Chapter Four: The Die is Cast.
A lifetime ago, Agent Valentine stepped out of the elevator leading to the private training facility of the Department of Administrative Research. A hidden speaker came to life, the computerized voice of a woman confirmed his identity.
"Verifying data - Access number - G-A-I-zero-one-two . . . Good evening - Mr. Valentine. . ."
"Agent Valentine," he said, quietly correcting the program.
"Shinra Manufacturing - Tactical - Training Facility - now loading - Administrative Research Department Simulation Program: Session 1. . ."
'Administrative Research' was an interesting name for Agent Valentine's profession, he felt, given that it was just a thin veil, or more like an inside joke, for what he did.
"Please be aware that Shinra Manufacturing is not responsible for any injuries or loss of life during the simulation program."
This was no joke on the company's part. The opponents thrown at him may have merely been virtual constructs, unable to exist outside of this room, but they were using live ammunition. This was why their official name was a joke, because the only 'research' Agent Valentine did was on the details of a target chosen by his superiors. Then he killed them. Usually. Sometimes he interrogated them, and then killed them. Anything the company wanted him to do, he did without question. It was nothing personal, just following orders.
Session One. . .
Agent Valentine was a seasoned member of the organization, despite his young age. More often than not, multiple assignments were given to an Agent at once, which had them in the field for weeks, even months, at a time. But this was nothing more than an annual skill assessment. Naturally, live ammunition was used by the attacking drones. This was a test of quality after all. If he passed, he would be promoted. If he failed. . .
Session Two. . .
The most rigorous training, and a wealth of hands-on experience, had honed his body to physical perfection, and tempered every sense and reflex to almost superhuman levels. But this was merely the standard which he was expected to meet.
Session Three. . .
The Turks, as they were unofficially nicknamed within the company, were a private intelligence agency that carried out various missions on a global scale. Most agents came from an orphanage run by Shinra; they were pretty much raised to be obedient killers. Some, however, seeking adventure, joined voluntarily. Whether this was Valentine's reason or not, he kept to himself.
Session Four. . .
Agent Valentine quickly gained a reputation for being a quiet, efficient, and deadly sharpshooter.
Session Five. . .
Every graduating Turk was allowed a specialized weapon of their choice and usually it would relate to their codename. His superiors saw fit to name Agent Valentince, "Silencer" of the Turks.
Session Six. . .
"Silencer" served for a few years. He did things he never thought he'd do and saw things that would stay with him forever, but back then, it was just part of his duty. He rose through the ranks very quickly, being given 'S' ranked missions, which he often did solo.
Session Seven. . .
The last such mission came during his fourth year, when he was assigned to be the bodyguard of Shinra's best scientists while they worked far away from home in a town called Nibelheim. . .
This concludes the Administrative Research Department Simulation Program. You may return to your station.
Vincent and Reeve sat in the "lounge" of the a Shadowfox on their way to Edge. They were three hours out from Kalm.
Three weeks earlier, while investigating some of Scarlett's old files, Reeve explained to Vincent, he had discovered the existence of Shinra's "dark secret": Deepground. Azul, whom Vincent had met in Kalm, was a member of it's most elite force, known as the Tsviets. Of the six Tsviets, only three names were known: Azul the Cerulean, Rosso the Crimsion, and Nero the Sable. Very few people within Shinra Inc. had been aware of this project's existance. The only ones who knew were the former President, Heidegger, Scarlet, and the head of Biochemical research: Hojo.
"With everything that happened after the President's murder, I doubt Rufus was ever briefed on the project. Supposedly, 'Project Deepground' was shut down after the war ended, but there is evidence that the remaining subjects were experimented on for a long time after that. With all the anti-Shinra feelings in Shinra's final years, it seems that they were trying to enhance the SOLDIER process further than ever, possibly to duplicate the results of the JENOVA project. All I know for sure is that an outside element was introduced at some point just before Meteor, and that is when the Tsviets appeared. Scarlett didn't elaborate any further than that though." said Reeve. "I bet she stopped for some maniacal laughter and forgot to finish her report." he added wryly.
Vincent rolled his eyes, remembering her outbursts well.
"Following this discovery I sent my people to Midgar to investigate this "Sector Zero". But I was sloppy. With the Mako radiation levels lower than ever, I assumed it would be safe enough. I even allowed a news team to accompany them." Reeve paused, he averted his eyes from Vincent, a look of shame appearing on his face. He continued, "We lost contact almost as soon as they went underground. Then we had the disappearances in Junon soon after."
"I saw the report." said Vincent.
Reeve laughed hollowly, "You saw what I wanted you to see."
Realization dawned on Vincent, "You suppressed the information, didn't you?" he said, accusation in his tone.
"With my team's disappearance, I had to prevent a panic, until I could mount a proper investigation. I- I smudged the details for the report." Reeve confessed.
"Why do you think I refused to join your little personal army?" Vincent hissed. "Because I knew that this would happen."
Reeve bowed his head, "I'm not proud of it, and I know what you must think of me, but you have to understan-"
"And you still try to justify yourself?" Vincent growled, cutting him off.
"The real number, of the disappearances, it was-"
"It doesn't mat-"
Reeve spoke over him,"Over twelve-hundred."
This derailed Vincent. The revelation hit him like a head rush. Vincent gripped the bench to keep himself steady. Twelve-hundred! That would have caused a panic for sure.
But once the initial shock wore off, Vincent resumed his argument. Although he could now see Reeve's point of view in this, he still opposed it.
"When one man takes it upon himself to decide what the world wants to hear versus what it needs to hear," Vincent said quietly, "In the end, he'll be the one fighting groups like Avalanche."
Silence filled the compartment. Reeve stared at the floor, Vincent's words ringing true.
"Twelve-Hundred people suddenly vanish without a trace." Reeve continued, finally, "The WRO's investigation came up with nothing, we couldn't even find that door again. There was nothing, except for rumors. Ever since the first disappearances, every night, Edge hase experienced the same phenomenon. Tifa described it to me in a call, 'You can't hear it during the day. But when the sun goes down, and the sounds of the city are quiet, it starts. First quiet, then it starts to get louder and louder. By midnight, you can't mistake it. We tell the kids that it's only the wind, but let me ask you; how do you convince a child that the wind could sound like a thousand wailing souls?'"
Suddenly the driver called over the loud speaker, "Commissioner! A rogue transmission is being broadcast on all wavelengths!"
There was a console with some monitors on both walls of the truck, Reeve turned around on his bench to turn one of them on. There in the screen Vincent saw a man, pale as death, wearing only white pants and knee high boots sitting on some kind of throne. From behind him came an intense Mako glow, washing out all color he might have had. Reeve quickly hit a button on the console. A red light blinked on, indicating that it was recording this.
"At last" he began, his voice rising with each word, barely controlled.
"The time has come to cleanse this world. . ."
Reeve and Vincent stared at the screen, lost for words.
"The Pure will be spared for the cause, while the tainted will be hunted down. . . and exterminated."
He laughed cruelly.
"They shall be slashed, strangled and slaughtered; Beaten, stabbed and Crushed, Garroted and impaled, SHOT, and EXECUTED without mercy."
His mocking laughter filled the cabin, "The time has come to cleanse this world!" He repeated, before the video cut off.
"Who. . ?" asked Reeve, looking ill. He began typing furiously into the computer. "I'll try to trace it."
Vincent felt sick to his stomach. It wasn't just how sadistic that man was, but how he reveled in it. Vincent dearly hoped that this man was insane, because he could not imagine a human being of sound mind capable of such cruelty. Well, besides one. . .
"Vincent, this transmission troubles me. Do you think you could continue to Edge on foot?" Asked Reeve, cutting into his thoughts.
Vincent looked at him, Reeve was pale and his hands trembled slightly. "Why?"
"I must return to headquarters if I'm to deal with this properly. Whoever that was, he just made a declaration of war and we've got to be ready." Despite his demeanor, Reeve's voice was full of determination.
"Do what you have to."
They were only about a quarter of a mile from Edge anyway. As Vincent stepped out of the truck, Reeve stopped him, he gestured to the other trucks in their escort, "My people will be waiting here. When you have a grasp of the situation, send them a signal and they'll converge on your location.
"Yes, sir." Vincent replied icily.
Looking a little sheepish, Reeve closed the hatch and his ShadowFox zoomed off.
Less than half an hour after separating from Reeve, Vincent had made it to Edge.
As the transmission cut off, the figure slumped to one side of his throne. His gasps echoed around the chamber as blood ran down the sides of his mouth. He clutched his abdomen, which was covered in a thick layer of gauze.
A dark figure rushed to his side, "Brother!"
Wiess shoved the younger man away, "That worm is more trouble than he's worth." he muttered.
As more blood began to seep through the bandages, Wiess pulled the other man closer, "Listen to me, very closely. . ."
Vincent walked through the deserted streets of Edge. The drizzle that had started in the wasteland had become a downpour, making all the buildings appear gray and cold. Apprehension clawing at him, Vincent continued down the lonely road.
"Slashed, strangled, and slaughtered. Beaten, stabbed, and crushed. Garroted, and impaled; shot, and executed without mercy." she recited with the air of having recently heard a good joke, she laughed coldly, "Nicely said Weiss."
She looked around the warehouse from where she sat on crate. "Well, that didn't last long." she said gazing at the carnage surrounding her. "The mighty WRO: they wouldn't last a day in Deepground!"
She wiped a bit of blood off the unique uniform that identified her as a Tsviet and broke out into a fit of psychotic laughter.
Vincent stood outside Tifa's Seventh Heaven. The bar, which had been constructed from scratch by Cloud, Tifa, and Barret, stood cold and empty. The door hung ajar, as it often did during work hours. Vincent poked his head into the doorway. Nothing. There were no signs of life, no Cloud to greet him with a look and a nod as he walked in, no Tifa fussing over him and offering him anything to drink from tea to wine, and no Marlene or Denzel bounding down the stairs to tug at his cloak and be generally bothersome. This absence of anything annoying greatly unsettled him.
Vincent crept over the threshold, quiet as a cat.
There were no apparent signs of a struggle.
He jumped the steps to the second floor, and ran to Cloud and Tifa's room. Turning on a light would draw attention, but Vincent's eyes were adjusted enough to the dark to see enough. The beds were not made. The curtain's where drawn. Both their closets had been rummaged through, the contents strewn about the floor. Cloud was another story, but Tifa would never leave a room like that. The room had been searched, thoroughly.
The same was true for the children's room. It looked like someone had snatched them both out of their beds in a hurry. This only increased his fears. Had Deepground taken them?
Trying not to dwell on his fears, Vincent went back to Cloud's office. It seemed untouched, but that was not saying much since the room was so spartan. In the back of the closet he found the switch that triggered the release. Only those in their old group knew about this addition to the house; Pressing it, he opened the small room that stored the groups weapons and armor from the Meteor Crisis. Since Cloud and Tifa were the only one's who had settled down in one place, the job of safe-keeping had been left to them.
From the stash he pulled his old rifle, the Death Penalty, it's harness, and all the ammunition he could find. Quickly and skillfully, Vincent disassembled the gun. Taking some oil and a rag out of his side-pouch Vincent gave the parts a quick cleaning. Vincent reassembled the gun, none of it's moving parts made a noise now. The gun had very high power and accuracy, but it's chamber housed only a single bullet. No good for a direct confrontation, but perfect for stealth. It's familiar weight comforted Vincent a little. It was Lucrecia's final gift to him, and he had hated parting with it. But the peaceful times they had been living in had required him to find a less threatening weapon. It was for this reason that he had constructed the Cerberus, his triple barreled revolver. Vincent pulled a special attachment he had designed and built himself from his pouch and attached it to Death Penalty's magazine. This would load a new bullet into the barrel automatically after each discharge, but it would still take about two seconds before it could be fired. . .
He checked the garage. Fenrir was gone with recent tire tracks leading out into the rain, a good sign. He followed the tracks out into the street but they disappeared after a few feet. All Vincent could tell for sure was that Cloud had been heading either towards, or away from, the highway.
His thoughts were interrupted by footsteps behind him. In an instant he spun around and aimed Cerberus at a . . . young woman. There was, to his mild surprise, a gun barrel an inch from his left eye. She was good.
It was a standoff, and neither were willing to blink.
The woman wore a white lab coat and a magenta and black dress underneath. Her light brown hair obscured part of her face, she seemed to be about twenty-five. She was no Deepground soldier, in fact the name tag on her coat identified her as a WRO scientist.
"You're W.R.O?"
"Who's asking?" She returned.
"Vincent Valentine. Reeve sent me" said Vincent, lowering his gun in a gesture of peace.
"My apologies, I should have recognized you sooner. Shalua Rui of the WRO" she said as she put her gun away too. "The Commissioner has told me much about you."
"What happened here?" He asked, staving off the temptation to ask if Reeve had conscripted him regardless of his refusal.
"That's what I'd like to know." Shalua said looking at the dismal buildings, "I'm here on other business, but something's not right; it's too quiet."
She was walking in a slow circle, as if sizing him up.
"I've seen no trace of Deepground, nor the squads sent in to fight them. Also, where are the eight thousand people who are supposed to still be living here?"
Vincent couldn't answer her question. Now he was very worried. Did that mean Cloud, Tifa, and the kids were gone too?
"Well, this is getting us nowhere." Shalua continued, "Like I said, I've got business to attend to, I'll see you around."
"'Business'?"
"The Commissioner keeps telling me I'm wasting my time- my time searching."
"Searching for what?"
"For my. . . reason to live." she said with a far-away look in her eye.
Vincent frowned, no WRO, no Deepground, and no civilians. Edge was completely deserted? No, Vincent could feel in his gut that the danger was still there, even if Edge seemed to be a ghost town. He would have to hunt down his enemy. But there was the possibility that they had taken down Cloud; Vincent wasn't willing to take on that kind of strength alone. Deciding it was time to call in the cavalry, Vincent reached into his pocket for his phone. . . and found nothing. Cursing, Vincent felt around in his other pockets and the pouches on his belt. Ammo, rations, Transform materia, but no phone. With a pang of sudden realization, Vincent remembered putting it on it's charger back at the Inn in Kalm, where it had likely gotten blown up with the rest of his room. . . Fuck.
"Do you have a PHS?" Vincent asked Shalua, looking up as he did so, "I need to make a-" She was gone.
'Damn. She sneaks up on me, now she disappears with out me noticing. I must be slipping.' the "Silencer" muttered.
Despite himself, Vincent vaguely wondered if he had a reason to live either.
Shaking off that depressing notion, Vincent went back inside the bar to try Tifa's phone. No dial tone. He went back to the weapons stash to find a materia well suited for an impromptu flare. Nothing, not even a Fire.
Vincent walked back out into the rain. He remembered that there was a small Materia shop on the other side of town, perhaps he should try breaking in? No, it was too far. Not worth the risk.
Vincent was standing in the spot he had encountered Shalua while he was thinking. He was just wondering where she had gone, when a cold chill started to creep up his spine and it was not from the rain. Vincent was being watched. His danger sense flaring, Vincent stepped back into the shadow of the bar. He scanned the surrounding rooftops, the uneasiness in his gut getting worse by the second, something was up there. Something bad.
Suddenly it occurred to Vincent that Shalua was just a normal human being. Skilled as she may be, she was much more vulnerable than Vincent felt. Where had she gone? She knew who he was, it was reckless go off alone. Vincent looked up and down the street, but an alleyway entrance directly in front him caught his eye. Beyond a few feet, coupled with the rain, it was pitch black down there. It was the only way she could have gone so quickly. Vincent darted across the street and down the alley, into the darkness. If Vincent was remembering correctly, this alley was part of a short cut to the Memorial. . .
He came out onto another side street and stopped short, shocked. Before him were the remains of what could have only been an intense and bloody fight. Discarded weapons littered the ground. Here and there, a scrap of bloody cloth, a body. Bullet holes marked every visible surface. The puddles at his feet were tinged with crimson and floating away in one of them, Vincent spied a little pink ribbon. . .