A/N: Dear GOD, have I been busy. My schedule consists of school, a workout, homework, playing guitar, and then passing out on my bed for a few hours. I apologize for the late chapter, and want to stress that I HAVE NOT GIVEN UP ON JUST CAUSES. I HAVE NOT FORGOTTEN IT. IT IS NOT ON HIATUS. I hate dead fics just as much as you all, if not more, and you can rest assured I will finish this one!

EDIT: Disregard that brief rant... my fault for being on here late. I feel like quite the tool now.

Felix slammed a new magazine home and yanked the hot bolt of his carbine back, gritting his teeth as the crosshatched metal dug into his bandaged hand. He pressed his shoulder against the overturned carriage and peeked out. Dozens of muzzle flashes behind makeshift fortifications of shattered concrete bathed the street in an eerie, flickering white light. The crackling of innumerable rounds and the chatter of innumerable weapons echoed off high buildings. Felix squeezed off a long burst through a building's shattered window and ducked back to safety. "Fuck," he snarled, "where are the Lucans?"

Wedge stuck his rifle over the carriage and sprayed a magazine in the general direction of incoming fire. "Pinned down east of here, so long as they tried to run up the right street."

"Soft target, my ass." Bits of asphalt sprayed the two men as another series of shots skipped past the carriage. Felix swore. "We're moving. Now." He shifted his weight and planted one foot against the carriage's splintered undercarriage. Not twenty meters away, a set of double doors barred entry to a surprisingly intact building overlooking the street. The higher ground would afford a better angle into the outpost. "Cover me."

He took off at the sound of a high-caliber starter's pistol, the bullets snapping past him a deadly applause. Felix gritted his teeth as he crashed through the doors at full speed and lost his footing. He rolled on his shoulder into the center of a room lined with plastic chairs, growling at his misstep. He dashed back to the entranceway, and emptied his magazine at the not-so-distant muzzle flashes. Wedge sailed past him a moment later, holding on to his beret with one hand.

"Goddamn," Wedge panted, "so much for a quick raid!"

"Not done yet," Felix growled. He stuffed the spent magazine back in his vest and retrieved another, working the action as it locked into his carbine. He surveyed the room with a more tactical eye and frowned. A light, citric scent subdued those of masonry dust and burnt gunpowder. Everything appeared nondescript enough, but the distinct lack of damage to the structure nagged at Felix's mind. The munitions-slinging Al-Bhed seemed unconcerned with collateral damage, so why wouldn't they hit this building? "Wedge, you know where we are?"

"Not a clue."

Felix bent and lifted a pamphlet from the floor. He couldn't understand a word of the intricate, looping script. "Hey, you can read Spiran, right?"

Wedge raised an eyebrow.

"Here," Felix said, handing him the paper. "Shit's crazy."

"Diesel." Wedge looked up from the pamphlet. "This isn't Spiran."

"Then wh-"

"That's a language primer. It's Al-Bhed script."

Yuna frowned, rubbing her eyes. "A problem?"

The courier bowed. "Yes, Lady Yuna. Maester Aenna requested I inform you that there has been a problem with operations in the city."

"A problem in Luca? Do you know what happened?" she asked, sitting forward and turning up the sphere on her nightstand. "Where are we? How long was I asleep?"

The boy pressed his lips together to suppress a small grin. "I'm afraid you slept through most of the day, Lady Yuna." The flash of humor disappeared as quickly as it came. "We are currently en route to Bevelle – Luca is far too dangerous to make landfall, m'lady. I'm afraid that other than several unforeseen difficulties, no one knows what has happened. I will, however, be sure to keep you informed." He rose, stepped back, and bowed again. "If you don't min-"

"No, no, it's okay. I understand how busy you must be. Please, feel free to leave."

"As you wish."

The door closed, and Yuna sighed. She threw the covers back and swung her legs out of bed, rubbing her eyes again and blinking hard. She walked to the porthole and pressed a hand to the glass. A dull glow flickered on the night horizon, its reflection scattered by an uneasy ocean. Yuna's eyes closed, and she withdrew her hand. An unsteady sigh escaped her lips. She opened her eyes once more, then drew the curtains closed.

"This building must be part of the outpost."

Felix pressed his back to the wall. "Shit," he said, tightening his grip on his carbine. No wonder the Al-Bhed didn't demolish this place! He narrowed his eyes at the door. Did someone hear their entry? Were they being watched? No. They'd both be gut-shot by now. He tightened his vest. If they could keep a low profile until reaching the outpost, the hornet's nest would remain dormant.

Wedge's eyes lit up, as though he read Felix's mind. He pointed at a door at the end of the room, partially hidden by a counter. "We can flank 'em through there."

He nodded and slid along the wall, clambering over the low counter to reach the door. It opened with a yank of the steel knob, and Wedge slipped inside. Felix followed a moment later, sweeping the hallway with his carbine. The corridor stretched on for what seemed like forever, lined with simple wooden doors. He crept forward, eyes adjusting to the dimmer lighting. No sound pierced the walls, the heavy silence almost eerie given the destruction outside. We could blast away at this place for days and not make a scratch – it's a goddamn fortress! Felix paused before a door near the end of the hallway as he noticed the light shining forth underneath. He could hear a dull thumping through the thick wood. He reached up and gripped the knob, turning it at an almost imperceptible rate. At last the latch slid free, and Felix cracked the door open wide enough to peek inside.

Inside, a lone sphere bathed the room in pale blue. A large, white-sheeted bed flanked by a pair of end tables dominated the space. A burly man was doing his best to drive the bed through the wall, using a well-proportioned blonde as a hammer. Felix had interrupted a couple preoccupied with something important. The man leaned his head back towards Felix, groaned, and quickened his movements. The woman under him, facing the headboard, locked her arms out for support. She arched her back and moaned loudly, clutching at the bed. She grew louder as the man rocked against her, and a low scream slipped out of her throat. Between the banging of the headboard and the woman's moans, Felix could no longer tell if he was in a warzone or a Las Vegas hotel.

He hadn't been laid in so long it felt like a sin. Felix couldn't imagine stooping to the level of purchasing a whore, but goddamn if he didn't want to at times. His company until late only exacerbated the problem – a mage smuggling watermelons in her blouse and a Summoner with the tightest ass he'd ever seen hardly made a man want to keep it zipped. Christ, but Yuna had an amazing body. Felix decided some time ago that, yes, he would give his left arm to see that body naked. He didn't want to admit it, after what she did to him, but he was unable to force the brown-haired Summoner out of his mind. From behind, he noticed, the woman bent over the bed looked a helluva lot like a blond Yuna. Maybe if he squinted, the man behind her would look like--

Felix closed the door as slowly as he opened it, the moans and knocking still perfectly audible. "Woof woof."

Wedge smirked. "Think he could pound it any harder?"

"Only with a jackhammer," he muttered. "Christ. Let's keep moving – looks like these doors hook up with the next building."

"I trust your messenger reached her?"

Maester Aenna nodded. "I'm quite afraid Lady Yuna's reaction was impossible to judge, Nayla. It appears your hypothesis was incorrect."

"Interesting." Nayla drummed his fingers on the table. "Or perhaps we attempted to cut with a dull knife. She dismissed the mercenary yesterday – we missed that window."

"And what of our… insurance policy?"

"As reliable as ever, which suffice to say is not at all."

Aenna grimaced. "What of their payment?"

Nayla's lips quirked slightly in reaction. "'Their' payment, Maester Aenna?"

"Yes, Nayla. Their. Or do you believe the Council's memory so short?"

He smiled. "Your concern need not be wasted on so trivial a matter. The details of his payment have already been worked out." Nayla lifted a hand and toyed with his elaborate pendant. "As for the other two," he said, "there is even less cause for concern. Tools need not be retained past their usefulness."

"And how," Getta asked, sitting forward, "will the three be disposed of?"

Nayla smiled again. "One tool may be used on another – iron sharpens iron, does it not?"

"The force required to destroy one may shatter both, Maester Nayla." Aenna shook his head. "Rather we set one or the other aside than pit them against each other in a fool's contest of strength."

Getta snorted. "You would spill a bucket of nails on the floor. Allow one or the others to perish instead, and we need not fear where we step."

"We ought to fear our footfalls already," Aenna snapped. "Or would you prefer to trample about like an oaf before Lady Yuna collects your head?"

"Your head will fall with mine, Aenna."

Maester Aenna leaped to his feet. "Dare you threaten me?"

Getta rose, his second chin swaying. "The hour grows late, I fear. I take my leave."

"Please," Nayla said. He turned to Aenna once the door closed. "You would do well to hold your temper in check. Getta's threats are as meaningless as Yuna's promises."

"And yet you confide in him!"

"Do I?" he asked, allowing his pendant to fall against his chest. "Or are some pieces in this game merely a different shape?"

"Game?" Aenna slammed his fist on the table. "This is no game! Kilika is destroyed, and Besaid is no better – scorched cloth and charred logs, the both of them! How many Spirans must die for your game to end?"

Nayla's features twisted into a dark grin. "You seemed far less hesitant to bomb Luca, dear Maester. Or was that just a byproduct of your vendetta with Maester Nade?" He paused, as if to study Aenna's seething form. "No, Aenna, it is not over. Our hands are already drenched in blood, and I see no reason to stay them now. Unless, of course, your affections have been swayed to her cause."

"Cause?" He spat. "Perhaps you meant to say crusade! The people adore her, Nayla, and even greater after our interference. This Council stabs itself in the foot each time we convene."

"Those are the words of a counter-revolutionary, Aenna."

"I merely remind you of the odds against us."

"Odds don't interest me," Nayla pronounced, leaning back. "And neither does public adoration. All that matters is that power is placed in the right hands. We will commission a memorial statue of the half-breed wench in Bevelle, and the matter will die with her."

"What remains of the Ronso will certainly not be so quick to forsake their idol."

Nayla snorted. "The Ronso are all but extinct; their numbers guarantee submission. Guadosalam's fanatical pacifism has sealed their fate as well. Only the heathen Al-Bhed will support the monarchy – and their defeat is a simple matter of time. Yuna poses the final and most difficult obstacle to the people's rule."

"She bent to the Council's will once before. Do you think she will not again?"

"For all her naivete, Maester Aenna, Yuna possesses a remarkable strength of will. I do not doubt for one moment that she is actively seeking ways to thwart our Outline. No, Aenna, she will not yield again. In fact," he added, "I doubt she ever truly did."

"Ha!" Aenna's harsh laugh echoed inside the cabin. "And perhaps those were merely basilisk tears? She may have undergone a Summoner's journey, but I need not remind you the considerable entourage it took for her to do so. Yuna is a meaningless anachronism with the spinal fortitude of a flan. Without support, she is a twig before a landslide."

"Your contempt is amusing in its blindness."

"You mock me?"

"No," Nayla said, "but we would be wise to mind our steps, as you perhaps insincerely suggested. Yuna may be young and naïve, but I expect there remains a great multitude who would think nothing of sacrificing themselves for their perceived heroine."

"You expect an uprising, then?"

"It is unlikely, provided we keep the cloak over our daggers. Spira has the collective intellect of a chocobo herd, and an identical mentality. The prospect of a pure, liberated future will be irresistible given the alternative of an Al-Bhed-controlled monarchy. Misguided dissenters will meet the same fate as their crossbred ruler. Free of Al-Bhed influence and without the prospect of another sovereign, Spira will be able to breathe freely once again. The stench of absolutism will have been purged from her nostrils, replaced with the aroma of freedom."

"For that sacred cause," Aenna muttered, "Yuna must die. The Outline in its simplest terms."

"Indeed."

Aenna stood and smoothed out the pleats of his robe. "Getta was quite right – it is late indeed. I will show myself out."

"By all means, Maester Aenna. May the Fayth aid in Kilika's reconstruction."

His mouth twitched as though holding back a torrent of words, and then Aenna opened the door. With a fluttering of purple and green cloth, Maester Aenna disappeared into the temple's winding corridors. Nayla continued to toy with his necklace, turning the great, silver-encased glyph over between his fingers. "Yes," he muttered, lifting the pendant to his lips. "A great many tools will be discarded soon. Would-be puppeteers make for superb marionettes." He smiled and withdrew an aquamarine sphere from the folds of his robes. It buzzed in his hand.

"I trust the meeting went well, Nayla?"

"As much as could be expected," he murmured. "Aenna and Getta are wholly invested in our charade, both financially and emotionally. There is no recourse for them but to press forward."

"Good. Their support will be instrumental."

"Indeed. Though there will be little need for them once our expedition to the South returns to Bevelle."

Nayla smiled again. "Of that matter, the Council remains blissfully unaware."

The sphere's static came close to drowning out a subtle chuckle. "As does Spira, Maester Nayla. As does Spira."

Higa slammed his fist against the control panel and swore. "Are you kidding me?"

"No." Sig drummed his fingers on the arms of his chair and leaned back, closing his swirled green eyes. "We are to hold our fire and allow Bikanel's ground forces to push the Spirans out of Luca. Armored units from the Thunder Plains are inbound as we speak, and airships are shuttling reinforcements to our brothers on the Highroad."

"Armor, syda?"

He nodded. "Tehku-class tanks, from Home. A small number was stationed on the Plains for lightning studies – the Spirans neglected this when they began their aggressions."

"Gonna be a fuckin' great show," Higa said, grinning. "Figure about a week."

"You overestimate the Crusaders. One more day of battle will be enough to cause a rout, with or without armor."

Rather than immediately link up with the adjoining building, the corridor led the two men through an elaborate labyrinth of wide, door-lined passages. Felix clenched the grip of his knife and crept forward on the outside edges of his feet; his left shoulder skimmed along the wall. The slightest noises sent adrenaline streaking through his body. He studied the doors as they passed. A plaque mounted beside each bore an Al-Bhed inscription. The inscription appeared to be numeric, but the symbols' intricacy and the dim light prevented accurate interpretation.

Felix stopped on one side of yet another hallway and listened, straining his ears to pick up the faintest sounds of movement. He heard nothing other than the rustling of Wedge's equipment. He tightened the sling of his carbine and crept forward again. Felix poured all his concentration into controlling his breathing – his pounding heartbeat would not be silenced. As he approached a junction, a dull murmur reached his ears.

He glanced around the corner and spied a small knot of figures in khaki clothing standing before a large, garage-style door. A bright light over the door illuminated six men in full combat gear. Wicked-looking rifles hung across their chests, and high collars or masks of some sort concealed the lower half of their faces. The men seemed oddly preoccupied with maintaining a low profile – they spoke in only low voices and gestures. Gestures, Felix noticed, directed at the steel portal behind them. He forced his breathing to slow back down, and blinked hard. Any movement out of the hallway would result in a full-on firefight. Shit.

Wedge tapped his shoulder. "What's up?"

Felix edged away from the corner, sheathed his knife, and wiped the sweat from his hands. "Five of 'em," he whispered. "All kitted up."

"Any way around?"

He shook his head.

"Try this," Wedge said, slipping a spent magazine from his vest.

Felix raised an eyebrow.

"Toss it down the hallway when they aren't looking, as a distraction."

"You're crazy."

"I saw it on a sphere once."

"No."

"If you don't, then I will." Wedge leaned forward and cocked his arm back.

As he reached to block the other man's arm, Felix realized what his heart tasted like.

The magazine clattered to the floor in front of Wedge, bringing the Al-Bhed conversation to a sudden halt.

He scrambled to loosen his carbine's sling and bring the weapon to bear. Felix could hear footfalls ambling up the corridor, somehow amplified over the blood rushing by his ears. The canvas band slackened. He flicked the selector down and pressed the gun into his shoulder. The footfalls sounded closer, now.

Felix whipped around the corner and squeezed the trigger; his carbine shattered the uneasy silence. His rounds walked up one man's chest and blew his jaw against the wall. The remaining Al-Bhed scrabbled to un-sling their rifles. A burst from Wedge sliced through their ranks and dropped two men. The last soldiers managed to lift their weapons before a set of double-taps tore through their lungs.

The last shot reverberated through the hallway before giving way to deafening silence.

Felix sprinted to the door and glanced at the gore-spattered keypad. A crimson LED winked at him as he punched in a random combination of keys to no effect. He raised his carbine again and smashed the butt against the device, sending a brief shower of sparks to the floor. A loud hummingsounded inside the wall, and the door began to slide upwards. Wedge seized its edge and shoved hard, forcing the mechanism beyond its limits. Felix darted through the opening and into the space beyond.

Underneath a low ceiling crisscrossed by girders, a squat machina sat idle. A pair of "mini" guns flanked a large-bore cannon in a flat-topped turret. Even in Spira, there was nothing at all mini about them. What looked like thick, black, horizontal screws held the tank low to the ground.

Felix shivered. "Jesus H. Christ," he breathed, stepping into the garage. His footsteps echoed inside the space. Racks of overhead lights shone down on the tank's sterile gray plating, casting spidery shadows on the floor. Weapons, tools, and machine parts lay in various states of disassembly on a number of tables throughout the garage. He edged forward, finger tap-tapping on his carbine's trigger guard. A familiar and very uncomfortable feeling of being watched gripped Felix as he moved towards the tank.

Wedge whistled. "Holy mother of Yevon, how did they get this in here?"

"Goddamn, but the Al-Bhed know how to kill shit in style."

A loud clang echoed inside the expansive garage.

The machina shuddered slightly.

Wedge stepped back. "No fucking way," he breathed.

Just as Felix turned towards his comrade, the machina's turret sprang to life. It tracked upward as the twin miniguns began to spin. He sprinted away from the door for an engine block suspended by a chain. The first shots dampened his hearing, but he felt the air itself shake as round after round spewed from whirling barrels. Felix dove behind the block and looked frantically for a way out.

At the end of a long table rested a tube with an octagonal bulge at one end. He gathered his feet under him and prayed to God it was some form of RPG. The dull pounding of his heart drowned out the miniguns' evil buzzing as Felix launched himself towards the table, arm's outstretched. He could almost feel a crosshair just behind him. Felix let his momentum carry him over the table and behind a thick pillar, launcher clutched in his hands.

He struggled with the alien weapon for a moment, cursing as he fumbled at what seemed to be safety features. Felix took a deep breath and hefted the launcher over his shoulder. Hail Mary, full of grace. He dropped to one knee, leaned out, and depressed a small button.

The rocket hissed through the air and toward the tank. It caught the edge of an armor plate and careened off, detonating against the top of the far wall. The explosion felt like a freight train to the ribs. Felix watched as a support girder bent, then collapsed atop the machina. Bits of rubble rained down from a hole in the roof, framed by twisted rebar and jagged concrete. He dropped the useless weapon and sprinted for his life.

A red-capped figure leapt onto the girder ahead of him as Felix seized the first rung. He and Wedge scrambled along the twisted steel beams, drawing closer to the open air. Wedge reached the opening first, and Felix reached for his outstretched hand as the world began to fall. He felt gravity clutch at his body as the girder pitched down. Only a sudden effort by Wedge prevented an equally sudden drop. Felix latched onto the Crusader's arm for support as he fumbled for a handhold on the crumbling concrete. His fingers found purchase, and he clambered free.

Around them, a battle for the streets of Luca continued to rage. "Where are we?"

"Downtown," Wedge screamed. "The stadium should be just ahead!"

Guess his hearing's shot. Felix nodded and crouched behind the nearest cover – an upturned planter. He patted himself down and determined that yes, his body was intact. He reached for his carbine, but felt only air. "For fuck's sake," he breathed. The light from burning buildings glinted off his knife as he pulled it free. Until Felix could get his hands on something else, the blade would have to do.

Wedge shook his shoulder. "We need to link up with the Lucans!"

"Lead the way."

Yuna drew her knees up to her chest in a fetal position, pajamas clinging to sweat-soaked skin. Her trembling hands held a large pillow over her head. She flinched. With a sudden start, Yuna sat upright and looked frantically about the room. Her body relaxed with an equal suddenness, and she sank back onto her bed. She wiped a bead of sweat from her forehead. "Dream," she whispered. "Just a dream."

The door opened. "Is something wrong?"

She looked up to meet the page's worried expression. "No," she said.

"As you will, Lady Yuna."

Yuna bit her lip. "Page?"

He turned again. "Yes, Lady Yuna?"

"Any word from the mainland?"

"The last transmission from the Lucans reported intense Al-Bhed resistance inside the city, with no progress being made."

Her body tensed.

"That transmission was received seven hours ago – well after the assault began. No sphere calls have left the city since then, Spiran or otherwise."

"Seven hours," Yuna whispered. "Yevon help them."

"Will that be all?"

Yuna nodded. "Thank you."

Brightly colored bits of plastic littered what must have once been a schoolyard. The fragmented playthings appeared to be fleeing from a blackened crater in the concrete walkway, a vain attempt to escape their demise. A pile of grotesque, twisted shapes lay against a wrought-iron gate; outstretched hands and arms seemed to claw at an unseen enemy. The dark purple of congealed blood clung to holes in their burnished armor and blue uniforms. The familiar mask of Death stared forth from glazed-over eyes. A fence of ornate, hooked blades thrust in the ground bore silent witness to their owners' fate – no two blades were alike, graceful curves and filigree perhaps reflecting achievements or tastes.

Felix released a sigh. Of all the fuckups in the world, this op had to make the top ten. The failed attack at dawn resulted in a street-by-street battle for downtown Luca that chewed through most of the day, and all of Felix's ammunition as well. He tightened the pouches securing a pair of now-useless magazines and wondered if Wedge was finished negotiating with the Lucan colonel yet. If Felix had his way, the negotiations would consist of a plastic bag, some duct tape, and a bucket of lukewarm water.

Wedge emerged from the school, shaking his head. "I enjoyed that."

"Colonel Dickweed still refusing to budge?"

"The man moves like a pregnant shoopuf."

"Shoopuf?"

"Honey flowing up Mount Gagazet, basically."

Felix nodded, not wanting to waste much energy on figuring out what in the fuck a shoopuf was, much less imagining a pregnant representative of the species. "Where are the rest of us?"

"Still pinned down behind the stadium, from their last transmission."

"Casualties?"

"No idea. Could be complete, could be none."

He rested his head against the wall behind him. "Supplies?"

"Enough to make it 'till morning, provided they don't shoot and bandage rocks."

Felix scratched his nose. "Did the Colonel apologize?"

Wedge raised an eyebrow. "For what?"

"For royally screwing the pooch," he said, shaking his head. "Half the city's on fire or destroyed. This was supposed to be a minor raid – move in, lock the place down, and cart the Al-Bhed out of the city. Lo and behold, rockets start flying as soon as our feet are dry."

"Not our place to bitch," Wedge grunted. "The Lucans are taking full responsibility for the attack, as well as its consequences."

"Don't tell me – tell Crispy over here," Felix said, pointing at a particularly grilled corpse. "Hey man, it's all good – the Lucans will write the letter to mom explaining why her son is a piece of human charcoal." Felix stepped away from the wall and spat. "What's the word on their boys?"

"They'll hold," he said, a few steps ahead of Felix, "at least until reinforcements from Mi'ihen can be dispatched."

"Mi'ihen?"

Wedge pointed a finger towards the stadium. Its jagged dome was clearly visible against the battle-lit, starless sky. "Spira's main road. The Crusaders have an outpost at the north end."

Felix groaned. "Luca'll be ash tomorrow, Lieutenant. We've gotta break the Al-Bhed's back before they break ours."

"Good luck, since the Lucan sphere network took a salvo when we showed up."

The two men stopped at the gate of the schoolyard. "This stinks."

"No shit."

"No," he said, shaking his head. "I mean something doesn't smell right. Those fuckers were on the rooftops before we got here."

Wedge nodded. "The Al-Bhed have always been a little obsessed with their security – I'm not surprised they were able to react that fast."

"That's not what I meant. You said the sphere tower took a hit when we showed up – how the fuck would they manage that timing without knowing what was coming? The Al-Bhed knew that wasn't a normal supply wagon, they knew where to place their damn rockets, and they sure as hell knew how to cut our tendons. This isn't some half-ass militia defense, 'cause God knows I've dealt with enough of those in my life. No, someone here was pointing fingers and making lists. They were waiting for us, Wedge."

"You saying you think they got tipped off? Not possible. Even if they could tell the ship we rode in on wasn't a real fishing vessel, they had no reason to suspect a single chocobo carriage held a strike team. It's just the result of paranoia, I'm telling you."

"Maybe one of the Lucans let it slip before the raid."

Wedge sighed. "Doesn't matter what happened. Bottom line is the Al-Bhed still control most of the city, and we can't allow them to spread any farther. With our communication severed, there's no way in hell we're getting reinforcements."

"Shit sandwich," he chuckled. "We're not gettin' those Al-Bhed outta the Travel Agency – you know that, right? Place is a fuckin' solid block of reinforced concrete."

Wedge grunted.

"And we can't push them into a corner, since we have no comms, no ammo, and orders from a Colonel with testicular deficiencies." Felix paused. "Wedge, the spheres went down when the station got hit?"

"Yeah."

"So spheres need a station?"

"You're two for two."

"Where is it?"

"Behind the Sphere Theater, which-"

"Is near the stadium, just like everything else."

"Luca was planned around the stadium," Wedge said. "The docks are laid out like spokes on a wheel, and the city itself expands from one spoke. Even the city is in a circle, constructed around a fountain in the center – a courtyard that has a direct path back to the stadium. Basically, no matter what route you take in Luca, you end up where you wanted to go. Or where you started."

"So where's the station?"

Wedge chuckled. "The one place in this Yevon-damned city you can't get to from here. There's a route from the fountain, if I'm not mistaken, but to get there, we have to go through a certain building that's crawling with Al-Bhed. Namely, the outpost we showed up to sack, and that we may or may not have just climbed out of."

"Sounds like fun." Felix turned around.

"Hey, where are-"

"We can't get that tower up and running by ourselves. The Lucans have a sphere tech, right?"

"They should, but-"

He grinned at the demolished street. "Let's go get him, then."

Jazo worked the bolt of the Al-Bhed rifle and ejected a shell, sending it to the pavement beside his seated form. His breathing stopped as he slid the bolt forward again. He pivoted the rifle on the windowsill, paused a moment, then squeezed the trigger. The massive report supplanted the sounds of battle for a moment. Jazo winced, wiped a trickle of blood from a crescent-shaped bruise under his eye, and swore.

"You're a damn natural, Private."

He opened another pouch on the bandoleer draped across his legs; his fingers struggled with the fastener for the briefest of moments. "Thank you, sir."

Gatta laughed. "Between you and Biggs, the Al-Bhed haven't moved a yard."

Jazo ejected another shell. "Any word from the Lieutenant?"

"None," he said. "Sounds like we're on our own for now. How are we for ammo?"

"Good, sir. That sentry had plenty for his rifle."

"His friends did too," Biggs called out, climbing up the battered staircase. He stopped to steady a pair of bandoleers looped over his shoulders. "Found some more mags downstairs, in case shit starts flying. Damn guns chew through these things like they're going out of style."

"How generous of the Al-Bhed to loan us their supplies."

Jazo let out a ragged sigh and chambered a round. "Yes, sir." He fired again, and with a shaking hand, wiped another trickle of blood from the ever-worsening bruise below his eye.

Biggs grunted as he sat down beside what could have been a couch at one time. He draped the bandoleers over a nearby concrete fragment, set his carbine beside them, and undid the knot on one of his boots.

"Kid's over his fit, then?" Gatta knelt beside him, carbine slung over one shoulder.

"Seems like it," Biggs muttered. "Yevon knows we'd both be dead if he kept freezing up. Guess he just had to pop a few heads."

"Can't think of a better remedy for fear. Can you?"

Biggs grinned and re-tied his boot. "No, sir. Let's just hope that shaking goes away before we really needsome cover fire."

Battling the urge to drive his head through the nearest concrete surface, he stalked out of the Lucan headquarters and through the schoolyard once more. Felix DiMarco hated a number of things – reporters, his ex-wife, laziness – but nothing topped his loathing of stupidity. He swore and kicked a chunk of melted plastic into the wall. It seemed like everyone with rank would rather watch Luca burn to the ground than risk a few lives to take the comm station. Felix yearned desperately for a cigarette and a beer, or at least free rein to start smashing some teeth.

Wedge stepped away from the rows of swords and bodies with an expression of amusement. "It didn't work, did it."

"Hope he gets his dick caught in a-"

"Careful."

Felix grunted. "So while I was getting cockblocked, did you accomplish anything?"

Wedge produced a handgun from his thigh pocket and held it out. "Take it," he said.

Felix accepted the proffered weapon. Its blued finish and rosewood grips seemed more at home in a bedside table or underwear drawer than in the middle of an urban battlefield. Beggars couldn't be choosers, though, no matter how much he missed his Kimber. "Got any more mags?"

"None."

"Goddamn it," he growled. "Does nobody in this fucking city have ammo?"

"No," Wedge snapped, "since we're the only Crusader unit using machina."

"We're the only smart unit, then."

"We still kicked some ass."

"Not gonna be doing much ass kicking if we can't get shit done." He toyed with the pistol's hammer. "And the Lucans are proving about as useful as a set of balls growing out of my ear."

"'If at first you don't succeed, hit it with flare.'"

"As much as I'd like to reduce this shithole to some ash and embers, that ain't gonna fly." Felix tucked the pistol into a pouch on his vest. "I think it's time I paid a visit to a certain sphere techie."

"Oh?"

"Yeah," he said, grinning. "Special Forces 101: 'If at first you don't succeed, break the game.'"

He strode to the end of the catwalk, high above the war-torn streets below. The buffeting wind seemed to have no effect on his robed form as the man lowered his head behind a high, gray collar. One hand grazed a ceramic jug hanging at his side, suspended by a cord of painted beads. His other arm rested inside his crimson robe; its vacant sleeve flapped against his armored chest. The man reached upward and removed a pair of dark sunglasses. A single russet eye, its counterpart closed by a vertical scar, focused on an indeterminable spot beneath the tower.

"Hmph."

With another gust of wind, he disappeared.

A/N: Well, like I said, RL has been hell lately. I can try and cut down on the wait for this next chapter – especially since the ol' writing juices are flowing again – but please don't quote me on that. Remember – Just Causes is NOT dead, and I will see it through to its ultimate conclusion. I hope you will as well!

Also, just to clarify: plot twists/elements in Just Causes will usually not be explained/resolved in the same chapter they're introduced. Just thought I'd put that out here to ward off any reviews addressing unexplained or unexpected actions in the story. I do have a definite plot I am working with that has been permanently set for about five chapters, so rest assured I am not randomly changing things.

Thank you - Management