightly chilly as it caught damp hair. With haste, he followed him to the closest chopper, already started and ready for action. He slid into the passenger seat as Tseng crossed to the other side. He adjusted his headphones, and Reno grabbed his own pair from by the cockpit door. The engine revved as Tseng flipped a few switches and took hold of the gear, and he felt it lift from the pad.
His mind trailed, and Reno studied the landscape below. He gaped as he saw Neo-Midgar from above; it had the same look as the Midgar he once knew – except that there was no upper city. Slums still perhaps, but they weren't shrouded beneath a suspended metal plate. He could tell that the architectural foundation was the same as the old building. However, it was much sleeker, reaching upward towards the daylight. Much of the roof was glass, reflecting the midmorning sun so that Reno had to wince. The concrete landing pad was in the center, dotted with choppers and airships and busy crewman running to and fro. ShinRa had expanded in the last seven years, so it would seem. It was a business city, a long expansion of bridges leading out to the city of Edge, where most of the workers probably lived now.
Instead of barren and tainted earth, an emerald field stretched towards the ocean. Sapphire waves rolled over white sand, once polluted beaches now restored. Wind turbines dotted the cliffs overlooking the water, swirling as they farmed the seabreeze. A forest had blossomed, still fairly young, on the opposite side over the road to Kalm. A dirt road traveled from the edge of Neo-Midgar, across the plain and through the woods to the small village. The chopper turned, heading due east over the coastline. Across the gulf, small villages had popped up in places he didn't remember, dotting the landscape.
"…A lot has changed," Tseng remarked quietly, and Reno caught the Turk studying him at a sideways glance. He hummed with agreement, but their eyes didn't meet as he watched the path below. A desert still surrounded the Gold Saucer, now twice the size he remembered; Dio had been a busy man, no doubt taking advantage of the sudden shift in the perspective of mortality brought on by the disaster. They gained altitude as they headed over the mountains, the quiet mountain village of Nibelheim no more than the speck it used to be. The chopper slowed as Tseng navigated the high peaks, and Reno snuck a glance; brows furrowed over dark and unblinking eyes, and stress lines creased fair skin. He could sense the anxiousness that lingered over the director, the hesitance that trembled over his fingers.
"Brace for impact!"
Eyes clenched, anticipating, expecting the crash. The sudden violent collision, metal tearing and screeching as it scraped over the mount. Dust, debris as whirling blades cut into rock and shattered it. The scent of fluids as they poured from torn engine pipes, maybe smoke and fire and singed metal. Screams, choked and painful as they tore free from impaled bodies.
But there was nothing; no screeching of metal, no shuddering explosion, hissing of pipes or choked shrieks of agony. There was only silence; like the stillness of winter before the first snow – like going underwater.
A ragged breath escaped his lips; he was still alive.
There was fire; the distinct scent of smoke tickled his senses, but he couldn't force his eyes to open. Crackles, pops – like embers in a fireplace. A cadence, steady and dim, like white noise, like static in his headset. Pitter-patters, like footsteps, like raindrops splattering a window… Something streaked down his forehead, liquid trickling across the bridge of his nose, beneath his eye like tears, and down his cheek. Hosing hissed nearby, like a balloon deflating, slowly. A scent mixed with the smoke; chemicals, like burned rubber or rotting wood. Dirt and fresh cut grass…burning metal. And singed, smoldering flesh. A cough caught in his throat, and he choked weakly; his mouth tasted like salt water and steel.
Pain shot through his body, and coughs smothered the shriek he was sure tore at his throat. Eyes clenched, but he forced them open, forced blurred vision to focus, to take in his surroundings. Gray smothered his vision, fog like a shroud, like a mist as it draped the mountainous backdrop; he couldn't see the mountains, vaguely recalled their mission. He was on the ground; cold mud clung to every inch of him, holding on like a fly to sticky tape. It was raining, he realized, though his skin seemed too numb to notice the cold droplets as they pelted him. He could feel pressure on his legs, a lack of circulation, and eyes shifted; he winced as he tried to lift his head, the notion sending the world briefly spinning as he fought to look downward.
Twisted metal, ripped and shredded, torn fabric, navy dyed a deep shade, nearly black. Air shushed his thoughts, the hose attached to the machinery steadily leaking air from a puncture. He tried to move, but pain screamed through his body, coming from everywhere rather than an isolated injury; limbs refused movement, were too tired, too stubborn to obey, or else unable, he realized darkly.
The sounds muffled and his mind reeled as unconsciousness called him, but he forced himself to focus, forced eyes to stay open. Shrapnel, debris, rock and metal scattered the scene; embers chewed at the remains, surely only tamed by the steady rain. A short distance away, he could make out the remains of the cockpit, distorted metal and shards of broken glass. Torn fabric, singed and painted crimson. He could make out the figure, half-torso that disappeared beneath the wreckage; still and sprawled like a doll tossed aside.
Pain swallowed him suddenly, like being torn apart, like having flesh seared and peeled away while living; a shrill scream pierced his mind, though he wasn't sure if it was in his thoughts or aloud. Like being chewed alive, and left to take a last shuddering breath, coated with the thick scent of smoke and crimson.
"…You're quiet," he offered quietly, the statement pulling Reno from the scene. He swallowed, nearly choking on the lump in his throat, tongue clinging dryly to his mouth. An exhale escaped his lips, suddenly reeling in lightheadedness, and a quick hand swiped across his eyes.
"…Sorry," he managed, uncertain of what answer the director wanted, what would satisfy his almost hungry gaze. "I was…just thinking…"
"…about Rude?" A sharp gaze found the Turk, lingering over obsidian before they gazed back to the rocky mounts. "Elena said she told you…about the crash."
"…Yeah…" the redhead trailed. The drone of the chopper blades, muffled over the weighty headsets, drowned the conversation, and Reno let his gaze instead find the panel in front of him; it was plastered with dials, levers, knobs, gears – not like the helicopters he was used to.
"…I think of him often," Tseng admitted quietly, the statement almost inaudible in the static of the headset. "Wonder if…I hadn't been so stubborn…" The director's voice trailed, and Reno sensed that the query was meant more to himself than in conversation. He sighed.
"The engine malfunctioned," Reno finally offered. "It probably would have failed whether you had turned back sooner or not." The Turk hummed in agreement, the soft acceptance seeming reluctant, but offering no argument.
"Did Elena tell you?" he asked finally. The redhead drew a breath to answer, but hesitated. She hadn't; in fact, she really hadn't told him anything, except that the helicopter had crashed. Everything else…
"Brace for impact!"
"…Yeah," he answered hoarsely. The chopper turned sharply as Tseng passed between two peaks, and finally Reno spotted the old reactor.
"We'll start here," Tseng said through the microphone as they landed. "Our goal is to get the Nibelheim, Corel, and Gongaga Reactors inspected today. The one in Gongaga is just the ruins of the explosion decades ago, but we've been monitoring it to be safe." He shut off the engines and the swishing of the chopper blades finally halted. Reno unbuckled himself, pulling his headphones from sore ears.
"Better get started then," he said, sliding from his seat. Tseng hesitated, and Reno got the sneaking suspicion that he was not going to like what the director said.
"Actually, I need you to stay out here," he suggested. "We've…had issues in the past with civilians causing interferences in the inspection. I'd like for you to wait by the chopper and keep watch."
"…You mean you dragged me out here to be your guard dog?" Reno concluded and Tseng frowned.
"I know you're eager, Reno," he began sympathetically. "But maybe you should slow down – take things one step at a time."
"No offense, sir," the redhead spat. "But I was trapped in a test tube for the last seven years. And since Elena found me, all I've been able to do is sit on my ass. I've jumping through hoops and dancing in circles for weeks to be able to get back to doing my job. Do you really think that I'm going to sit on my ass in this tin can twiddling my thumbs?"
"Reno…try to understand, we –"
"I get that you're looking out for me, sir, and I can appreciate that," he interrupted. Eyes burned as he gazed at the director, and he fought back the rush of emotion he'd bottled up over the last two weeks. "Believe me, I do. But don't…don't treat me like a child. I don't need protection and I don't need codling. What I do need is to feel like something other than a messed-up, freak-show, time-bomb science experiment that everyone is afraid of – like I'm going to chop off heads and burn down cities." The director studied him, quiet settling over them. A breeze swept over the mountain, and it lingered with the heavy scent of Mako and chimney smoke.
"Reno…I am…truly sorry," Tseng finally said, sighing. "I…had no idea you felt that way. I am sorry." Swallowing, Reno nodded; he'd heard Tseng 'apologize' many times…but he'd rarely heard those words uttered from the stern director's mouth. "But…if I do allow you to go inside, you must agree to a few restrictions."
"…You got it," he smiled lightly, grateful that the director was taking him seriously.
"The president and I were both concerned that the high concentration levels of Mako might not sit too well with you; many SOLDIERS fresh out of the Mako treatments experienced reactions to Mako reactors the first few months after their initial treatments. I need you to be honest with me – tell me if something doesn't feel right, or if you think you might be having a reaction. Can you do that?"
"Yes, sir," Reno agreed. Silently, he wondered what kind of 'reactions' he might have, but…well, he'd know soon enough.
"And…please…do me a favor?" A jesting smirk slid over his lips and eyes met. "Don't touch anything." Reno chuckled, nodding as they headed towards the reactor.
"…as your true colors show a dangerous sign."
Quotes: A Dangerous Mind, by Within Temptation