Author's Note: Apologies – I know I said I'd have up sooner, but when I started editing, it needed a bit more work than I anticipated. This is a very high-paced and LONG chapter, so I wanted to make sure everything was right so the moment wouldn't be ruined by a typo or grammatical error. I think I've got the kinks worked out for the ending, too – not too much longer now!

On a side note, I've been considering writing a "prequel" for this more so from Tseng's perspective; it would be more of a semi-journal/flashback layout rather than in-depth prose like this one. A lot happens that is extremely important to the structure of ITA and of Neo-ShinRa that never really found a place to be explained. (As an example, when an ex-SOLDIER tried to assassinate Rufus). I'm thinking maybe five to eight chapters (more than that would super surprise me). Let me know if it's something anyone would be interested in reading.

Aside from that, enjoy.

Chapter Ten:
A Final Stand

"We don't have to let them beat us –
we can take control."

Obsidian eyes focused on the mirror, hazed with a thin film of dirt and dust that managed to turn the redhead into a blurry smudge. Eyes twitched vaguely and lips moved, words escaping them silently in his forced slumber; the director distantly wondered if the Turk could make out the loud drone of the chopper blades, if the fresh scent of sea and sandstone tickled his nose, if he could feel the slight tug of the late autumn breeze that pulled against the vehicle as they approached the northern continent.

He caught a glimpse of cerulean eyes, bright as the wavering ocean beneath them, and he let his eyes focus on the route ahead. Dark eyes could make out the white sands, almost mistakable for fresh snow that stretched into the brisk waves, the steep cliffs that reached miles above the torrent that broke around them, and the blinding glacier that gleamed stark white in the distance. Beyond it, he could make out the Gaea's Cliff that eventually plummeted into the Northern Crater. They drifted back, searching for the landmark; Bone Village had grown over the last near-decade, though still a speck against the landscape. He banked easterly, the ravine coming into view over the greenery. It was beginning to get dark, he realized, hues of indigo and plum eating away at the soft grey twilight that draped the eastern horizon; it didn't surprise him after the time it took to get everything ready.

Their intention had been to leave in the early morning, so that, should something go wrong, there would be plenty of daylight remaining for…well, whatever might happen. But, this naturally being a more…secretive matter, the Edge security hadn't known and the new Lieutenant had decided to borrow the prepared helicopter in the earliest hours of the morning. Rufus had been furious when no one seemed to know where the chopper was or why it was missing. And, of course, it was stocked with sedatives, multiple first aid kits, a collapsible cot fitted with restraints, and parachutes among other needed supplies, not to mention a very unwelcome surprise beneath the cockpit.

Finally, it had returned in the early afternoon, nearly out of juice from the Lieutenant's excursion; apparently, someone had been trying to flee from an armed robbery on a motorcycle, and had managed to outrun the motorcycle officers, and had gotten out of Edge…so the quickest way to catch him was by chopper. Granted, the Edge Police Force had access and rights to the choppers and other ShinRa vehicles, but they were supposed to go through either Reeve, as their supervisor, or the president.

…Rufus had been furious. Livid. And, for safety reasons, Tseng had to completely restock supplies, water for the engine, plus replace all of the sedatives to make sure they hadn't been tampered with. They had finally managed to leave almost twelve hours after their original planned departure. Of course, the young president had suggested waiting, but…Cloud and Tseng both disagreed.

It had taken them too long to plan, too much effort to keep Sephiroth from regaining any strength, and quite frankly, Tseng didn't know if Sephiroth would fall for it again.

Muscles tightened across his chest, the lump in his throat alive with its own heart beat that throbbed loudly in time with his own. Days of meticulous planning…every detail sketched and every scenario they could muster to imagine deciphered and dealt with; but it didn't matter – they were here. Dress rehearsal was over, and the moment before the curtain rose and hundreds of beady eyed, washed-out faces gawked over the act laid before them had finally arrived. Except…there was no adlibbing here, no improvisation to fix a skipped line. A false movement could prove fatal, a plot twist would be venom that slowly leaked through wilting veins, tainting and poisoning the current of life…

Tseng shuddered, despite himself, and shook his head as he circled and descended. No; he had let Hart up the game with stronger dosages of sedatives and after a few days, he'd finally found a dose that would keep him out for nearly a full hour. Despite the scientist's optimism, Tseng had protested pushing it further, having realized that the dosage of sedatives would have been enough to knock a fully grown Behemoth on its ass. And then he and Cloud had spent the last three days of Sephiroth's strength forcing him to take over control of the redhead when he'd opted to conserve himself.

One hour. That was their window; of course, the flight itself was more than half of that, and he could tell the Turk was beginning to come around from the dose before they had loaded him.

Ashen trees gleamed in the moonlight, petrified bark reflecting the pale light. Fireflies flickered like drifting stars and tufts of grass danced over the sandy stones that stretched back into the forest. The chopper blades quieted as the engines shut down, and Tseng removed the headphones. Onyx eyes glanced over his shoulder, the mildly sedated redhead muttered to himself. Anxious blue eyes met his, glittering with an unnatural glow and the blond nodded. A gloved hand pulled a syringe, needle catching in the light as it found a vein in Reno's arm. He twitched reflexively, a lazy protest mumbled groggily.

"We'll have to carry him to the water," Cloud said, undoing the restraints.

"There's only a small window of time left where he'll be fully unconscious," Tseng offered quietly. "Let's not waste it." The blonde nodded and lifted the limp redhead from the portable cot, and climbed carefully from the chopper. Tseng retrieved a few necessities, a small pack he'd put together, before rerouting a few wires and following the blond. "If anything goes wrong…I'll be able to distance-detonate the explosives. Reeve will be our line of communication."

"Yeah, and Cid's on standby with him on the Shera," Cloud confirmed. The explosives beneath the cockpit had, naturally, been the blond's idea. Well, not entirely; Cloud had insisted they have a backup plan, should the healing water cure the sedatives before they cured the insanity – that is, assuming that it would cure the latter. Tseng had decided on the bomb, knowing that obliterating Reno's body would not only prevent Sephiroth's escape, but be a quick and painless death.

Hurried footsteps echoed hollowly as they crossed the sandstone path, tree limbs rattling lightly as the breeze drug through them. Finally, the petrified forest thinned, and eyes could make out the clearing ahead. A large seashell-like building glowed bright beneath the soft light and the reflection shuddered as the wind sailed across the water's surface, quietly but surely. The director pulled a canteen from his pack, and dipped it below the crisp surface. The liquid gurgled and bubbled as it filled the vessel, then shuddered briefly, returning to its glassy stillness as the full canteen withdrew. Dark eyes met sapphire, and they shared a hesitant, uncertain glance. Breath shuddered, nearly visible on the frigid air. Nerves clenched, hearts throbbed and raced, and heads pounded. Cloud lifted Reno's head, prying open stiff jaws and the canteen touched his lips; the redhead drank reflexively, the sedation already beginning to slowly wear away, as cool liquid flowed into his mouth.

Wake up!

*~*~*0*~*~*

Hart sighed, closing the manila filing folder and attempting to massage the oncoming migraine away. This would be so much easier if he had the actual files on Aerith, or just on the Cetra in general. But Tseng thought that, considering the circumstances, any files relating to the Ancients would have probably been strewn across Hojo's lab during Meteorfall, and had probably burned up with the old building. Cloud recalled seeing some files in the Nibelheim manor, as well as some video files recorded by the late Professor Gast in the village near the base of the Gaea Cliffs, and Tseng had sent Elena with him to retrieve anything that could be of use. He'd made extensive notes about the videos, and both Tseng and Cloud had told him everything about Aerith they knew. The plan was good. It was solid.

But…another sigh escaped his lips as he opened the file again, eye scanning the page intently.

"Derik?" the voice was timid as it reached past the doorway, but it still startled the scientist and he jumped, nearly tipping the chair as he swiveled it around. "Sorry!"

"It's okay," Hart said hastily, trying to pretend she hadn't spooked him.

"I, er, brought you some coffee," Elena offered meekly in response, crossing to pass it to him. He thanked her as she handed him the creams and sugars she'd stuffed in her blazer pocket. "Things have been so busy since we found Reno's file…I feel like I've barely seen you," she continued conversationally.

"Yeah," he agreed absently.

"How are things going?" The professor shrugged, gaze falling back to the neat hand print of his notes. "Tseng said he and Cloud have gone over every scenario they could think of, so that if something happens they'll be a step ahead. He said he would call as soon as he could to let us know what was going on." The Turk studied him quietly when he didn't respond. "Derik?" No response. "…Thank you," she said softly. He looked up, clearly not following. "For doing all this…for staying."

"…It's fine," he said, words more blunt than he'd intended. She didn't speak, sapphire blue eyes reflecting her uncertainty. "It's just…I feel like I missed something…I – what if something goes wrong, and something happens to them? What if – what if it's my fault?"

"Don't," the Turk said. "Nothing will… It's going to be fine. Whatever happens…the only person to blame for any of this is Hojo." Hart blinked, his expression warming for a moment before he turned back to his notes. A silence settled around them.

"What made you change your mind?" Elena asked suddenly. His gaze shot up from his studies, and he blinked. "About going back to talk to Reno…about staying?" Hart swallowed; he'd wondered how long it'd be before she asked him that. He looked away, picking at the rough edge of a chewed fingernail.

"I've…I've honestly never held a grudge against the new ShinRa," he started quietly. "I know it sounds absurd, but…hell, it was the Turks that – that took her. I know that that happened a long time ago, and a lot has happened since then. ShinRa has changed a lot, since then, and I know the president is trying to atone for everything ShinRa did in the past. And this job here, with Neo-ShinRa – it's the kind of job I've always wanted." He paused, and Elena could hear his breath tremble. "I spent my life learning everything I could about genetics and cell science and – all of it…all of it…was so I could save my sister." He glanced at the Turk, cobalt eyes glittering with sympathy. He looked away. "I thought that…if I took this job, maybe could find her, and then I would be able to save her – make her be the sister she was before…before ShinRa…"

"I'm sorry," Elena breathed. She didn't know why she apologized, but the scientist didn't hear her, or otherwise chose not to. He was silent for a long time, but the Turk couldn't bring herself to say anything further, to move to comfort him, to sip her own cup of coffee, now luke-warm and dripping sweat on the corner of the cherry desk.

"She's dead because I ran away," Hart said finally, the words spat out like he'd been choking on them.

"Derik…" the Turk started, brushing a blonde lock behind her ear nervously. She wanted to tell him to stop, to take the question back. She wanted to tell him it wasn't his fault – that it was Hojo's fault – that it was ShinRa's fault – that it was anyone's fault but his own. But he didn't give her the chance. A shining hazel eye found her gaze.

"That night, when I tried to save her…I ran away," he continued. "Because I didn't know what else to do – because I was selfish. Knowing how much they'd already hurt her, I left her there to die."

"She probably would have killed you if you had stayed, Derik," she offered quietly. She watched him fight back the tears as he choked breath from his lungs.

"…That…doesn't make it okay," he replied. Quiet fell over them again, thick like mud, and his gaze fell back to the files scattered across the late professor's desk. "She was injured – badly – when I left. I could have tried to take her, but I ran. And…suddenly I realized I've been running ever since." His gaze found hers once more. "Do you want to know what happened, when I was in there with Reno?" Elena didn't answer.

"Everything was fine, but then Sephiroth took over him. He toyed with me – showed me just how weak I was, asked me why I was here with ShinRa after what happened to my sister," he admitted, and although she knew the anger in his tone wasn't directed at her, she bit back another pointless apology. "He made me relive it, Elena…I mean actually watch it happen again – made me feel all of it…everything..."

"I'm sorry…" she blurted, so softly it was almost a whisper, before she could stop herself. Moments passed without movement, without words, and she watched him as he closed his eye, knowing he was reliving the moment again. Her gaze fell to the floor. Finally the professor sighed.

"I wanted to run," he confessed. "It scared the hell out of me – all of it did. But…I know how much Reno means to you, and to your friends, and – and he's like my sister – he didn't choose this, and I just…I'm tired of running, I guess; tired of…being afraid and…and living with so much guilt, and..." He hesitated. "I…I'm too late to help my sister, but…Reno is still here and he still has a chance, and if – if I can make a difference in the outcome of this, then…" the scientist trailed off, and the quiet moan of protest as the air conditioning kicked on seemed like gunfire in the silence.

"Thank you," Elena said finally. He didn't look up. "For helping Reno…and…and for giving ShinRa a second chance – most people would still blame us…not many of the people with Neo-ShinRa were around when…actually, Tseng is the only one I can think of right off that might have been around then and actually known about it."

"Yeah," Hart said distantly without meeting her gaze.

"Y'know…he got really upset about the file, when he found out about it," she admitted, not really knowing what else to contribute to the conversation. "He wanted to know if you'd told me anything that wasn't in the file – he doesn't usually lose his cool like that…" A nervous, wavering gaze met her eyes briefly before flitting away. "Any idea why he freaked out like that?" She could hear him swallowing hard against a lump in his throat, but the fact that he didn't answer somehow made her more nervous than if he had.

The sharp chattering of the mock-analog phone ring interrupted anything Hart might have been about to say, and the sound was enough to startle the Turk into nearly knocking her coffee off the corner of the desk. She fumbled in her pocket, and nearly held her breath when she saw the name on the caller-ID.

"It's Reeve," she managed, and their eyes met, both reflecting their anxiety as she answered the call.

*~*~*0*~*~*

Metal cuffs tore free as eyes snapped open, and there wasn't a moment to react before a strong hand closed around pale skin and the other pushed the blond away. The canteen fell, water gushing freely as the director gasped. In an instant, the redhead was on his feet, uncanny strength tearing the Turk's feet from the crisp dirt. Tseng swallowed against his constricted throat, the appendage chilled and clammy against his own warm flesh. Eyes watered. Nails scratched, feet kicked out, lashing desperately. Fingers tore at the hand, Mako eyes watching, gleaming with smug satisfaction as panic rose against obsidian eyes. Vision blurred, darkly, heat swelling in his face, veins throbbing in his temple. Strangling, suffocating … Suddenly, the ex-SOLDIER struck, and muscles released the choking Turk as the redhead stumbled backward. Water shuddered around his ankles as he recovered, but Cloud was quick; he lunged, and they both sank beneath the water's surface.

Cloud tore his sword free from its sheathe and swam closer. A smirk tugged at pale purple lips, viper's eyes even brighter beneath the crystal water. Metal swung, almost in slow motion as it sliced through the water, and a still hand caught it. Ringlets of blood seeped from the wound, dark fluid swirling as it faded into the pool, and Cloud winced as he tugged the heavy weapon. The water betrayed him, drifting him closer as the redhead reeled in his catch. Finally, he managed to pull the sword free from Reno's grasp – from Sephiroth's grasp, and he treaded away; but the enhancements served the other well.

Even in the frigid water, the redhead's movements were agile, precise, and he suddenly appeared behind the unsuspecting blond. An elbow landed over the dip of his neck, and the grating sound of bones cracking was barely muffled by the water. Precious breath escaped his lips, bubbles the only indication of the silent scream that tore itself free from his lungs. Bright jade struck his blurred vision as another blow landed to his side, and his body felt weak beneath the weight of the pond. Fingers trembled, finally no longer able to muster the strength to hold the sword. Metal glinted distantly as it was grasped, and the redhead propelled himself to the surface.

Glass shuddered, ringlets erupting as the surface broke, and Reno drew in the much-needed air. Sharp eyes focused instantly; the director shoved his phone into his pocket; in an instant the Turk was ready, poised, gun aimed and stern. The shore was near, protesting water swirling over the bank as he swam closer. A gunshot echoed hollowly over the serene landscape, but the sudden sound didn't faze him. Water splashed as another bullet landed inches from him, and he knew it'd been a warning shot. Metal pinged as he blocked the third shot, clinking as they ricocheted freely, and Tseng prayed that one didn't deflect into his skull. Dark eyes flickered back to the pond behind him, and Sephiroth smirked as he caught a twinkle of fear flash over those eyes.

Suddenly, water splashed, trembling as the blond gasped for air. He choked, coughing as his lungs rejected the fluid they'd inhaled. Fluorescent green flickered in his vision as the redhead looked back at him, gaze once more finding the Turk; he was reloading, Cloud realized, and his breath caught in his throat as Sephiroth recognized the brief vulnerability. Water sloshed in protest, pulling at the redhead's ankles, but he was swift despite the hindrance. Tseng stumbled backward, ramming the new cartridge into the pistol as he readied; but Cloud knew it had been a moment too late.

Footsteps staggered behind the distracted director; and the Turk felt his breath choke in his throat. Cold metal rested firmly against the palm of his hand, but his body froze reflexively. Onyx eyes shifted to the blond, and he hesitated; breath was cold over Tseng's neck, and the polished metal even colder. The Turk wanted to turn around – to glimpse Mako eyes and the smug expression that unnaturally morphed placid features. Instead, dark eyes closed, and he took in a deep breath, knowing well what this would cost him. The pistol fell to the ground, the sound almost inaudible over his own quickened heart beat that seemed to resonate through his body.

This was the moment – the one Tseng had known would happen; the skipped line, the incorrect blocking, the sudden plot twist that thrust a rusty, jagged nail into the thin wooden coffin.

"Empty your pockets," icy words hissed over ears, and Tseng shuddered reflexively. He was frozen, rooted, unable to move, to think, to feel. Steel shifted, and finally he forced his hands to oblige; the notion crossed him quickly – to pull a syringe and stab it quickly, unexpectedly. But he knew better; the general was much sharper than he gave him credit for, and he knew that such a careless move would only help the mastermind. So, he obliged, obeying reluctantly as he dropped a handful of syringes to the crisp ground. His phone clattered emptily beside them, and he knew that even if anyone did make it in time, it would be for nothing. Tseng knew he was smirking, sneering, mocking him with satisfaction, forcing the uncanny expression to fix over Reno's features.

"Follow, and I'll kill him," the redhead explained quietly, the throaty words like freshly fallen snowflakes that lingered over his ears, cold and fragile. Glittering blue eyes met his, and the blond nodded, standing down; he understood, then. Sephiroth tucked the sword closer, drawing Tseng closer; he could feel the wet fabric against him, still chilled and sopping from the pond. The director shuddered nervously, and he pretended it was merely the chill that sent shivers up his spine; he let the redhead guide him away from the clearing. Sandy stones scraped beneath their shoes, and for a moment, Tseng's mind drifted.

He wondered what might happen if he attempted to free himself, and how he could. An act so brazen that Sephiroth would be forced to release him. If he could manage to get to his backup weapon – the small knife that was strapped snuggly to his ankle… Or, better still, if he could twist the heavy sword free, turn sharply and let metal cross damp and chilled flesh… But the notion was fleeting – the Turk knew better; there was only one way to end this now. His gaze lingered on the fading form of the blond, wishing to himself that Cloud would have found another way out. He drew in a deep breath, and the chemical musk of Mako hung in his senses, heavy and unsettling. They were out of the forest, Tseng realized vaguely; the chopper was nearby. It was only a matter of moments now...

*~*~*0*~*~*

They had vanished into the forest, becoming too distant for even the enhanced eyes to locate. Hastily, Cloud snatched up the syringes, grabbing most of them in one handful, and the phone that lay beside them. A gloved hand carefully stuffed them into his pants pocket. He followed the pair quickly, making sure to keep his distance until the right moment. He heard the whir of the Shera's engines as Cid moved in, and his heart skipped a beat. Cloud knew Sephiroth. Very, very well. He was as unpredictable as he was calculating, and if he sensed the danger…

Trembling fingers dialed the numbers as slow, anxious footsteps hesitantly followed the path.

"Tseng, we're getting ready to land," Reeve answered abruptly.

"It's me," he managed, nearly choked. "Hold off on that back-up."

"But Tseng said –"

"Sephiroth took him hostage." The line fell dead, the voice on the other end cutting short as the blond sighed. "I'm going to try to Tseng away from him, but…if I can't…" A shaky breath answered him, and he swallowed almost audibly.

"Understood," the department head answered finally. "We'll standby for further instruction." Cloud closed the flip-phone, stuffing it, too, in his pocket. Footsteps resonated hollowly against the forest, against the pale petrified trees and tufts of dune grass. But his mind wandered ravenously, desperately trying to pull together a plan. Ears pricked as he made out words, syllables, broken movements. The director's voice, the redhead's voice…metal against stone… Muffled over distance, he could hardly make them out; but as he approached the clearing, a desperate, pleading cry reached his ears clearly.

"Reno!"

*~*~*0*~*~*

Footsteps hesitated, and Tseng willed himself not to turn around. To glimpse the toxic gaze that might petrify him like that of a basilisk. To study the sly smirk – if it still lingered unnaturally over the redhead's features, to learn what intentions his mind conjured. The Turk swallowed, the sound shattering the silence like some loud crunch of twigs in the nearby forest. He wanted to turn around. Instead, onyx eyes flickered down to pale fingers that held the hilt with dear life. He studied them uncertainly; they were trembling. Ears caught the sound, the dry swallow that echoed against stillness, the breath that hung in his throat.

"N…No…" the sound was strained, almost whimpered like a wounded animal as it brushed over his ear, and the redhead faltered suddenly. Metal clattered heavily as the sword landed on sandstone, and he sank to his knees. "I…I won't…"

"Reno?" the director realized as pale fingers tore at his head, fisting auburn tresses as he fought for control. "Reno!" he called again, but the redhead didn't react.

"…You can fight him…you can win." The voice was light and airy, almost musical like tinkling wind chimes as it echoed over his racing thoughts. Air choked free from his lungs, and he gasped. Vision blurred as eyes tore themselves open, tufts of grass swirling over pale dirt. They clenched and darkness took over – he couldn't see, couldn't hear, couldn't think.

"…Not…yet…" a cool voice replied as the Turk stilled, and the director's heart leapt as he glimpsed those eyes; glittering malachite swirled into a viper's eye, the narrow pupil flickering briefly as he fought to retain control. Anxiously, desperately, he reached for the sword, and fingers loosely embraced the hilt. But it slid free again, the sound muted against racing thoughts. He could make out the dark eyes of the director, and they glistened fearfully against the pale light, like a trembling child. Muscles tightened over his chest, heavy, forceful, and he distantly heard breaths, shallow, weak breaths that shuddered as they fled into the chilled air.

"Not yet!" the voice inside him cried, and he wasn't sure if the sound had been trapped beneath his swimming mind or had managed to rip itself free from his constricting throat. Bare hands wrenched through unkempt locks, red spilling like trails of blood over ashen fingers. Slowly, timidly, knees budged, pulling him from the ground; balance faltered, and his shoulder slammed against the metal door of the helicopter. "I need…Mother's cells…!"

"…Mother…" he heard the word choke free from his tight chest, broken and strained as his body moved unwillingly.

"Reno!" a voice cried out. It cut through the earsplitting ring that screamed through his mind, the screeching whisper of the wind, the deafening static, white noise that blared over his senses. And yet, even still, it was muted, muffled, indistinct as it distantly reached through. He wanted to break free, if only for a moment, a fleeting, desperate moment, to beg his longtime friend to end him, to stop the silver-haired demon from holding his control over him like a teased animal.

But the control was no longer his, he had no claim; the general's will was stronger, and it suppressed his motor skills, his thoughts and emotions, and instead moved freely of his own accord. A rooted foot pried itself from shivering sandstone. Trembling fingers reached, and he fought to keep them from inching closer as they wrapped around the handle of the door. A pale hand clenched his wrist suddenly, and the general froze. Slitted eyes sank down to the appendage, sharp, glittering malachite studying it in awe. Finally, wicked eyes wrenched themselves free, piercing the Turk; they lingered over the stern gaze of the director, obsidian rigid and unwavering as he stared deep into glistening pools of Lifestream. They burned, angry and daring…quivering ever so subtly.

"Don't," Tseng uttered warningly, demandingly, his expression severe, almost dangerous as the redhead snatched his hand free. A smug smirk slithered over pallid features, any tinge of uncertainty fleeing from the cold expression. But the Turk didn't falter, didn't budge as viper's eyes fixed on his. He could see it behind those sharp pools of Mako, gleaming darkly as they danced over the thin lines and creases of the Turk's face. A small quake trembled across the glassy surface, shuttering like wind over water; Tseng knew the general was running short on time, and knew that the latter knew it as well.

Without warning, strong muscles pushed him, the unexpected motion sending him stumbling to the ground. He heard the door give, the metal whining as it was slung open and slammed back closed. Instantly, engines roared to life, chopper blades sending waves of broken air over him like a summer squall. Dirt stirred in protest as it swirled around him; the Turk choked on the dust as he scrambled to his feet, crisp fabric pulling and flapping against his frame. Raven tresses whipped around him, catching the wind as they blustered across his face, and his hand pulled them away from his vision. He was too late, the runners had already raised, the chopper beginning to propel itself away from the serene city. Fingers dove into his pocket, burying themselves hastily as he dug for his phone; breath caught in his throat suddenly and his heart stopped.

The phone…

Sudden footsteps tore his mind free, and he turned sharply as the blond halted beside him. He thrust the small device towards him, and dark eyes lingered over it. Organs knotted in his stomach and his throbbing heart sank downward as trembling hands accepted it.

"…Do you need me to do it?" the blond offered, the genuine request somehow losing sincerity as he yelled over the hovering chopper. The Turk swallowed dryly, his tongue seemed to plaster itself to his palate, and the bitter taste of dirt seemed to linger over his mouth. Finally, he shook his head, flipping the phone open.

This was no longer about the laid-back Turk. About the comrade that, despite his slacker's attitude, was extremely efficient, dedicated, and responsible in his duties. It wasn't about the friend that, like any other Turk, would easily give his life not just for the ShinRa company, but for comrades…his friends. Likewise, it wasn't about keeping ShinRa's secrets just that – secret; hiding deranged experiments, hiking rates, killing innocent people to ensure AVALANCHE's demise, conspiracies… most of that had come out willingly after Meteorfall. This wasn't about harboring secrets or lies, or protecting ShinRa's assets or dignity or trust.

No, not even about protecting the company he was dedicated to serving, or the president he had sworn his life to.

This was about a psychopath, parading around in a brand new Reno suit. A brand new enhanced body that, so far, had proved invincible. About the sharp mind that shattered long ago, when the general learned of his origins. Hate so poisonous, so toxic, it had submerged him into a madness so deep...he would likely never escape.

And now he had a helicopter and a full tank of steam to take him wherever his heart desired.

He wanted to save his friend; anyone would. But this was his job, as a Turk. This was about the planet now, about willfully allowing a madman to wreak havoc to his heart's content, or stopping him in his tracks. And if he allowed this chance to slip away...well, Reno would never forgive him.

Quivering fingers dialed the numbers, slowly but precisely. Eyes blinked back the burning that nipped at his eyes, and he pretended it was only the irritation of the dirt and wind.

"…Reno…I…I'm sorry…" he said quietly, somehow hoping the words would reach the distant redhead, but knowing well that his mind was lost now, somewhere buried beneath stained DNA. Beneath an avalanche of freezing snow. The phone pinged as he pressed the send button, the green key illuminated like the glittering Mako eyes he'd grown accustomed to.

The world stopped, trembling, moving, somehow everything paused in silence. The snarl of the engines halted, muted, and the wind seemed to quiet. And just as quickly, light flashed, and thunder exploded over their ear drums. The shockwave sent them both stumbling backwards, smoke, shrapnel, and dust lashing towards them. The ground shuddered as the mass of the hull slammed into it. Dark eyes blinked as he pulled himself from the frostbitten ground, and he turned quickly, wide eyes fixing on the nearby crash; the wreckage was ablaze, metal smoldering and molten at the hottest points, and plumes of black smoke rose in stark contrast to the pale light of the trees around them.

Despite himself, the Turk ran to the debris, and he tried to steady his hands as he peered through the shattered windshield. His vision wavered through the heat, and he choked on the smoke; what was once the cockpit was empty, the pilot's seat having been completely torn from the floor and wedged in the roof just above the windshield.

"…Tseng," the blond called meekly, and the director turned sharply. The ex-SOLDIER crouched beside a crumpled mass some distance away, and he couldn't seem to tear his gaze away. He swallowed; it had to be…it had to be him, a mangled corpse, half scorched and unrecognizable, half obliterated. Tseng pried a rooted foot free and he forced himself to step nearer. Eyes sank to the pale dirt, blood smeared the chalky surface like paint; he caught the scent of singed flesh, and his stomach churned warningly. He tried to imagine the body as he made out the burned blue fabric, tattered and ragged as it hung over the flaccid limbs, the paled face, likely unrecognizable, but bereft of any emotion or pain; lifeless.

Fabric rustled as the blond rose suddenly, and finally Tseng could see him. His body lay broken and bent, sprawled over the grass like a doll tossed to the side. Soot and singes scrawled over porcelain skin, a trickle of blood leaking across his forehead and trailing off to the side, and matted against faded strands of red. Blood splattered the navy suit and untucked dress shirt; his eyes traced the missing portion of his abdomen, and he realized that, had it been any deeper, entrails would have leaked freely from the wound. A thick piece of metal had embedded itself into his chest cavity, and another in his leg. The left sleeve had been burned badly, and he realized that the appendage had been severed entirely in the blast. His other was scorched badly, crusty and blistered as it clutched the joystick.

"…He's breathing…" Cloud finally muttered; the words were almost silent as the fell from soft lips, uttered quietly, hesitantly… Sharp eyes met crystal cobalt, obsidian wide and watery as he studied the blond. They were fixed into the director's gaze, the phosphorescent blue striking and eerie beneath the placid moonlight, and vaguely he realized he had broken the rigid expression forced over pale features. Those eyes didn't waver, like freshly carved stone as they watch him. The Turk swallowed, prying his gaze from the ex-SOLDIER, stepping closer as he let his eyes fall back to the lifeless redhead.

But he wasn't lifeless at all. His chest rose and fell, though just barely and hard to see at first glimpse. Ears pricked, and Tseng could make out the strained, wheezed breaths as they weakly filled his lungs and shuddered against bitter air. Nostrils flared, just lightly as he inhaled, no doubt protesting the thick scent of smoke and singed flesh. A weak cough choked painted corpse-like lips with a brilliant shade of vermillion, and eyes twitched painfully as he tried to force them open. Weak knees found the firm ground beside the redhead, windblown tresses of sable draping over his shoulders.

"…Reno…?" Tseng called quietly, the syllables broken as they were choked free. Lashes fluttered briefly as the Turk managed to open his eyes, and fluorescent jade pierced him. The director's heart quaked slightly, and he caught himself; somehow, he kept expecting twinkling ice blue, laced with a mischievous glimmer – like a twinkling star against its twilight backdrop. But instead, they glowed green, hypnotic – like gazing into the base of a Mako Reactor for the first time; he could get lost in those eyes, swimming somewhere, falling deep into the Lifestream.

"S…sir…?" he managed, feeble and forced. The redhead winced, but the director didn't speak. Instead, his heart beat throbbed against his chest, still accepting that Reno was still living. The Turk's head lolled to the side like a child's toy as he tried to glance over his injuries, and a groan ripped free of his lips, anguished, heart-wrenching.

"Reno, you're hurt – badly," the director protested, sternly, demandingly. "Don't…don't try to move," he added, tone softening as Reno tried to lift his arm. It twitched slightly, the muscle in too much shock to respond fully. That distinct gaze pierced Tseng once more, and eyes studied him like a child.

"He said…n-needed…Jenova's c-cells," the redhead explained vaguely, choking on the words. Malachite trembled, but they didn't leave the director's gaze. Reno swallowed, the sound painful and loud, and a breath broke over pale lips, like waves over white shores. The air was heavy with the musky smell of smoke, the foul odor of burnt skin and charred metal, and blood. Reno's nose cringed at the unpleasant perfume, and the other resisted mimicking the motion. Finally, pools of Mako shuddered, like a droplet of water rippling over the surface, and they drifted, somewhere between obsidian eyes and the deep midnight sky; he looked thoughtful for a moment, but the expression was fleeting. Lids sank closed, as if in slow motion, savoring the last glimpse of the starlit sky.

"My b-body…" he finally said, hesitantly, unsurely. "It's…healing…slowly, but…" words trailed, and he shook his head meekly. Dark brows furrowed, and Tseng glanced down to his injuries; the severed limb had clotted, blood no longer pouring freely from broken veins and torn muscle, and the other blistered, charred limb had begun to recolor. Blinking, his stare flickered back to blemished porcelain features; they, too, had started to scar over, as if days old. Lids opened, and dark eyes found themselves lost among the spring of Mako. Reno cleared his throat quietly, the sound muted, muffled against wheezed breath, and Tseng tore his mind free.

"Ts-Tseng…" the Turk began, hesitating only to swallow the meek coughs that tugged at his breath. "P-please…just…just end this." The words pierced the Turk like a sword – like the Masamune through bone. Shivering eyes didn't leave Tseng's, the gaze distinct, sharp…sure. A tremor ran through the director, goosebumps crawled over his skin and he forced himself not to shudder reflexively; dark, uncertain eyes glanced up to the blond, his expression still aloof, still distant, only barely traced with a tinge of empathy. Unreadable. The Turk swallowed, mouth suddenly dry and uncomfortable as he looked back to the redhead.

This was about the Planet, he reminded himself vaguely. About the madman who would undoubtedly destroy the world, if given a moment to do so. He was a Turk…

And yet, the eyes that stared back at him…they weren't the vile catlike eyes of the silver-haired general. They weren't the cold, wicked, smug gaze that watched him bleed in the Temple so many years ago, nor the fierce, raging stare that never left his eyes as he dodged the Masamune in the Nibelheim Reactor. They were beseeching, pleading…forgiving.

It was about Sephiroth. But…

"It's only a m-matter of time b-before…" the redhead pleaded, his voice tugging the director from his thoughts. Once labored breaths were becoming less forced, less shallow, and his words were becoming less broken. Eyes lost focus on the director's gaze, and instead, he let them drift upward to the sky, tracing the thin blurred lines of purple clouds that hung lazily against the twinkling indigo backdrop. A breeze brushed him, ruffling red feathers gently like fingers through his bangs, and he could almost make out syllables in the whispers. "I…I don't want…" He sighed, the sound heavy and uncomfortable, and he closed his eyes. A tear slid absently over ashen skin, and he inhaled sharply. Reno hesitated, whether on the lingering stench of the wreckage or on the weight of his own world, but the moment was brief. "Please…just… You have enough s-sedatives to…s-stop my heart, as weak as it is…but…it is getting stronger…every second…"

…It was…but… Dark eyes closed, blocking out the serene light, the tranquil forest, pale, petrified trees that seem to radiate moonlight like the moon itself; Tseng inhaled, the scent of smoldering debris as the fire died was strong, but vague.

"Tseng?" Cloud called out finally, snapping the director from his thoughts. Tseng turned, eyes finding cerulean. The single sound was distant, and the Turk wished he could read the indifferent expression scrawled over moonlit features. Those eyes, like gleaming sapphires, freshly cut, didn't waver as he offered the Turk the syringes discarded earlier. Tseng eyed them warily, and trembling fingers reached for them.

"It'll be like…going to sleep…" Reno muttered distantly, eyes glimpsing the nighttime sky once more before sinking closed. Tseng hesitated; he wanted to protest – to argue for another solution, for some rational thinking; but this was Reno's wish. Instead, he smothered his words of doubt, swallowing them as he forced himself not to speak, not to… A sharp breath whispered over pale lips, chapped lips, and he watched the almost invisible needle catch the light as it sank beneath the slowly healing blisters. Sable eyes closed, and he slowly pushed the liquid through.

Reno's breaths came slower, less strained, less painful. A peaceful smile settled over pale blue lips, an invisible tear streaking ashen flesh. His mind was drifting now, roaming somewhere between distant sleep and unconsciousness. Ears could still make out the muted sounds of the fire, the whispers, the static…musical tones and syllables. But they were muted, indistinct, and he couldn't bring himself to focus on them. Instead, he let them fade, let the shaky, hesitant breaths of the director fade, let the cool, gentle breeze fade… His body felt cold, and he wondered if his body shuddered or if it was only in his mind. But it was peaceful here, buried beneath the crisp powdered snow…

"In the flames, we find our freedom."

Quotes from Ignite, by Fireflight.