All But One
All But One
WARK WARK!
Damn…
WARK! WARK!
There was something about Chocobo alarm clocks that Barret absolutely despised.
WARK WARK!
Perhaps it was the hideous screeching of their 'warking.'
WARK WARK!
Or perhaps it was the fact that they don't stop screeching until you shut them off.
WARK WARK!
Either way, Barret was at a loss since the obnoxious bird clock was on the other side of his room.
WARK WARK!
With a combination of two curse words and a soft grunt, Barret Wallace rolled off the bottom bunk, slipping on a clean pair of socks and lacing his size 18 boots. He grumbled his way over to the clock and was tempted to smash it with his prosthetic; too bad it belonged to his roommate. He shut it off with a click, and sighed as peace was restored to the room. The digital display on the Chocobo's chest read 6:18 a.m.
Work at the oil rig was a rough task. And due to his incredible bulk and strength, Barret was usually left with the real hard work.
Today wasn't much different. There were at least sixty to seventy barrels of oil lined up on the top level of the rig, each of them weighing anywhere from ninety to a hundred and fifty pounds. Barret's job was simple. He had to haul every single one of them down to the lowest level.
It was simple, but it was also a bitch.
The first few barrels were always easy. He'd lift it gracefully, embracing the full diameter of the carton, and balancing the weight onto his chest. After descending down the four stairways to the lowest floor, Barret placed the barrel in the designated corner.
"Yo Wallace! I hear they're serving fried shrimp for lunch!" a man yelled, waving.
Barret grinned. He loved shrimp day.
He climbed all the way back up to the top level, and heaved another barrel. This whole ordeal reminded him of the time when he, Cloud and Tifa had climb the stairs all the way to the 59th floor of the ShinRa building. Damn. That had also been a bitch. Hours passed by, and Barret's mammoth-like muscles began to ache in exhaustion. He had managed to bring down barrel number thirty-nine before collapsing onto the floor, panting and sweating.
"Yo Wallace, I'll cover the rest," a man called, tousling his slick brown hair. "Take a breather!"
Barret nodded and waved in gratitude, wiping his forehead with a clean towel.
He couldn't wait to eat some damn shrimp.
-xXx-
He saw something white.
As he became aware that his body was resting horizontally, his vision came into focus, and Barret realized it was the ceiling, only it was covered in holes. On his right side he saw a fluorescent light.
Someone gently touched his chest.
His eyes followed the hand up to the arm, the arm up to the shoulder, and finally discerned a black leather attire and long, dark hair—Tifa Lockhart, smiling warmly.
"You're finally up. What a relief," she said.
Barret blinked. Surely his mind was playing tricks on him. Or was he still dreaming? No, this was real. He could feel her hand resting on his chest, he could clearly see that pretty smile on her face, and he could still feel the burning sores on his left arm. He gaped at the smiling woman, his hand beginning to tremble madly and his face paling as much as his dark skin would allow.
"What's wrong Barret? Hey, it's me, Tifa! What's the matter?"
Barret began to shake violently, his massive weight causing the entire bed to tremor.
"Barret! Get a hold of yourself!"
Tifa rose to her feet, eyes widened, unsure of how to react to this sudden seizure. She wondered if she should go and bring Tseng, but decided against it. Barret needed her.
"Y-you…" Barret began to rasp, his body still trembling. "Y-you…ar-are…"
Tifa grabbed his hand, holding it tightly and trying hard to calm him down. "It's okay, Barret! It's me, Tifa! You're alright now!"
"Ti-Tifa…you're…a-alive…" Barret gasped.
Tifa could only stare back, perplexed.
-xXx-
Small bite-size shrimp poppers, fried to a crispy brown color and flaked with tiny crumbs that added an extra kick into the flavor. All this, topped with a nice zesty tang of lemon juice, served with some tartar sauce, garlic bread and chocolate frikkin' milk. He couldn't ask for a better meal.
Or maybe he could…considering Tifa's cooking could easily put this meal to shame.
Anyways, he couldn't ask for a better cafeteria meal.
Barret balanced his plate and walked past the first few tables, ignoring the obnoxious laughter and chatter of his fellow workers. He was heading toward his usual seat, with Lockeman and his roommate, but he was abruptly interrupted by a stranger.
"Excuse me, Mr. Wallace," the man said, tilting his head in a mannerly gesture. He was a tall man with long, dark hair and pale skin. Were it not for the formal black suit, Barret might have mistaken him for Vincent Valentine.
"Do I know you?" Barret grunted, annoyed at the delay of eating his shrimp.
"No, but allow me to introduce myself."
"Make it quick, man, I gotta eat my damn shrimp."
The man nodded. "Sir, I've come here to inform you of some rather unfortunate news."
Barret tossed a shrimp popper into his mouth, chewing rudely with his mouth open.
"The people you know in Edge…the people who reside in the bar known as Seventh Heaven…"
Barret glanced up.
"They have been killed, Mr. Wallace."
The loud chatter within the cafeteria was suddenly interrupted by the unpleasant clashing of Barret's plastic tray with the floor.
Barret froze.
-xXx-
"Look at me, Barret! Look at me!"
Tifa had called Tseng. Together, they were trying the best they could to calm down the panicking Barret, but he was still trembling violently, his face and neck now drenched with sweat.
"He's in shock," Tseng said, heading over to the medical cabinet and retrieving what looked like a needle.
Tifa pursed her lips. "What are you doing?"
"Trust me," Tseng said, filling the syringe with a clear substance. "My old man was a doctor. I know a thing or two about medicine."
He walked back to the cabinet, digging into a plastic container, and retrieved a bottle that was labeled "alcohol." He put on a pair of white latex gloves, and reached down for the syringe, but Tifa abruptly grabbed his wrist, glaring at him through tired, ruby eyes.
"You're not going to do that, Tseng."
The Turk stared back at her, and the two of them momentarily ignored the violent rumbling of Barret's body.
"I'm only trying to help, Tifa."
Tifa shook her head.
"There's something wrong with him. They've done something to Barret. I want to help him. Without that." She glanced at the needle.
Tseng opened his mouth to protest, but after taking a brief glance at Barret, then back at Tifa, he let out a sigh, and tossed the syringe to the floor.
"Thanks, Tseng."
"Don't thank me," he said, walking out the door. "Your friend needs your help."
-xXx-
Tears.
Since his childhood, Barret had not been one who was quick to show tears. But these past four years had been too tragic, too traumatizing for even his strong emotional shields. Jessie, Biggs, Wedge, Sector Seven, Dyne…even Aeris…they'd all been taken from him.
But now…
…no…this couldn't be right. No, not Tifa. Not Denzel.
Not Marlene.
Barret wept. As he held the photographs of his only family, their lifeless faces staring out into nothing, Barret wept.
"I'm sorry, Mr. Wallace," the man said, rubbing his back.
They were in a car, driving from the Junon port toward Midgar. Barret smashed his prosthetic arm against the leather seat, causing the entire car to jolt slightly.
"What about Cloud," he rasped, allowing another tear to trail down slowly.
"Mr. Strife is currently missing," the man answered.
Barret looked up, eyes showing disbelief.
The man stared back, tousling his long hair and sighing.
"We've investigated the deaths of your loved ones, Mr. Wallace." He paused, his dark eyes meeting the teary gaze of Barret. "We know who is responsible for their murders."
"Who?!" Barret snapped, clenching his fist.
"It appears that it was none other than Rufus Shinra…" the man answered. "Shinra and his Turks. Mr. Wallace, though I cannot share with you my real name, I am referred to by the name Venge. Now let me ask you a question, Mr. Wallace. Will you help me avenge your loved ones?"
Barret crumbled the photo in his human hand, his eyes now burning with rage.
"Yeah," he said. "I will."
-xXx-
Half an hour later, Barret passed out, his body too exhausted to carry on. Tifa sat next to him, holding his large hand in her own, staring through tired, red eyes, comforting her friend as he slept.
The others were now asleep. After an entire day of rummaging through the remains of Midgar, they deserved to rest, especially Yuffie, who had been caring for the wounded Vincent through most of the night. Reno and Rude had "taken care of" the corpses up on the second level, and Elena was busy gathering the usable materia, in case they needed to defend themselves. Now they were all sleeping, their exhausted forms sprawled out across the floor of the third level.
But Tifa refused to rest.
There was something terribly wrong with Barret. The look of fear in his eyes when he looked at her, it discomforted her, and she wanted to know what happened to him. Yawning, Tifa stretched out one arm, feeling the muscles ache in her shoulders. She caught a glimpse of the crimson red sphere resting on the countertop, next to the medical cabinet.
Blindsight materia.
It had a particular eeriness about it, sending chills up Tifa's spine.
Whatever it was…whatever it did…
…it was the reason Barret had attacked Yuffie.
Tifa couldn't stop staring at it.
-xXx-
A month had passed since he heard the news.
An entire month without speaking a single word. Barret only had one thought in his mind, one purpose left for him to fulfill. The anger and rage, the guilt and fury, they consumed him as the days went by. He was cold.
Maybe it was because of that strange red materia they had given him. Didn't they call it the Blindsight materia? It didn't matter. All he wanted was to find the bastards who killed his family. Rufus Shinra and his damn Turks. They'd pay.
Barret slumped back in his chair, staring into the white wall in front of him, his mind void of thoughts and dreams, only feeding off the one emotion he had left.
Anger.
When the knob turned, and the door opened, Barret felt nothing.
When Yuffie Kisaragi stared at him through shocked, unbelieving eyes, Barret felt nothing.
When he slowly lifted his gun-arm, preparing to kill the girl he once knew as a companion, Barret felt nothing.
For all of his emotions had been killed.
All, but one.