CHAPTER FORTY
There was no playground. This was the nightmare now – simply breathing was the nightmare. Mother had come, she had commandeered Roxas – and now he was lost. There was barely anything left of him, just mother's voice within his skull, her shadow within his. Their steps took them over rough ground, away from the road. It wouldn't do to follow such a clear path like that, mother knew they would be easily discovered. The earth here was mossy and rocky, steep in places. They found themselves using Roxas' father's keyblade as a slicing implement, covering the red human blood staining the blunt side with young amber tree blood on the teeth as they pushed their way through the foliage. Mother cared little for either type, so long as it meant their progress wasn't slowed any more than necessary. The seed that Roxas had been reduced to within his own skull howled in a distracting manner, but it wasn't conscious. For the most part, Roxas and Jenova melded together co-operatively. Their feet moved steadily, picking their way through the mountains, heading ever downward.
In one of her final lucid moments, mother had attempted to show Roxas to the place she knew he would need to go in order to retrieve her. He had battled that, though, fallen victim to the illness the bad boy for so long had been poisoning her with. It had spread from her to him in the remaining twisted programming that remained as a direct result of the interference. It was ironic, she sensed, that the only reason she had a chance of salvation at all was through the mutation of those few lingering cells of biological technology that could not be competently purged due to core efficiency being lowered.
As a result of that brief dream, both Roxas and the ghost of mother that clung to him knew that the location she was being abducted to was well within the city. However, since she had been removed from her place of power, no further information could be exchanged between them. Roxas and mother would have to use that which had been supplied and extrapolate from there. Roxas, being the less knowledgeable of the two, was forced to resign more control to her than was perhaps sensible for either of them, but Jenova had to be found. The information she had been bleeding to Tron would not be enough for the good children to extract a suitable conclusion from in time to prevent the bad boy from disabling Twilight Town forever.
It was some hours later that they finally reached the last ridge, Hollow Bastion almost close enough to touch from here. The Bailey entrance was far from this point of access, there was low chance of discovery by pertinent personalities.
Roxas' flesh was covered in nicks and bruises, blood streaking some sections of his unprotected arms. His clothing was heavily torn in places, stretched out of shape and damp with sweat. There was a section that noticed Roxas' pain, but he was coping well enough for them to easily continue. They clambered down the steep embankment, slipping every now and then, but Jenova knew enough to discern that any injuries Roxas had received were not in any way overly hindering. Though sometimes the keyblade was used for support, generally the efficiency of Roxas' physical body was running at a reasonable seventy-eight or so percent.
They entered the city cautiously. To remain unseen was a simple feat – they had arrived close to the devastation of the war, the crumbling, broken-down monuments empty of most but animal life. The destination in mother's mind was close to here, a base to begin from. Their path took them through several of the old, cracked streets. The time estimated to have elapsed by now was roughly four hours in total, from the moment that Roxas had capitulated. This made it close to half-past four in the morning. It would not be long before Hollow Bastion began to wake.
Roxas and mother paused at the edge of the playground, the beginning of their search, both reluctant to enter, as though to do so would snap the invisible walls back in place behind them. He eyed it uncertainly. "No longer sacred," he mumbled, edging away. Then he sighed, head shaking briefly. "Foolishness. Mother must be found." He glanced around, started off down the road, following the way they had taken last time, before the dreamscape had been consumed through disease and necessity. Roxas recognised the surroundings, mother remembering vague flutters of thought processes that had occurred at the time. It was frustrating to be cut off from the core this way, to know that she was so close, all the children were, but so far out of reach.
The further into Hollow Bastion they got, the more familiar things seemed. Roxas felt directions flicking through his mind. This way. Mother had realised where they were heading. Logic dictated it as the only sensible location in the area for the thieves. Streetlights came into view, illuminating the way, the city brightening with their glare. The figure of the tousle-haired blond shifted quickly along the footpath, with area-knowledge he wouldn't ordinarily have possessed. He had the keyblade cradled in his arms, eyes switching between darting about, suspicious of the shadows, and simply staring with a dull glaze. His steps scuffed and stumbled, muscles quickly losing their strength.
Roxas must hurry. When the sun comes, the core goes. All of the children will be lost. Mother will be lost.
"I know," he breathed, eyes blinking slowly. "I know, mom."
The lights grew brighter. In a couple more hours, this area would no doubt be filled with traffic, human and vehicular, but at this point, the roads were deserted.
This is the place.
Roxas drew to a stop. They were on the opposite end of town to where they'd started off. This was absolute edge of Hollow Bastion – beyond the buildings here, a sheer drop into a valley, before the next rise of mountain. He didn't recognise the purpose of this place, but Jenova did. They will fly from here. You must retrieve the core before they are able to leave.
The main doors to the building were locked tight. Roxas spent five minutes rattling and shaking them, ignored by the darkness within. The urge burst through him to simply shatter the glass with the keyblade, but mother stamped down on the action, cut his limbs short before they could follow through on the thought. Whatever control Roxas had slowly been reeling back was snatched away, Jenova hooking through once again to take the majority. They stepped back, calm again, looking left, right. There was a long, high fence to one side of the broad building. They nodded. "That is the way to go. We feel the children in the darkness." They started walking, elegant, drifting steps, distinctly feminine. "Mother senses her children." They reached the fence, sturdy chain-link, lined with ravels of barbed wire, warning signs plastered every several feet, all of which were dispassionately observed, then ignored as the boy's blue eyes rose up to observe the cutting coils. "Roxas will be hurt," he mused. "But only to thirty-percent of his body, if we are careful. There is a chance he will not need medical attention." A finger was outstretched, wrapping around a length of the icy-cold, stiff wire of the links. "Too durable for cutting. We will climb." He tipped his head back. "Up." The keyblade was flipped over one shoulder, fingers hooking through the links in a broad, messy circle, one toe inserting into one of the many small gaps, and Roxas began to clamber. It took longer than it should have, due to the keyblade, but they simply couldn't afford to let it go. In this case, current heightened efficiency would end up, in later stages, creating difficulties that were unsurpassable. They must be able to defend themselves, and if necessary, take the core by force. This was their only chance – Roxas was the only line of defence. If he failed, the core would be irretrievably lost. Mother knew this. She had seen it.
The sound of metal clinking on metal filled the air, the fluid sound of motion travelling through the thousands of links, jerking with every ascended foot that Roxas and mother hauled themselves up. It was only a few short minutes of sweating before they reached the apex, the curled barbs only an inch from Roxas' knuckles. He leaned back as far as his damaged body would allow, both of them ignoring the blatant stabbing from within the torso region. Gathering the strength of his muscles, Roxas wound up, threw the keyblade in a high arc. It almost didn't make it – too much vertical, not enough horizontal, an acknowledged risk considering how close they had taken themselves to the blocking coils. But it had been too high to achieve from the ground, and so they had to simply calculate and estimate that it would be sufficient. Fortunately, as the blade fell, it hit the far side of the wire, flipped sideways, and clattered noisily to the tarmac on the other side.
Nodding in satisfaction, Roxas' hands, both free now, easier because of it, reached up and wrapped around the piercing hooks of wire. When they dragged his body up, his palms were stabbed deeply, blood running freely down his wrists within moments. Tears sprang involuntarily to the blue eyes, mother noting it all with vague amounts of interest, while Roxas retreated into the harbour of her indifference, allowing her to perform the least time-consuming ascent without distraction. The blood-flow thickened, the meat torn apart, shoulders catching, material briefly snaring and then, with an impatient jerk, ripping away. One foot found the bar of the fence, steady ground for once. The denim of his jeans was clawed as she attempted to pull the other leg to follow. One miscalculated wrench, and Roxas was falling, ramming to a halt bare seconds later, the shock followed by a piercing scream. It took several moments for either of them to make sense of why the world was upside down. When realisation came, Roxas couldn't help but let out a deep-throated moan. They were dangling seven feet above the cement held only by the barbs that had tangled through into his thigh. In among the tingling that denoted hideous pain to come, there was a new spread of warmth. More of his blood was being spilled this night than either of them had ever experienced. Mother felt concern, knowing her son to be injured. She started to move, was halted by him, the sharp motion making them jolt, the barbs ripping that little bit more through his flesh. Tears streamed down toward earth, across his eyebrows, into his hair. Small whimpers escaped his lips, teeth grating together, face scrunching up. Very nearly, in that moment, Roxas took back control. Self-preservation was screaming, and mother found herself struggling against it. She whispered soothingly to him, Roxas must be calm. Mother will ensure success. Darling son, let mother make it better.
A sharp breath was inhaled, and Jenova was back in control, stomach muscles working, piercing pain from his ribs as she pulled his upper body around and reached up, slipping fingers through links, getting a firm grip. Panic bolted through Roxas, made him cry out, "No, wait!"
She tore them free, leaving strips of skin on the barbs, blood blossoming rapidly along his jeans, dampening them, making the material cling to his skin. The salty smell billowed up and out, sickening, laced with metal and a faint sweetness. There was no scream this time, from Roxas. Just numb silence. He retreated further still, frightened to remain too close to the surface, where the burning resided, where it clawed and snarled and ripped with teeth and talons, ready to send him into a dead faint. Left solely in control, mother lowered them to the ground, pausing for a moment to assess the damage. It was bad, there was little room for doubt about that. But the limb was still working, Roxas' heart-rate sharply elevated but not yet into a dangerous zone. There was sweat popping out all across his body, despite the sudden chill that seized it as the blood rushed away from the skin to better nourish the lungs and brain. She could still work with this.
She limped over to the keyblade, reached down with blood-slick hands and picked it up, ignoring the jolts of pain through the nerve-endings in his palms as the ragged flesh tightened around the steel. They turned, eyes sweeping the new landscape. There was a large hangar nearby, where the majority of airships were stored between flying hours. The one she knew the bad boy to be within belonged to private owners. That hangar was smaller, better guarded on the outside, but once inside, they would have little trouble.
Roxas' shoes slapped wetly across the pavement, a trail of red prints left in their wake as she hurried them cautiously to where the faint throb of power exuded from the core. The closer they got, the more powerful it resonated within them. The leftover programming within Roxas felt home closer than ever. For too long, the bad boy's disease had confused this section of Roxas. It had been designed to separate the core from Twilight Town with subtlety, so as not to alert the good children to his intentions – this had resulted in the programming, at Roxas' first reuniting, to act upon that impulse with the sort of enthusiasm only the young can possess, attempting to open the core's trapping walls and free it. But that was over now – mother had been stolen, the virus no longer had a target. The remainder of Jenova within him was clearer-thinking, even if cut off from her main stream of consciousness. She felt it near, though. Soon, there would no longer be the separation.
Roxas' steps stumbled briefly, frustrating weakness. Jenova paused, threads delving deeper into him, tightening. They resumed movement, smooth again. Roxas was a shadow at the back of his mind. Mother took them skittering around the dark edges of the lot, keeping the buildings in view, ears sharp for sounds of discovery, of threat. Their eyes caught sight of motion, too far away to be hazardous at this point, but rapid relocation would be required if they continued to linger out here. The hangar was closer now, the pulse of life that echoed weakly around the disconnected core singing to them both. Roxas' programming felt the tug of the tide, the urge to become one with itself again, just as it should have the first time he came in contact with it after his removal from Twilight Town. It was an agitated sensation, ready to become frenzied if given the opportunity.
"Okay, Roxie, now whatever happens, just remember that you're here now, okay? Twilight Town is just a program."
"I think I'm pretty aware of that now, Axel. I'm not going to try and crawl through the screen."
"Don't laugh. It's been attempted."
"…What, really?"
Roxas approached the engineers' entrance to the hangar, down towards the back of the building, a small light burning above it, red. Mother's cells swirled, assessing the technology keeping the door locked. There was a keypad, the correct code necessary, with a chance of security being alerted if the sequence was incorrect… There was danger here of discovery. Roxas' hand lowered, hesitated, finger extending to slowly press down, one button after another. A minute shock zapped his finger with each depression, making his eyelashes flutter, his teeth clench unconsciously together. In this corporeal version of reality, Jenova had little power over her surroundings, not when compared to the vastness of an entire town, thousands of children to be nurtured according to their parents' personalities… but she still was able to manipulate to a slight degree. The code was utterly incorrect. The chances of either she or Roxas randomly generating the right sequence was almost infinite in its impossibility, but each tiny pulse from their finger destroyed a small amount of the technology each time, until there was too little to recall its purpose. The light went green, red, white, red, then green again, and flickered for a moment. They opened the door and stepped through before it decided on a whim to lock. Planning to use the same exit when leaving, they left it ajar slightly, so that in its confused, mindless state it wouldn't jam and seal them within.
Roxas and mother were inside the hangar. Halogen tubes threw out weak puddles of light in places, black pooling everywhere else. In here, there was little risk of discovery. Nobody was about, the few gathered, privately-owned airships dim and unoccupied. They moved quickly across the ground, the saturation on Roxas' thigh growing cold, shining even in the low-level illumination. The stench followed them. Their grip on the keyblade was growing firmer as the blood-flow congealed with the minutes, becoming sticky, no longer hot and slick. Roxas' heart-rate was fluttering, but effective. No doubt shock was affecting him. The chemical clash between the adrenaline and endorphins would keep him going for a while yet.
Now that they were here, they could hear the core, the silence in her voice louder than their own steps. They jogged over to the source, a small airship with the word Strahl painted across its hull. Roxas paused, eyes narrowing, keyblade lowering slightly. The door was too high to reach without elevation of some sort. They reached out, pressing a hand to the ship, the steel cold. "We wish you would open for us," Roxas said, frustrated. "You hold our whole within you, foolish transportation." They drew back, leaving a stark red print against the grey. The keyblade rose, poking the hull ineffectively, letting out a dull ringing sound that echoed and reverberated through the large space of the hangar. Much to their surprise, a light flashed out of the cockpit window. Roxas ducked back into the shadows curiously, eyes fixed upon the small circle of yellow that peered sightlessly out. It was a hand-torch. It had evidently been directed elsewhere, but the noise had startled its owner into attempting to see the exterior of the ship. Roxas hunkered under the belly of the ship, processing this. The bad boy was within the transportation, then. Keeping mother safe until dawn.
The keyblade was suddenly heavy in their hands, the idea occurring calmly. Roxas' muscles bunched, and a moment later, the blade was driven up into the ship with an almighty clang. It scarcely even scratched the metal, but no doubt the noise was even more pronounced within the ship than it had been in this echoing space. There was a burst of activity from above, footsteps, voices. Lights were switched on within the vehicle. Neither Roxas nor mother were certain how many people were within. A minute later, the unreachable door opened, a set of stairs descending mechanically. Roxas shifted around to the back of the ship, slightly more out of sight, as two people exited the transportation.
"Who's there?" A male voice, recognised by Roxas, though not mother.
"Show yourself!" Female, unusual accent, not familiar to either. Now was the time to act, before they were able to gather their wits in time to perform a search and subsequent attack. Roxas walked boldly out, keyblade held low, swung up and smashed the weapon into the side of the man's leg. A howl of pain, a shouted curse, an elbow whipping around faster than anticipated to crack into Roxas' face, sending him crashing to the floor before mother could seize enough control to keep him upright. The keyblade clattered out of their hand, out of reach, some stunned section of each of them unable to recover in a sufficient amount of time to continue the assault. Either way, it would be futile, they realised. The man and woman approached, he holding a shotgun, she a bow with arrow poised and ready to release. Her appearance was unusual to them both – high rabbit's ears on a human? This was met with blankness. The man was little more than limping – mother had overestimated the remaining strength in Roxas' arms. The shotgun wielder's gaze narrowed with recognition.
"Vaan. Vaan! Get out here, now!"
And there was the bad boy. Roxas' eyes fell upon him, becoming slits, lips peeling back from teeth in a hissing, silent snarl. "You."
He was descending the steps, determination and irritation becoming bewilderment. He faltered, eyes widening. "…Roxas?"
"Where's – mother?" they demanded in answer, features contorted in rage. "Give us mother!"
"What in the blazes is he doing here?" Balthier demanded savagely, the gun-barrel bare inches from the temptation of simply jamming it into the bloodied blond's face. Vaan blinked in confusion, and the man uttered a vicious curse. "Get him aboard. Now, Vaan!"
The teen jumped to the ground, the sword he'd carried out discarded beside the steps. He approached Roxas, incredulity mixing with horror as the boy's appearance was fully appreciated. "Holy shit, Roxas," he breathed. "What – what happened to you?" He bent to grab the blond's arms, and suffered a kick to his stomach as reward.
"The bad boy will not touch us," he yelled, fury lacing every inch of his expression.
"Vaan, do not make me tell you again," Balthier growled, pausing at the base of the steps. The teen was doubled over, gasping for air. "Get him inside."
"No!" Roxas shouted, thrashing as a wincing Vaan made a second attempt. "Mother will not let the bad boy sicken us further! Do not touch us!"
"For the love of – " Balthier stomped back towards them, shoving the gun into the white-blond's arms. "Please, try not to shoot your foot in the next two minutes," he snapped. He leaned down, gathered Roxas' struggling figure and threw it deftly over one shoulder. He turned on the spot and marched back to the ship, ascending the stairs behind Fran, Vaan following with a scowl, retrieving his sword.
Roxas was thrown onto the floor, kicked to the side as a button was pressed to recall the stairs and seal the door shut once again. Balthier snatched the shotgun from Vaan, loaded it sharply, and pointed it down into the boy's filthy face. "Alright, I'm giving you to count of three to tell me how you found us. If your answer is in any way unsatisfactory, the darling Strahl will be due for an interior clean because of the splatters on the walls."
"Mother doesn't recognise you," Roxas said defiantly. "She will not speak to you, and nor will Roxas! We keep our silence until the core is recovered!"
"That's one."
"How did you follow us here?" the woman demanded stridently, tossing her head.
"We desire the core, now! You cannot keep mother from her children!"
"And two," Balthier warned, aiming more accurately.
"Wait!" Vaan placed a hand on the barrel, earning an irritated look. He gazed piercingly at Roxas, brow furrowed. "Why do you keep going on about 'mother'? That's the thing you were crying about that one time when you were…" His features slackened. "Roxas – are you sleep-walking?"
"Roxas isn't sleeping," he replied imperiously. "Roxas has accepted mother. He had no choice! And now, we have come for the core. Mother's children must be restored!"
"Who is mother?" Vaan asked suspiciously.
"Mother is here," Roxas snapped, reaching up to tap his head. "Mother is within the core. We must be reunited. You have no right to separate us thus!"
Vaan's expression pinched, mind working fast. His eyes skated down Roxas' body, taking in the many tears, the horrific bloodstain on his leg, the general broken-down appearance. "Roxas, aren't you in pain?" he asked. "Aren't you worried about your injuries?"
"Roxas doesn't feel it," he replied shortly. "He remains towards the back, where he cannot be harmed by the body's reactions to the damage. It isn't so bad – he is still functioning to a satisfactory degree."
"Does anybody mind telling me what's going on?" Balthier asked, an eyebrow rising at Vaan. "Pray tell, Vaan, why is this boy spouting such utter nonsense and bleeding over the Strahl?" He adopted a falsetto, suddenly prancing around the room, shotgun waving from side to side as he trilled, "Oh, he won't stop us, Balthier, silly! He'll just set off all the fucking alarms, thereby making months of effort wasted, and trail us back to our ship uttering gibberish!" Fran smirked, while Vaan glared. "And now," the man said, reverting to his deeper tone, setting the gun down like a walking stick and leaning on it, hip canting to the side, "there's a very good chance that the entire castle is on its way here."
Vaan narrowed his eyes, gaze switching back down to the rebellious scowl on Roxas' face. "I don't know…" He tipped his head. "Hey, Roxas? Where's Axel? If you're here, he must be, too, right?"
"The good boy would have stopped us if he had followed," Roxas replied, a sudden neutrality entering his tone. "Roxas' love had to incapacitated."
Vaan stilled slightly. "Incapacitated," he echoed slowly. "How do you mean?"
"Roxas' father's keyblades were always better bludgeons than – "
"Holy fuck, you killed him?" The teen was on his knees, grabbing Roxas by the shoulders, shaking him violently. "What did you do, Roxas?"
"I didn't do it," he howled suddenly, for an instant becoming rigid, eyes screaming for help. Shocked, Vaan let him go. A bare moment later, the horror drained from the blond's eyes, replaced again by the calmness. "Mother did it," he said quietly. "Because it was necessary. You poisoned her, and stole her away, and now we have come to reclaim her."
"The boy is mad," Fran commented, eyes narrowed with distaste.
"Stark. Fucking. Loony," Balthier agreed.
"I don't – I don't think he is," Vaan said uncertainly.
"Then your definition of 'sanity' needs revising." Balthier eyed the figure on the floor. "We need to get going. We can't wait any longer. Others could be on their way." He turned to leave the cabin, heading for the cockpit. Vaan hooked his arm.
"What? Wait, we can't, you know we can't. That's the fastest way we'll get caught!"
"I agree," Fran said, shifting slightly on her stilettos, eyes flicking down to Roxas. "If we try to escape, the air authorities will pounce." She addressed Roxas: "You, castle boy – how many others know we are here?"
"Roxas and mother are the only ones," he replied sharply. "Others would only tell us to wait if we desired to come straight to the core. We had to hunt our memories to find you, but find you we did. Mother knew this would happen." His eyes cut burningly to Vaan. "She knew you would poison her, from the moment you arrived. All gathered data directed her to realise that there was the possibility of you becoming a bad boy. But you acted before she knew you would. She predicted inaccurately…"
"Wait – wait a minute…" Vaan held a hand out to Balthier, gesturing to stay for now. The man sighed, slumped against the wall, watching with pursed lips as the white-blond teen returned to where Roxas lay. The boy's blue eyes narrowed the closer he came. As Vaan knelt, Roxas pulled himself out of reach. "So… Roxas… who's mother, again?" he asked hesitantly, studying the boy with uncertainty.
"You know who mother is," the blond replied grumpily. Vaan paused, propping an elbow on his knee, covering his mouth with one hand as he gazed into the distance.
"You know… not long before I left – I mean, just a couple nights ago – I found something in the system. A pocket of data that had isolated itself as an anomalous result of the virus…" He returned his attention to Roxas with a frown. "Tell me," he said between his fingers, "do you know what the virus was made to do?"
"You separated the core from Twilight Town," Roxas answered impatiently. "So that it would undetectable. You sickened us for months, made the programming stick in Roxas' brain. This is why you're a bad boy."
"Then – when I found that image of you sitting in that old playground… and you were acting like a child… what was that?"
Roxas dropped his eyes angrily. "You even stole the playground from us," he muttered. "It was our one safe place from you, and you even reached us there."
"Jenova," Vaan said wonderingly. "Jenova's in there with you, isn't she? That's why you're not reacting to the injuries – she doesn't know what pain is."
"Mother knows what pain is, foolish boy," Roxas snapped. Vaan shook his head.
"She doesn't. She knows what it looks like – she knows when someone is in pain, and that it's a bad thing, but… this is why Roxas is – is hiding. Isn't it?" His gaze was shrewd. "Is that it? Is it her in with you, Roxas, or you in with her? You don't seem like yourself."
"Are you telling me," Balthier said tiredly from the sidelines, rubbing the corners of his eyes, "that that boy is possessed by the computer?"
"His programming… stuck, you said…" Vaan eyed her. "So it didn't burn away. That's why all this is happening to him – the sleep-walking, all that…" He shook his head, expression hardening. "You do know you're not a real mother, right Jenova? You're a program. Even right now, you're just leftover particles of the system that should've died weeks ago." He stood, as Roxas hissed.
"Mother is a mother. She might not have given her children life, but she raised them, she kept them alive."
"It was your purpose," he said bluntly. "It's what DiZ made you to do. He's the one that saved them, him and all the others, and me, for that matter. We're the reason you're still around. We're the reason you have any measure of sentience. Machines can't be mothers." He watched the teen for a moment, thoughtful, foot tapping. "I think… we need to keep a hold on Roxas," he said at last, voice travelling softly throughout the cabin. The statement was met with surprise.
"For what reason?" Balthier asked, with mild interest.
"The programming still left in him. First, it could end up leading him back to us, wherever we go. I don't know how, but if he found us once, he might just – keep doing it, right? It's pretty obvious he's not in control right now."
"Duly noted," the man nodded briefly. "Second reason? Keeping in mind the Strahl's load and weight limits, and the problematic issues of kidnapping."
Vaan hesitated. "We might be able to use him to interface with the core more effectively. And – whatever programming is left in him, we might be able to duplicate. Right now, Roxas is the only Twilight child in existence with his raw organic programming intact. If we could somehow take a sample, find a way to insert it into ourselves, we might be able to interface with Jenova mentally like they are now."
Fran sniffed, looking down at Roxas unsurely. "Are you sure we would want to? This mother character has turned him into a broken toy."
Vaan shook his head. "I'm sure we could figure out ways to control her. She's more a consciousness than I realised, at least when she's within him…" He met each of their gazes in turn, solemnly. "I mean, I'm not keen on becoming a kidnapper, but this could be our only opportunity."
"I forbid it," Roxas said coldly. "Mother will not be used. Roxas will return home to his love, and Twilight Town will be restored, along with all her children."
"Oh, really? You think you'll ever get it back in this state?" he asked dryly, gesturing to the boy's injuries. "Do some basic scans, Jenova, if it's possible – Roxas won't last much longer if you leave him like this. Then you'll have killed him – your own son."
Roxas glared. "Roxas' body is physically capable," he replied haughtily. "My son is stronger than you know."
"My son, now, is it? Not 'mother's' son? Is Roxas even still in there?"
He glared. "He is. He asks that you do not separate him from his love. It makes him cry in the darker sections of his mind, where he hides."
Vaan faltered, staring for a long moment. He glanced over at Balthier, who inclined his head faintly. The white-blond teen swallowed. "…I'm sorry, Roxas," he said softly. "But – this is how it has to be."
"He is real, you know," he said sharply, eyes hard on the other male. "You pretend he matters less because he lived with mother, but you forget that he once had a birth mother from your reality. She gave him life here. He is not some flight of fancy dreamed up by the master's mind."
"You're trying the wrong manipulation tactic," Vaan said flatly. "My mind is made up. Roxas is coming with us."
He flared, struggling to rise. "You think you can keep us?" Balthier came over and casually planted a foot hard onto the blood-saturated thigh, crushing down. A breathy scream burst from Roxas' lungs. He flopped back down, suddenly weaker.
"You see, dear lady," the man said smoothly, "perhaps you are unaware of pain, as yet, but as long as you're in that body, we can discover ways and means of making you understand. You are both coming with us."
Fran snorted. "You realise he is mad, do you not? No matter your talk of programs within humans, the boy is insane. He believes himself to be two separate people."
"Hmph. And I suppose it would be us you'd have injected with this biological program?" Balthier asked Vaan sceptically. The teen rolled his eyes.
"I told you, we could control it. We'd make sure we knew what we were doing. Imagine the possibilities! If we sold the core to Zanarkand, we'd be able to see and manipulate everything they're doing with it." He raised an eyebrow, smirking and folding his arms at Balthier's suddenly intrigued expression.
"I… like that thought," the man admitted, blinking rapidly. He nodded once. "Done. He's coming with us." He smiled broadly at Roxas. "Welcome aboard the Strahl, Roxas, Jenova. I'm sure your stay with us will be simply charming."
"No," the blond moaned. "Please, you cannot do this to us! We must return the core to the castle, or Twilight Town will be lost."
"Tough biscuits, old girl." He turned to the others. "Make sure we're ready to leave the instant the airways free up. And do keep an eye out for others from the castle, yes? It wouldn't do to have the boy taken from us, if he really is going to be as valuable as all that."
"Please don't separate Roxas from his love," Roxas said quietly, attracting their attention for a brief moment. Uncertainty shimmered in his eyes. "Please. His crying has increased. I do not like to hear it."
"See?" Balthier said dryly after a beat of silence. "You're already beginning to understand the concept of pain. I knew it wouldn't take long. You are clever."
Blue eyes shut briefly. "The bad boy is a terrible betrayer of his people," he said tightly. "This is the thought running through Roxas' mind." They flashed open to glare at Vaan. "A terrible betrayer." He sighed a moment later. "At least show us the core. We would like to know that mother is safe. We understand that with Roxas' physical hindrances and your possession of weapons capable of long-range attack, we have no hope of escaping at this point in time. But – we would like to see that the core is unharmed. An affirmation of our efforts."
Balthier hesitated, shrugged, unzipped the pouch at his waist and brought out the padded velvet ring container. He eased the lid up, holding the core in place with one finger as he tipped it up for Roxas to see, brassy-coloured alloy flashing in the harsh light. "Happy now?"
There was a deafening crash against the side of the ship, like a gong being hammered, vibrating through the cabin, loud as a gunshot. Balthier jumped, nearly dropped the core, snapped the case shut and tucked it away again. "What the hell is it this time?"
He went over to the door, shotgun out and ready, pressed the button for it to open, staircase descending. He turned, stabbed a finger at Vaan. "You, keep that boy down. He does not escape."
Fran picked up her bow and arrow, sighing in annoyance. "Things were quieter before he came along," she grumbled. Balthier gripped his gun tightly and started to exit out into the darkness of the hangar, a breath of dry air sweeping in, smelling of dust and oil.
Then came a cry, strangled, a choked off scream, and he was shoved back, staggering. He hit Fran, nearly taking her down as he collapsed. Wide-eyed, she notched an arrow, swinging around to shoot. The bow was snatched from her hands, the hilt of a sword coming up, cracking across her face with splintering force. She seemed to pirouette almost gracefully, before crumpling to the ship's metal deck in a pool of blood. It mingled quickly with Balthier's, the man's leather breastplate split through its middle from where the long blade had pierced and been wrenched. Vaan froze, staring with round eyes at the silver-haired intruder who turned to him with a satisfied smirk, black leather creaking, gloves shining with the blood of his companions, green irises hypnotic. "Hello, little boy," the man said happily. "I was wondering if Roxas could come out to play."
Vaan's lips parted, face pale. "You're – the guy." He shifted slightly, blocking the blond off almost subconsciously. "You're the guy that attacked them – aren't you? At the castle? The one who – who thinks he's Sephiroth."
A snarl, a blur of motion, Vaan went flying back against the wall, head cracking loudly against it. "I am Sephiroth, you disgraceful little shit. I am him, and Roxas is mine."
He glanced down sharply at Roxas, the boy wide-eyed and breathless, fearful. He smiled. "Hello, again, little war-orphan."
"You are not part of mother's predictions," he gasped. "Mother doesn't know what to do."
"That's okay," he cooed in response, crouching down to run a hand gently along the boy's jaw. "You don't even have a mother anymore. You can have me, instead."
"I want the core," he said stubbornly. "The bad boy took it."
The man tilted his head, lips pursing. "Who's the bad boy?"
"Him." He pointed. Green eyes flicked up, narrowing.
"Is he the one that hurt you like this, Roxas?" He stood slowly. "Nobody is allowed to hurt you but me. And even then…" He flashed a brilliant smile down at the boy. "I only do it because I love you."
Roxas hesitated, a spark of hope appearing. "Roxas is your love? Even though Roxas already has a love?"
He laughed richly. "You are acting very strangely, little war-orphan. But so much more receptive. Yes, yes, fine, Roxas is my love."
"Then – would you get the core to make Roxas and his mother happy?"
The man's eyes crinkled at the corners, slow amusement spreading across his face. "If that is what Roxas would like…"
The blond nodded eagerly. "Yes. Yes, indeed. You are not part of mother's data, but we will gladly accept you if you will help us."
"Well, then, how can I possibly say no?" Another chuckle, a shake of the head. He lifted the long blade, pointed it at Vaan. "You, kid – what the fuck is he talking about? What's the core?"
"The man has it! The man!" Roxas was grinning, happiness leaping across his expression. The silver-haired man faltered slightly, a frown creasing between his brows.
"What's wrong with him?" he asked Vaan. The teen swallowed thickly, throat bobbing, eyes fixed on the tip of the sword, dangerously close to his neck.
"He's – there's – it's part of his programming. With Twilight Town."
"So he hasn't just gone crazy?"
Vaan shrugged desperately. "I don't – I don't know."
The man rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Hmm. Last long?" Again, Vaan could only answer indecisively. The silver-haired attacker turned with a sigh, narrow gaze falling on Balthier. He rolled his wrist, pointing a finger. "This man?" he asked Roxas. The blond nodded enthusiastically.
"No – wait," Vaan interrupted anxiously. "Please – you can't just take it."
"Huh." A slight laugh. "You really don't think I'm Sephiroth, do you?" Shaking his head, silver hair shifting silkily, he went to where Balthier clung faintly to consciousness. He must have muttered something, because Roxas heard the sword-bearer snap, "Shut up!" There was a thump, Vaan letting out a low groan, sinking down the wall. Roxas lifted his head, and they saw the saviour kneeling, clasping the hilt of his sword for support as he dug through Balthier's pockets. The blade stood upright, held firmly in place by the fallen man's chest. "It is in a small blue box," Roxas said helpfully. The man glanced over his shoulder, giving the blond another beautiful smile, before returning to the hunt. A moment later, a zipper was tugged, and a low exclamation of triumph sounded from his lips. He stood, staring at the velvet case, tugging his sword free casually. He held it up. "Is this it, love?"
"Yes! Yes, that's it!" The blond hesitated abruptly. "Are you going to – not give it to us now?"
The man laughed, tossed it over, the boy catching it easily with surprise. He met the saviour's gaze with pleased appreciation. "Thank you so much! We are together again!"
"Yes, we are," the man replied, smiling. "Aren't we?" He went to where the boy lay. "Here, let me help you up." They clasped hands, the black-clad stranger easing Roxas to his feet, where he swayed. "Oh! Don't fall now," the man scolded playfully. "I'll make you a deal – you hold the jewellery box, and I'll hold you. It'll be too hard to walk with your leg hurt like that."
"The wire caught us on the way down," Roxas said happily, turning the velvet case over and over in his slashed hands, leaving prints of blood all over.
"Did it? How interesting! Can you stand? For just a moment?" He leaned Roxas against the wall by the door, where he could feel the breeze, just ever so slight from where the door at the opposite end of the hangar hung open. He gazed rapturously at the box as the man returned to where Balthier lay, picking up the shotgun, placing the sword aside. Roxas heard Vaan mutter, "Oh, God." A second later there was a deafening gunshot, startling Roxas badly. He clutched the core's keeping place as it fumbled in his grasp, clamping it to his hammering heart. He started to turn, but the saviour caught his face in one black-gloved hand before he could look. "It's okay now," he said sweetly. "The bad boy can't do anything anymore."
"Oh…" Roxas was puzzled. "But then – why is Roxas still crying?"
The man's expression twitched, the smile thinning out. "Roxas is crying?"
The blond nodded with a frown, eyes drifting back to the box. "He is. It is quieter than before, though."
"If Roxas is crying – who are you?"
He smiled. "I am his mother."
"I… see." The man wrapped an arm under Roxas' legs, quickly slipping his sword into its long sheath on his hip before using the now-free other hand to cup the back of his head. He picked the teen up, bridal style, studying the way the blue eyes tumbled over the little box turning in his hands. All of a sudden, the eyes stilled, then rose slowly to the green. The saviour paused, fingers tightening slightly, wondering if the end of the complacency was approaching. But rather than beginning to struggle with belated realisation, Roxas instead gave a small smile. "No, Roxas," he said peaceably. "This boy is good. You must listen to your mother. She knows best, after all. And we have the core back. Everything will be fine now."
The man with the long silver hair smiled, and descended the stairs, Roxas clasped firmly to his chest.
