Cid jogged along in the shadows. He had moved back from the reactors, into the surrounding buildings, in an attempt to find the weak point in ShinRa's defenses. He turned right down a dimly lit one-way street. He brought his arm up to check the timepiece strapped to his wrist. 2:35. Cid cursed silently to himself. The pointless fight with that black-haired Turk had left AVALANCHE running almost half an hour behind schedule.

As if his thoughts had conjured it, Cid's foot kicked something and sent it skidding into the brick wall beside him. He knelt in the mud and picked up the object: a featureless black cell phone. Featureless except for the bright red streak on the back. Cid was trying to figure out why this was giving him such a bad feeling when the phone vibrated in his hand.

x-x-x

Elena paced in circles around Tseng, muttering to herself. Abruptly, she halted and snapped her phone shut. "Vincent's not answering," she grumbled. "And that means that he's either somewhere his phone is not, or he's doing something that he doesn't want me to find out about."

Tseng raised an eyebrow.

"Oh, fine!" Elena huffed. "Stand there and be the stoic guardian. I want to know what's going on!" She flipped open her phone again and began stabbing at the buttons. "I'm calling him once more! Once more, before I personally stuff a bazillion tons of mako down his throat! He's a Turk, and that means he's got to do his job! I refuse to do it for him!"

Tseng pointed at the phone and cleared his throat. "It would seem to me that you are succeeding brilliantly at that already."

He found it prudent to hurry back to his own station immediately.

x-x-x

Vincent returned to consciousness strapped to a metal laboratory bench. The nylon bindings cut into his skin, leaving itchy red marks when he tried to wiggle into a more comfortable position. Failing, he let his arms drop down to the table; he was startled when one of them hit the cold surface with a muted clank.

Vincent lifted his head and stared down his bare chest. Laying there beside him, where his arm should have been, was a golden metal monstrosity. It flexed when his fingers flexed, and moved when his arm moved. Vincent clenched his jaw, locking a scream behind his teeth. Slowly, he lifted his head even farther off the table. Two more metal appendages had replaced his legs.

The crimson eyes narrowed until they were mere slits. Vincent made a fist of his claw and pulled it straight up. The strap snapped with no more effort than if it had been a rubber band. With one arm free, he extended a golden finger and awkwardly picked at the latch on the opposite restraint. The clasp popped free, and Vincent sat up. He pulled his legs out from under their bindings.

With a great clattering, Vincent swung off the table, black hair falling across his face and golden limbs glinting in the harsh light. A single step placed him at a battered grey storage locker. He reached out his claw and tore the door off its hinges. Inside sat a lone vial, nearly emptied of its milky green liquid, and an injector.

Vincent spun on his heel and began yanking open the drawers of filing cabinets. Plunging his flesh hand deep inside, he pulled out a sheaf of papers. Sitting on the top was a manila folder with his name scrawled in black ink. Beneath it was a glaring red stamp: "Specimen Deceased". Vincent flipped back the cover and scanned the next sheet.

Metal limb replacement a success. Specimen's reaction rather unexpected. What have I done wrong? Further research may indicate…

Vincent skipped to the bottom of the page. Scribbled at the bottom was a hasty note.

Attempt to render subject immortal a failure. Subject died on laboratory bench a short time later. Will commence further studies after autopsy.

The signature at the bottom read "Hojo."

Vincent closed the folder, looked at the name on the top. It was certainly his. Specimen deceased? And then he remembered the empty vial in the locker. He turned about and gently lifted the glass container from its shelf. Upon closer inspection, it was exactly what he expected it to be: liquid Lifestream. Someone had injected him with liquid Lifestream to bring him back from the dead. The crimson eyes filled with angry tears that refused to spill.

A short time later, all that was left to show that he had ever been there was a folder of flaming papers on the floor, slowly being charred into ash.