Notes: As per Lisa's advice, I have altered Loz's crying here. Thanks to 1wngdngl for the idea that inspired the third and final (for now) of the dreams! An episode of Yu-Gi-Oh! also was a source of inspiration for that. And the surname given to the character in the last scene seems to be official now! I saw it in a magazine scan.

Chapter Four

She had been waiting for her vengeance for millennia, ever since she had first tried to conquer the planet.

The Ancients had been the first to defeat her, and then she had lain for two thousand years, waiting for someone to find her, some unsuspecting fool who would have no concept of her true powers. And of course, it had happened.

It was just her luck that it had been scientists who had stumbled across her form. They had mistaken her for an Ancient, and had even injected her cells into test subjects to see what their reactions would be and if they could start up the race anew. And once that had been done, once her lifeforce was in their bodies, she had easily manipulated the victims to her will. But none of them had been good enough for all of her purposes, until one particular child had been born.

He was her favorite from the first, doomed from the cells coursing through his system in his infancy. She had often whispered to him as he grew, telling him that he was different from the other children. She had not told him how so, not until he was older and made the frightful discovery that sent his already unstable mind into a panic. When he had locked himself in the library at Shinra Manor, she had made her climatic move. He had remained there for three days, completely isolated from everyone, and she had taken advantage of it. By the end of the third day, she had obliterated almost every trace of the good man he had been.

She had possessed his mind, but it had been such a subtle, quiet grasp. He had not realized at all that it was she who drove him into insanity, she who had then convinced him to set fire to the town and turn against his comrades. He had been insecure as it was, fearing a betrayal, and after he had gone mad, she had easily convinced him that it had become true. She had told him that she was the only one he could trust, and to whom he could devote his loyalty.

She found it amusing in some twisted way, that he had such a strong body, but such a weak mind. At least, that was what she had believed at first, when she had first started taking control of him. Of course, back then, she had doubted he ever would have suspected her presence no matter how strong-willed he was. She worked in such insidious ways, convincing people that what she wanted was really what they wanted. And she would keep on doing it.

But then she had realized that, in his crazed state, he had actually started taking control of her, using her powers to his own advantage. And it had become obvious that she had created a monster. He was stronger than she had believed him to be, and when he was out of his mind, there was not any stopping him. Destruction would have still come about anyway, as she had wanted, but she desired to be in control. She did not want to be used by him. She did not want to be used by anyone.

It had been a shock, to suddenly be thrust into a new world. But now that she was there, and had seen what had become of her precious puppets, she was delighted. It would be much easier to bend them to her will now. They only had fragmented memories, and surely she would be able to have complete reign over them, without the danger of being manipulated herself. Just as long as they remained oblivious to their pasts. . . .

She had not been given a physical body, but she would see to it that she acquired enough power for one. Or, if all else failed, she was certain she could find some poor soul to possess---perhaps one of her marionettes. And after this relatively primitive planet was hers, and her deadly virus was spread, then she would set her sights on Gaia once again.

Their blades crashed, and then he leaped back to attack once more. Instead of lunging, however, he cut loose a chunk of metal, sending it with fury at the other. It was sliced easily, and his opponent was quickly rushing to meet him again. The fight was fierce, with debris flying at them from every direction---most of it due to his own, deliberate actions. It made the battle more interesting, at any rate. And it was a form of taunting his opponent, testing his skills.

This was not their first meeting. They had fought more than once in the past, and he knew that they were mortal enemies. They always would be, too. He was destined to follow in his mother's footsteps, and the blonde would never let him go through with the plan in peace. And the younger man was just a lowly human, anyway, another member of the greedy, grasping, selfish race that had stolen what rightfully belonged to him and his mother. All humans were alike. He deserved whatever was done to him.

He knocked the other down when they were on a solid foundation again, driving the long blade completely through his shoulder. Carefully, and with precision, he raised the smaller body off the ground and into the air, giving him a quiet look of triumph all the while. This would end here.

"Tell me what you cherish most," he purred. "Give me the pleasure of taking it away."

Then it was as though a veil was taken from over his mind, as the current situation began to fully dawn on him. His eyes widened in disbelief and confusion. What was he thinking? What was he saying? What was he doing?! This man . . . this was not his enemy! This was his assistant, his friend. He did not want to harm him!

And were they not both humans? What on earth was he if he was not human? Even if he believed he was not part of that race, his actions were every bit as deplorable as what he accused them of doing. Perhaps more so, because of considering himself better than they when he was not, at all.

Shakily he lowered the Masamune and Cloud to the roof again, quickly extracting the blade from the other's shoulder. The blonde hissed in pain, reaching to grab at the wound. Immediately the dreamer sheathed the sword, hurrying over to the injured man.

"Let me see it," he ordered, reaching to pull the blonde's hand away from the wound.

Cloud looked up at him, his expression twisted in hatred. "Just stay away from me!" he shot back. "Haven't you done enough?" His hand came free, slapping the other's fiercely away.

The dreamer rocked back, stunned by the action. No . . . this was not real. He had not tried to kill Cloud! And yet, he knew he apparently had, judging by what had been happening once he had come to his senses. And he was understandably loathed for it. There was no admiration in the other's eyes now.

But . . . it seemed like in this world, they had never been close to begin with, judging from the memories tumbling through his mind. What was this? None of it was making sense at all!

He stared down at the blood that had been left on his flesh when Cloud had slapped him. Underneath the crimson, it almost looked like the skin was decaying before his very eyes. He gasped, helplessly watching as some unidentifiable substance began to drip from his open palm, followed by the flesh beginning to peel. His hand was . . . it was decomposing.

"Is this a graphic display of guilt I'm seeing? It won't change anything. You're rotten to the core, and you always will be."

He whirled sharply at the familiar, unwelcome voice. He was looking in a warped mirror. The other him, his mad self from Nibelheim, was standing there, the Masamune unsheathed again. His expression twisted in a wicked smirk.

"Just like me!"

He charged, plunging the weapon into the other's stomach. The dreamer gasped, falling back as blood rose in his throat.

He was not expecting to find himself sprawled on the floor, his chair underneath him. His eyes flew open upon the impact, and he stared up blankly at the ceiling, breathing heavily. His hair was wildly spread out around him, and his arms were at odd angles, as if subconsciously he had sensed his fall and had tried to prevent it. Now, still half-asleep, he brought a hand to his abdomen. Was there a hole there? And blood? No . . . it felt normal.

He raised up slightly, looking down at himself. He was fine. Not only was he not impaled, but his flesh was perfectly healthy. And there was no sense in remaining where he was, on top of the toppled chair.

Slowly he rolled off of it onto his knees, and from there, he pulled himself to his feet, dragging the furniture up with him. He fell into its softness again, running a hand over his eyes and forehead. He could feel that it was trembling uncontrollably.

One bizarre dream was a nuisance. Two seemed suspicious. And three . . . three was unheard of, under the circumstances. There was nothing that would have triggered this insanity! Nothing could have . . . unless it was somehow true. . . . But it was impossible, absolutely impossible! He did not believe in reincarnation, and outside of that, what other explanation was there? He could not have traveled that other road.

"Your life's a lie."

What did that mean? He knew that he was who he believed himself to be. Jenova Corp was well-recognized throughout the world. Unless . . . unless he was completely out of his mind, and he was imagining all of this in his head. What if there was no Jenova Corp, no assistant, no him, in the way that he believed? Could he actually be in some mental hospital, having delusions of grandeur? No . . . this was real! It had to be! He was not out of his mind!

"Sephiroth?!"

He looked up with a start as Cloud came back in, apparently having raided a vending machine. He was holding an open, small bag of potato chips, and had several others held against his chest. He set them on the desk, frowning in concern at his boss.

"I heard a big crash," the blonde declared. "What happened?"

Sephiroth could only stare at him, not speaking. This was the Cloud he had been working with for years. They were not enemies, nor did they hate each other in the least. He could not even imagine raising a sword against the other, let alone actively tormenting him and apparently planning to end his life. He doubted that Cloud ever could picture it, either. It was all ridiculous!

Cloud raised an eyebrow. "Hey, what's the deal?" he demanded. "Do I look goofy or something?" He studied the silver-haired man, taking in his bloodshot eyes and his bewildered, stricken expression. Sephiroth had been acting so odd tonight. Of course it was because of the dreams, but he should not even be having them in the first place. Maybe he was just overworked.

"You fell asleep again, didn't you." It was not a question.

Sephiroth grunted, looking away. This was not a dream he could tell to Cloud. "I just started to doze, and knocked the chair over," he answered. "I woke right up." Well, it was partially true.

The blonde was not convinced. "No more dreams?" he asked pointedly, and crunched on another chip.

"No."

"You look too upset to have just tumbled on the floor."

"I wasn't dreaming." He could hear that an edge had slipped again into his voice, but he did not care. He would not give in this time, as he had about the last unpleasant nightmare. The other dreams had not involved Cloud.

"Sephiroth . . ."

"What."

"You're lying." Cloud studied him, his blue eyes knowing and penetrating. And suddenly Sephiroth was furious. How could Cloud profess to know him when he himself was starting to have doubts? He could not! No one could know him. The spectre in his sleeping moments did not, either.

He looked up, his sea green eyes flashing. "What makes you so certain?" he snapped. "Can you read my mind?"

Cloud only looked taken aback for a brief timespan. Sephiroth rarely became incensed at his assistant, and for him to suddenly lash out in that manner only testified as to how stressed he was over what had been happening to him. And it made Cloud believe all the more that he was correct.

"Okay, so you don't want to tell me," he replied. "Fine. But you don't look like you're ready to deal with this all by yourself."

Sephiroth was not ready to deal with it at all. But he would have to handle it by himself. He did not turn back to face the other. How could he tell Cloud that they had been fighting a duel to the death? The other probably thought by now that he was absolutely mad. Not that he was not starting to believe it himself.

Cloud sighed. Shaking his head, he turned to go back to his own desk. He could understand Sephiroth's reluctance. He was a practical man, being driven into a frenzy over a pack of unsettling dreams. If only Cloud could figure out what might be causing it! He wanted to believe it was work-related stress, as that seemed like the only logical explanation. Or was there really any logical explanation for something like this? He made a face of disgust and frustration.

"That business meeting must've been crazier than I thought," he remarked. "It's sure got you freaking out."

Sephiroth grunted in reply, barely listening. He leaned forward, grabbing at the sides of his head with his hands as his long locks slipped around in front of him. What was happening to him? He could never have been such a monster . . . could he? He thought back to his conversation with Cloud after the second nightmare. He had wondered then if he might actually hold such a dark side within his soul. That seemed to be what his dreams were saying. His fingers dug tighter against his scalp. If it was there, it probably wanted to be let out. Well, it would not happen again. He would fight against it.

"That's right, you will. And I'll be here to help you through it, pal. It's a rough road ahead."

He started violently. That was not Cloud's voice, though it sounded familiar to him. And it sounded like whoever it was had been standing right next to him. He looked up wildly. No one else was there.

He slumped back into the chair. So now he was hearing strange voices too, and thinking he recognized them. Wonderful.

Alexander gaped in shock and disbelief as the manager fell back from Loz's harsh punch. "I don't think that's a good idea!" he exclaimed, quickly getting to his feet. He had not been expecting a fight to break out, though he was glad that Loz had helped out the waitress. But now the other customers, intrigued and confused, were starting to congregate, and one of them was reaching for his cellphone. To the doppelganger, that said one definite thing.

He reached out, grabbing Kadaj's shoulders and trying to steer him out of the booth. "They're probably calling the police!" he cried. "We need to get out of here!"

The silver-haired boy looked over at his new friend. "Oh, we'll go," he replied smoothly, easing his lanky body into the aisle. He was not that concerned, though he wondered if he should be. The mention of the police did not sound friendly, and judging from the manager's outraged expression, he would not put in a good word for any of them if officers came. Spending the night in jail was not what he had in mind.

He looked to Loz. "Come on," he directed, and started to walk forward into the throngs of people. He did not bother to glance back and check to see if the other two were following him. They would not have reason not to do so. He just hoped that the rain had stopped outside. He still did not understand what struck fear into his heart at the thought of rain, but something most certainly did. The last thing he wanted was to parade that uneasiness in front of Loz.

Abruptly a strong hand closed around his arm. The boy tensed at the pressure, whirling around to face his captor. He blinked in surprise at the curious, amiable young man, who did not seem to be that much older than Kadaj himself.

"Hey, is that your real hair color?" he asked.

Kadaj raised an eyebrow. Of all questions, and at a time like this. A very odd person indeed. "Of course," he retorted, pulling away. "You haven't seen silver hair before?"

"Yeah, actually," the other replied. He reached into his pocket, withdrawing a folded piece of paper. Smoothing it out on a nearby table, he handed it to Kadaj. "I couldn't help thinking how much this guy looks like you, not just in hair color, but the eyes, and your faces in general." He shrugged. "I kinda wondered if you were related or something."

Kadaj frowned. What was he talking about? He looked down at the slick paper. It depicted a figure in silhouette, with an electric guitar. Across the bottom of the leaf, it read "One of Japan's Most Mysterious Stars, Now on World Tour!" Even in shadow, he recognized the detached, bored stance. He gasped in shock, turning the paper to its other side. Now the figure was shown under a spotlight, and he was staring at the image of Yazoo.

Immediately he looked back up at the one who had handed him the sheet. "What is this?" he demanded. Was it a joke? The last thing Yazoo would ever do would be to sing. He usually would barely say two words around Kadaj and Loz, when they were together. To imagine him on a stage in front of thousands of people was about as ludicrous as picturing Loz and Kadaj being well-mannered, polite gentlemen.

Yazoo was the most withdrawn of the three, and strangely, Kadaj understood him much less than Loz did. Despite the way those two would often tease and mock each other, they were also extremely useful in battle and often predicted each other's moves. That was how close they were. Kadaj sensed that his two older brothers had a quiet, yet powerful, comprehension of each other. He envied it at times.

The brunet just looked at him now. "You haven't heard?" he answered. "This guy's a really popular heavy metal star in Japan. Now his tour is bringing him here! My girlfriend's nuts about him, and she made me get some of the fliers. Go ahead and keep that one if you want. I have five others." He snorted in derision, then eyed Kadaj with further inquisitiveness. "I can see he does mean something to you," he commented. "You wouldn't react so shocked if he didn't. And I can see it in your eyes."

Kadaj ignored the invitation to respond to the query. "How long has he been famous?" he wanted to know. Behind him, he could hear Alexander and Loz coming over, but he did not pay them much heed.

"I dunno," was the impatient retort. "Four, five years, maybe. . . . Yeah, five. His first album came out when I was still in high school. You must have been living in a cave, to not have heard about his career." He frowned. "So is he related to you or not?"

"Hey, that's Yazoo!"

Kadaj looked up at Loz's shocked exclamation. The bigger man was gazing over Kadaj's shoulder at the flier, and now he reached for it with a large hand. Kadaj let him take it.

"What's he doing like this?" Loz gasped, his eyes widening in disbelief.

Alexander blinked in confusion, leaning in to look from the side. "Maybe the same thing that the Yuffie girl was doing being a waitress?" he suggested timidly. He did not understand at all what was going on, but it seemed apparent that these bizarre events were connected. It would make less sense if they were, instead, products of coincidence.

Loz shook his head rapidly, continuing to gawk at the advertisement. "But . . . Yazoo hates being around people," he protested. "And he . . . he'd never be singing!" He swallowed hard, awkwardly gripping at the edges of the paper. Yazoo's green eyes were the same cold, indifferent eyes that Loz had always remembered, and yet something was not the same. There was something about the other's expression that disturbed and haunted Loz, and he could not determine what it was. He glared at the paper, continuing to hold onto it.

Kadaj often wondered if their brother truly was as detached from everything as he made himself appear to be, and though Loz knew that it was often true, he also knew that Yazoo hid a lot of his deeper emotions. When he cared about something, he would give his all to protect it. And the only things Loz could think of that Yazoo honestly cared about were his brothers, and Mother---though the distant young man also had a certain fondness for his guns.

Wait . . . that was what was bothering Loz so much about the picture. Yazoo's eyes were entirely devoid of any sense of compassion or caring. He was one hundred percent apathetic. It sent a chill up the big man's spine.

He looked to Kadaj. Surely the youngest brother had noticed too. "Something's wrong with him, Kadaj," he declared, unable to keep the panic out of his voice. He could feel the tears pricking his eyes. Why? What had happened to their brother, and would they be able to help him? Would they ever have him back?

Kadaj nodded. "I know." He turned his attention back to the stranger, who was looking even more confused and intrigued by this point. "When is he coming here?"

"In the next couple of days. He'll be here for a little bit before the concert on Monday night."

By now everyone had gathered around, including the irate manager. "Look," he growled suddenly, directing everyone's attention to him, "I don't care when he's coming, just as long as you troublemakers get out before he arrives. Go hang out with him if you want!" He pointed furiously at the door. "Out. Now!"

Alexander bit his lip. He felt terrible that there had been such an uproar, especially since he had brought Kadaj there. But on the other hand, it must have been a good thing that he had done it, since Loz had then found them. And now they had learned of Yazoo's whereabouts, at least. Still, the doppelganger had a bad feeling that Yazoo's emotionless eyes could be explained the same as Reno's friend Rude. And he knew that would crush both of these silver-haired young men.

He looked to his friends. "Let's go," he pleaded. "We can go back to Dartz and see if he can think of what we can do." After all, if anyone could come up with a plan, Dartz surely could! He always seemed to know the best solutions. Maybe he would know what they could do to help Yazoo.

Kadaj ignored him as well, continuing to study the man who had handed him the flier. But at last he turned away. There was nothing more to learn from this person. He was just one of apparently many who knew a fan of Yazoo. Until their brother reached the city, the most that they could probably do would be to research his popularity and fame and see what this world thought of him. Maybe it would help them figure out what to expect when they did meet him. Loz was right, something was clearly amiss.

He could hear his older brother close behind him, as well as Alexander. Firmly he pushed open the door, stepping out into a cloudy, but currently dry, night.

Loz could not help wishing that Yazoo was there to tell him, mockingly, not to cry.

He had never heard someone talk so much. Even Elena stopped to take a breath more often than this strange, lanky ninja. And at least Elena talked sensibly. This girl was not making any reasonable statements. As he tended to her sore ankle, she rambled on wondering how he could possibly treat her, when he did not have a license. At least, not to her knowledge. But he was the great Vincent Valentine, wanderer extraordinaire! What was he doing posing as a doctor?

"Ow!" she cried suddenly, as he felt along her ankle and touched the main spot of irritation. "Watch it, Vince!"

"Sorry." He looked at her, deadpan. "And actually, I do have a license."

She frowned suspiciously. "Since when?" But somehow, she already had a sneaking suspicion as to what he would say.

"I graduated from medical school five years ago," he announced. "And you've strained your ankle. You'll need to use a lot of cold packs in the first twenty-four hours, to keep down the swelling and the pain. Then, to increase the circulation, use warm or hot packs after that time period is up." He began to straighten up. "You'll be fine, as long as you don't put too much pressure on it too soon." The memory of her abruptly leaping to her feet and tumbling off her injured foot came to mind. "In fact, you probably shouldn't put any pressure on it at all for a few hours," he grunted.

She gaped at him. "You mean I have to stay here?" she cried in alarm. Oh, she hated hospitals! And she despised staying down, too. Of course, if she was here, it would give her more of a chance to try to convince him of his true past.

"Or let the redhead in the waiting room carry you."

She glowered. "Your memories went out the window, but your personality is still as charming as ever," she muttered.

He glanced back to her. She was such a strange person, so completely certain that she knew all about him even though he knew that he had never before seen her. And the man who had brought her was just as odd. Right now, he was trying to tell Elena the same sort of tales. He had seen quite a few psychiatric patients in his time, including many who were delusional, but these two seemed sane. He wondered if that should make their words of more concern than if they behaved in crazed ways.

"I'll go get a cold pack for you," he declared. "Elena's right outside the door, and I'll be back in a minute." With that, and before Yuffie could get in a word edgewise, he left.

The dark-haired girl gave the door a black look. "Stubborn idiot," she choked out to the empty room before turning her attention to her ankle. She reached down, rubbing a hand over it and then wincing.

She had not seen any people she knew as not recalling anything, until now. And she had not realized how much it would hurt. It bothered her greatly, to see Vincent's red eyes looking at her so blankly and to have him treat her as a stranger. Well, not that he did not always act vague and distant toward her, but at least he had acknowledged her as a comrade! Now he recalled none of that, not even how they had fiercely battled against Sephiroth, or Bahamut-SIN, or Kadaj and his brothers.

"Yeah, there's actually quite a lot of stubborn idiots around here."

Her head jerked up. That voice was completely unfamiliar to her. "Who's here?" she demanded, looking around the room with narrowed eyes. There was only the one door leading in, and no one had used it. But now, a spiky-haired brunet was leaning against the wall, his arms crossed as he regarded her with an amused smile. She gasped, her voice catching in her throat.

"The name's Zack Fair," he said, pushing himself away from the wall and walking over to her.

Immediately she got into a defensive position. "Well, I don't know how you got in here, but you'd better watch it!" she snapped. "I've been trained in ninjitsu!" He looked friendly enough, but men who suddenly appeared out of nowhere tended to make her at least somewhat suspicious.

He held up his hands in front of him. "Hey, no need to break out the karate chops and ninja stars," he replied easily. "You're supposed to stay off your ankle. I just want to talk to you for a minute."

"Yeah? About what?" She continued to watch him, her dark eyes narrowed. The name Zack . . . it was so familiar to her. Where had she heard it before? Wait. . . .

"About what's happened to everyone," he said, and eased himself onto the examination table next to her. She frowned, scooting her body further away from his.

"I only know about one guy named Zack," she declared. "He was Cloud's best friend. But he's dead." She peered at him, taking in his warm smile and cheerful eyes. "And you don't look the least bit dead, Mr. Zack Fair."

He smirked. "Guilty as charged. You're talking to a one of a kind ghost, first class." He leaned back, bringing up one foot to rest on the edge of the table and then clasping his hands around the knee. "So anyway, about what's happened. It looks like you've just had your first encounter with some of the people who don't remember anything. Frustrating, isn't it?" He could not help but remember all the times he had tried to get through to Cloud during the time when the blonde had taken on Zack's own identity out of his mental shock over his friend's death. Cloud had not been able to hear him at all, and he had repeatedly denied even knowing someone named Zack. The brunet had spent many long weeks and years worrying over him.

And now he needed to worry again, and not just for Cloud. Both of his best friends were on a course heading for disaster, if Zack and the others could not get things set straight. And of course, Zack could only try. The final decisions in the end would belong to those he was trying to assist.

Yuffie did not answer him. Instead she was slowly reaching out with a finger, aiming for his shoulder. She let out an unintentional squeal of alarm and revulsion when it passed through into thin air.

"You really are dead!" she burst out. She did not want to share this space with a ghost! She wanted to get down that instant, but the thought of tumbling onto her ankle gave her pause. Instead she gripped the edge of the padded table with her hands, tense as she stared at him. Why would Cloud's friend come to her, of all people? Why not go to Cloud?

"Told ya." He seemed completely unfazed by her actions, as if he had expected her to test him for signs of mortality. And, as he looked into her eyes, it felt as if he was reading her thoughts. She shivered, looking away.

"I have been to see Cloud, actually," he mused now. "He doesn't remember his past at all, but someone with him is starting to."

She turned back to him abruptly. There was something about that vague statement that she did not like. "Who?" she asked.

"Oooh, can't tell you that," Zack said calmly. "That's my department. Now, what I want you and Reno to do is to go around finding everybody you can who's from Gaia. And it has to be done really fast, too. There's a major evil stirring in the shadows, just waiting for the perfect chance to start wrecking havoc."

"A major evil?!" Yuffie yelped. "Well, that's just great! Nobody remembers except me, a Turk, and those crazy insect brothers! How are we supposed to fight some big evil thing?!"

Zack looked amused. "It'd help if everyone else could remember too, but you'll all have to fight this off even if you don't."

"But maybe they won't even remember how to fight!" the distraught girl cried. This was too much that he was asking her to do. How could she ever accomplish it all? What if most of them did not recall anything? They would probably all be like Vincent, and not believe her. And during a battle, it would be useless to rely on them.

"What even happened, anyway?" she demanded. "Why don't people remember? And what's this 'major evil'?!"

Zack looked at her thoughtfully. "You know, I don't think it's really that important as to what caused this," he replied. "That's over and done with now. We've gotta concentrate on picking up the pieces. And as for the evil, well, find everybody first and then we'll talk."

So she was supposed to run around, collecting people with Reno and getting met with reactions like Vincent's? Oh, and worse. She could just imagine how Barret and Cid would respond, if they were among those who did not have their memories. And she would not even be able to tell them what they needed to fight? That would go over well! They would get doors slammed in their faces for sure. Maybe even the little men in white jackets would be sent to them for good measure.

"Ohhh! You dead people are really exasperating!" she wailed. "I don't know how to do what you want! How will I even be able to find everyone?"

"A lot of them are probably pretty close by," he smiled. "And some of them even ended up in places that make some kind of sense." Then he paused, looking sheepish. "Well . . . that's just some of them," he chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. "It might not be as easy to find the rest. I can't believe myself where some of them have ended up." He started to slide himself down to the floor. "But I have faith in you."

Desperately she grabbed for him, even though she knew it was foolish. "Wait!" she pleaded. "Aren't you going to stick around? Give me some clues or something!"

He gave an exaggerated sigh. "I gave you some," he replied. "Talk to Reno and I'm sure you'll figure something out. Meanwhile, I have to go see about some close friends of mine." He looked back over his shoulder, giving her a half-wave. "Don't worry, I'll probably pop up when you least expect it." And with that, he walked through the wall and disappeared.

Yuffie slumped back, slapping her forehead. "That's what I'm afraid of," she moaned.

Or one thing out of many, at least.