Disclaimer: What horrible, ghastly individual came up with the concept of disclaimers. They are nothing but mere humiliating reminders that I am nothing but a poor fan that owns nothing but the Pepsi can before me…actually that's not mine either. I don't drink cokes anymore. Oh well.

JadeAlmasy – I'm glad you enjoyed the chapter. I enjoyed writing the darker parts. Guess I've been feeling a bit cruel here lately. shrugs

Rune – Glad you liked the darkness. That chapter won't be the last of it. I have however decided that maybe I need to lighten things up just a tad…for at least one or two chapters. Give certain characters time to recover. lol

Westman's Stiller

Quistis leaned her forehead against the window and watched the landscape pass her by at a mind numbingly slow speed. With a sigh, she closed her eyes. Beside her, unlucky enough to get stuck in the middle, Irvine rubbed his eyes and leaned over to rest his head on her shoulder. Quistis looked at him with an arched eyebrow.

"Just what do you think you're doing?" she asked as she lifted his hat from his lap and played with it absently.

"Tryin' ta sleep," he mumbled.

"Oh no you don't," she said quickly and then hit him across the face with his hat. His body jerked as he recoiled and bumped into Squall on the other side of him. Squall shot him an annoyed glance but made no other gesture to show he'd been disturbed.

"Why not?" Irvine asked.

"We're not that far away, you can stay awake."

Taking his hat away from her he looked her over like a hurt child. "What's the matter with you Sweetheart? We've been in this van for forever and I'm tired."

"You're not the only one," Quistis stared at him squarely. "In fact, I believe it was you that wouldn't let me sleep two hours ago." Irvine quieted at her comment and fiddled some more with the brim of his hat.

"I don't see how either of you can sleep with all the noise they're making," Squall spoke up for the first time in two hours. Both Irvine and Quistis looked at him and then the front of the van. Quistis began laughing and was soon joined by Irvine. Squall scowled.

"They've been goin' at it for so long I guess I just tuned 'em out," Irvine admitted.

"So did I," Quistis shrugged. "Must be an instructor thing. I get tired of hearing the bickering all day during classes so when I've got free time I've trained myself to block out needless noise pollution."

"Lucky," Squall grumbled as he leaned his head against the window and stared down at the road below. "It's like his voice has embedded itself into my brain and I can't ignore it…" An awkward silence filled the van and brought a smile to Quistis' face. Leaning over she brought her lips to Irvine's ear and whispered.

"Both of them got quiet trying to figure out which one of them Squall was talking about."

Irvine grinned and then frowned as he watched Seifer look up in the rear view mirror and Zell turn sideways in his seat…both of them watching Squall. Leaning closer to Quistis, Irvine whispered, "Which one was he talkin' about?" Quistis broke into a fit of giggles and swatted Irvine playfully on the shoulder.

Outside, the wheels sang out as their treads were ripped from the hot blazon asphalt. The late evening's red sunset radiated off the fenders and quarter panels, causing the normally light green transport van to flare up a mucky shade of orange.

"This is quite possibly the ugliest vehicle I have ever seen," Seifer complained from the driver's seat. "What kind of paint is this? How is it changing from one awful color to the next? Why am I the only one bothered by this?" Seifer looked up into his rear view mirror to see Squall ignoring him. "Fine Commander. But I'm just telling you, these damn tanks of yours are brutal eyesores."

"What color would you have it?" Zell asked from the shotgun position.

"Can it Chicken Wuss, I didn't say you could speak," Seifer snapped.

"I'm not askin'!" Zell countered as he shifted again in his seat to face Seifer.

"Don't cop an attitude with me. I will stop this truck."

"Psh. Then what?" Zell spat. "I suppose you're gonna open a can of whip-ass on me eh? Please." No sooner than the last word tumbled off his tongue, he found himself thrown up against his seatbelt as the van skidded to a stop.

"Whoa! What's goin' on?" Irvine cried out from the backseat.

"Seifer!" Quistis shrieked. "Ah! Damn you," she grumbled as she rubbed the spot where she'd hit her forehead on the metal trim at the base of the window.

"You want to take this outside?" Zell yelled.

"No one's going anywhere!" Squall unfastened his seatbelt and just barely leaned in-between the front two seats. "Zell, put your seatbelt back on. Seifer, get us to Westman's Stiller now. Another outburst like that and you'll both be demoted." Both blondes fell silent. "You represent SeeD now. When in those uniforms, I expect you both to just bite your tongues and get over whatever problems you have. I won't allow some petty personal grudge make my Garden look like a loosely organized, poorly trained, circus of orphans, misfits and shipped off stepchildren." There was a brief silence while everyone took in Squall's mini-lecture.

The silence was short lived as Seifer turned and looked Squall over disapprovingly. "You're starting to sound like Cid," He stated flatly.

"You're driving me crazy," Squall practically growled.

Seifer stared at him for a moment and then grinned triumphantly.

Squall scowled and then wordlessly found his seat. Once he was buckled in, Seifer pulled the van back onto the road.

"Did Xu teach you that little speech?" Seifer asked as he watched Squall through the rear view mirror.

"….."

"Thought so," Seifer grinned to himself.

"Let's just get there without anymore incidents alright?" Quistis broke the silence.

"Fine by me," Zell answered as he shot Seifer another glance. "But Sir-Gripes-A-Lot is going to make that difficult." Pulling off his glasses, Squall massaged the bridge of his nose and hoped the drive would be over soon.

"Me?" Seifer spat. "You're the problem little Chicken Shit! I've done good about not saying too much on account of Fujin's feelings but…"

"But you really can't stand us together can you?" Zell cut him off.

"As a matter of fact, I can't," Seifer frowned as he looked out over the seemingly never-ending stretch of road before them.

"You're worse than having to deal with a protective father."

"Someone has to look out for her."

"She has a father ya know."

"Ever met the man?" Seifer shot him a sideways glance.

"No."

"I rest my case. The man's not worth shooting." Zell fell silent. The passenger's in the backseat listened on with interest. "She really likes you," Seifer shifted in his seat so that he could hang his left arm out the window.

"Then why are you giving me such a hard time about this? Its not like she's your ex or your sister or something."

Seifer shook his head as he turned off on their exit. "I'm just blowing smoke," he mumbled. "This is really about her getting her hopes up and her heart set on something. Thanks to her father, she's never done that before. If you let her down I'll tear you apart," His voice took on a darker tone. Zell didn't comment and resolved to just staring out the window. Seifer watched him curiously.

Jacob Mereel had been half asleep when his small fishing boat drifted into a rather large log and began rocking violently. Jerking awake, he instinctively yanked his fishing pole toward him as if he were on the verge of a huge catch. The force of his action sent him tumbling backward, over his wooden bench seat. He landed with a painful thud and his collision thrust the boat into another powerful fit of bobbing.

A hundred or so feet away, a few small fishing boats sat docked at Fisherman's Horizon. From this distance, Jacob watched as the fishermen unloaded the catches from their boats. With a frown, he looked down at his empty basket and then at the place where his tackle box would've been if he hadn't knocked it overboard during one of his drunken rants.

Standing up, he carefully made his way back toward his seat. His boat bumped into the log again, sending him tumbling backward for the second time in since he'd awoken.

He landed on the edge of his small vessel, tipping it and managing to roll himself into the water.

Falling into the water head first, Jacob realized he had to orient himself toward the sun so he'd surface right. During the process, he managed to hit the back of his head on the troublesome log and then got his hand tangled in some piece of cloth that was caught on it. He struggled to free himself, and watched helplessly as a few air bubbles danced their way up to the water's surface. After a few frightening moments, he freed his hand and looked up toward the sunlight shining down through the water.

With a frantic gasp, he finally surfaced and began flailing his arms around until they came into contact with the log. Grabbing onto it, he used his free hand to touch the tender spot on the back of his head. He pulled himself up a few inches and then stopped. Laying next to his hand was the hand of someone else. Startled but still curious, Jacob pulled himself higher and peered down at the man hanging on to the other side of the log.

How he hadn't noticed the other man while under the water eluded him. Nevertheless, it took a moment for him to think to speak; his mind was still too clouded by too little sleep, too much liquor, and the recently acquired bump to the back of his head. When he finally did speak, he really wished that he hadn't.

"Hey...umm...What're you doin' out here?"

Jacob mentally kicked himself. The boy on the other side of the log stared up at him blankly as he continued to cling to the log. "Yeah, um..." Jacob mumbled as he looked around. "I have a boat...somewhere." Without another thought, he released the log and disappeared from view.

There was some splashing to be heard coming from Jacob's side of the log before he reappeared and peered once again at the boy.

"You're really not looking so good kid," he grunted as he pushed himself up on the log with one hand and rolled into his boat with help from the other. After a few moments, Jacob managed to miraculously maneuver the boat around the side of the floating log. "What's yur name kid?"

For a moment he got no response as the poor battered kid did good to keep his head above the water. "Dak," his voice squeaked out.

"Nice to meet you Mr. Dak, I'm Jacob."

Dak made no verbal response as he tried to rest his head against the log. Jacob frowned when he noticed--for the first time--the discoloration and puffy, disfiguring gashes on the boy's face.

"You're lookin' mighty pale Dak. How long have you been in the water?" Jacob received no response as he leaned over and hefted the smaller man halfway into the boat. His grip slid, plunging Dak's body back into the water. Jacob dove after him and caught him by the collar of his shirt. Taking care to keep a better grip this time, Jacob dragged the boy into the boat with him.

Dak's body came to rest rather abruptly, further jostling the small boat on the ocean's already unsteady surface. His left arm fell across a net and a few empty bottles, his right leg fell across Jacob's bench and his head hit the top of the small engine. The last thing he remembered was Jacob stumbling towards him and then over the edge again.

"Park up front," Zell said softly.

"That's reserved. This van can still be towed with its SeeD insignia you know."

"Not with me here. I got permission," Zell spoke as he unfastened his seat belt. "I could have all their jobs." With that he stepped down out of the van and waited while the others joined him.

"Should you go in first then?" Squall asked as he stretched to pop his lower back. "I mean you were the one who contacted them."

"Nah, you can go on in. I'll be right behind you," Zell turned to Seifer once Quistis and Irvine had followed Squall inside. "For the record, I'm not going to ever leave or let her down. I proposed, but that's all I can do. I can't make her say yes." The annoyed and mildly interested expression fell from Seifer's face as he watched Zell walk away.

Upon entering the building they were greeted by a short, petite secretary dressed more like she was there to hang drywall than to actually work a desk job.

"Mr. Dincht?" She asked with a smile.

"Yeah," he answered.

"I have to say it's a pleasure to meet you. Mirenne has already called and asked for us to show you and your team around and answer any questions you all might have."

"Alright then," Zell looked up at the vaulted ceilings and then over to the unusual doorway. "Let's get started." She nodded as she walked over to the steel door next to her desk. Lifting up on its lever, she pushed it open and motioned for them to enter.

"That uh….steel contributes a really homey touch," Irvine said as he stepped inside. Seifer hesitated, the all too-familiar memories of D-District playing through his mind.

"Homey isn't what I'd call it," he mumbled.

"It's mainly for security reasons after closing and, although management declines it, intimidation of rival representatives from other companies," she read Seifer's expression like a book. "I can leave it open if you like."

"Please," he answered as he hesitantly stepped inside and over to Squall and Irvine. Quistis watched him curiously as she took up the rear. Just inside, the plant manager waited for them with a smile.

"Come on in," he shook Squall and Irvine's hands before making sure to greet them all. "I'm Walt Averly. My official title is plant manager but my duties include smelting and preparing the metals for the craftsmen and getting anything else that they may need," he looked down to an area below the catwalk they stood on.

"I'm Commander Squall Loire. These are instructors Quistis Roe and Irvine Kinneas. This is elite field mercenary, Zell Dincht and chief interrogator, Seifer Almasy."

"It's a pleasure to meet you all," Walt tore his gaze from Seifer and redirected it at Zell. "But I remember you," he grinned as he led them to a ladder. "I can remember back to when you were only this tall." Walt gestured with his hand. Everyone looked at Zell for an explanation. When he provided none, they looked to Walt. "Oh well, that was a long time ago. I would imagine you all would like a brief tour and I'll answer any questions you have."

"Sounds good," Irvine stated as he started down the ladder after Walt.

"This place isn't as highly sophisticated as people think. Only a few select blades and firearms are mass produced and that's done only in a small section of this building. Right here is where a lot of your craftsmen are. We refer to them as artists."

"So most of your stuff is handmade?" Irvine asked.

"Yup," Walt smiled. "It's something we're proud of."

"So Westman's Stiller is more of a collection of blacksmiths rather than a literal company?" Irvine asked. Everyone looked at him, surprised by his interest.

"Westman's Stiller is the name or brand given to all inspected and approved weapons made here," he paused. "What we do is we often take in beginning craftsmen and help them refine their trade. Whether it's a pistol or a whip or…..a gunblade…." Walt's gaze lingered on the weapon on Squall's hip. "And um…" Walt looked up at the waiting SeeD and then back at Lionheart. "Where did you get that gunblade?"

Squall looked over at the rest of his team before looking down at Lionheart. "Timber…At a pawn shop. Why?" He narrowed his eyes suspiciously.

Walt seemed surprised and then disgusted by his answer. "A pawn shop?"

"…."

Everyone looked from Squall to Walt and then back to Squall.

"Why the interest?" Seifer interrupted Walt's questioning. Walt turned to him, his eyes just casually pausing over the hilt of Hyperion.

"…It just looked familiar," he answered. "Sorry about that. Where was I?"

"Beginning craftsmen," Quistis spoke up.

"Right. Well basically, they enter a contract, usually it's for five years. We give them the equipment, materials, and mentors to turn them into artists. They're provided with unsurpassed benefits and we make sure they're paid their worth. So long as they meet their quota of approved weapons every month we don't mind them experimenting with our extra resources or working out on their own." Everyone was silent for a moment. "We're also the largest buyer and supplier of raw and prepared fine metals in the world…We have teams down in Centra. Our craftsmen benefit from this, considering they're allowed to purchase material here at a discounted price."

The tour continued as Walt led them into a small open room with a furnace in it. Aside from a few shelves and work benches the area was relatively empty. "We have to take care of our craftsmen if we want to stay in business," Walt continued as he stopped in an open doorway. He was silent for a moment as he watched two men working over a red hot piece of metal. "Ulmer and Frizzelle," He nodded towards the men. "Gunblades have always been a favorite here. It seems some of the newer blacksmiths have problems shaping the chambers and getting them to fire off just right. Ulmer is a master, he's been with us for years. Most of our finest gunblades are made by him." Walt stole another glance at Lionheart. "It's funny. Not many people can actually wield a gunblade and yet they're one of our best sellers. I imagine a lot of people collect them or use them for show…like stamps or something. But the true specialists who come here only want the best…"

"My Garden dispatched a team to protect shipments from an aggressive band of train robbers," Squall started.

"Yes I know. This company's taken quite a loss. We've had four shipments of our finest grade taken while in route to one of our storage facilities. Had your forces not become involved when they did there would've been a monumental lawsuit over the Transcontinental Lines' negligence. The metal on that load was worth close to half a million."

Quistis seemed to ponder what he said for a moment. "So the materials taken were all sent out from here?"

"That's correct," Walt answered.

"Why not just ship it straight from Centra to the warehouses?" Seifer asked.

"Because the stuff coming from Centra is still raw ore," Zell answered. Everyone turned to him. "You guys do realize that ore is nothing more than rocks right? So all this rock coming up from Centra, I'm assuming is hematite or magnetite…." he looked over to Walt-who nodded in agreement with his assumption. "It still has to be smelted to get rid of the oxygen inside. Once that's done the iron can be left in its state or further processed so that there's even fewer unwanted elements, resulting in steel. Either way, the ore has to be smelted so that it can be melted down into manageable and stackable portions for storage."

"Know-it-all-Zell," Squall couldn't resist the urge to say it as he crossed his arms. "You mean we could've gotten a majority of this information from you without having to drive seven hours to get here?"

Walt grinned.

Squall frowned, "What?"

"You guys could've taken a train you know," Walt said as he pushed open a side door and stepped through. A wall of hot air engulfed them as they followed his lead down a set of stairs and onto another metal graded catwalk.

"What do you mean we could've just taken a train?" Seifer asked.

"The railways run right behind the docks over there," Walt pointed to a pair of large doors that no doubtedly led outside. "That's how we move all this," he said as he pushed another side door open. They all looked into the enormous store room. Somewhere in the midst of the stacks and slabs of polished metal, a crane sat. They could tell only by its top-that was barely visible above the aisles of stacked metal. "We really need to get a lot of that out of here but its too risky right now. I've spoken with the boss and she doesn't want to take any more chances than necessary."

"Understandable," Squall responded. "The main reason we came here was because we found a few pieces in one of the looted cars that had the Westman's Stiller stamp on them."

"Yeah, like I said, that was ours. I have to say I'd much rather a SeeD team be on this case than a Galbadian crime team," Walt responded as he leaned against a rail. "I'm sure the boss shares in my relief."

Squall looked deep in thought. "Do you have any idea who might be behind these robberies?" Walt shook his head.

"Dustil Soong ring any bells?" Zell asked bitterly as he stared down at the blast furnace below them. Walt paled.

"Dustil? As in the last person to leave here the night this place caught fire?" Walt asked. "What would make you think he's responsible?"

Zell turned. Squall looked to him for an explanation. "Whatever happened to Renascent Suppliers?" Zell asked.

"Renascent?" Walt hesitated. "I really don't know. They just kind of faded away a few years after they began production….What does Dustil have to do with this?"

"Would you stop trying to shield me from what I already know so we can move on!" Zell shouted. Everyone in their vicinity stopped what they were doing to see what was going on.

"Zell, what are you talking about?" Squall asked in a hushed tone.

"I'm talking about a man hired in here as a craftsmen when I was nine. He was an apprentice under my Pa. That was until he decided he'd learned enough to run his own company. Tell them what happened Walt." Zell stared at the graying man before him. "Come on! Tell me what happened!"

Walt looked around uncomfortably but began speaking. "Late one night, well after hours, Kyp, Mr. Dincht was cleaning the presses down by the blast furnace." Everyone looked down to the machinery below them. "He had his apprentice working with him…" Walt was beginning to look nervous. "The police wrote it down as an arson caused by Dustil Soong. They conveniently neglected to confirm the fact that Dustil was Gunther Audley. They also, for the longest time, failed to report that not only was the south end of the building also engulfed in flames, but the company's owner…or well the Boss's husband, died in the incident as well."

"Why would they have covered something like that up?" Quistis asked.

Walt looked to Zell and then looked away, unable to match Zell's intense gaze. "Because, Audley is a nightmare. He has a long record of bad deals and murders. Every time anyone pursues him, people start dying." He cast Zell another quick glance. "He killed Kyp Dincht."

"Just curious…But does this boss have a name?" Seifer asked suspiciously.

Walt stared at them all…a surprised and amused expression on his face. "Eh…well I thought you knew. Mrs. Dincht owns this company."

"Dincht?" Irvine raised an eyebrow as he looked at Zell.

"Zell not tell you? His aunt and mother are co-owners. Given Mrs. Dincht actually runs it - hence why we refer to her as boss - her sister has taken a bit of a backseat and we don't hear much from her." Everyone looked from Walt to Zell.

"First of all, my mother had to be deemed an unsuitable parent or something for me to be put in an orphanage," Zell started. "Secondly, she never owned anything because she wasn't the person who was rumored to have started Renascent Suppliers. That was Audley who in turn forced one of his girlfriends into starting things up. Why won't you tell them Walt!" Zell glared at him. Walt looked from SeeD to SeeD to SeeD, growing paler with every passing moment. Everyone else just looked at Walt in mild confusion.

"Zell, what are you talking about?" Squall asked.

"The whole reason behind the train raids. I just put it all together…I understand what Fujin was trying to tell me," Zell answered, his body twitched, eager to do something from the adrenaline rush of finally understanding everything.

"Fujin?" Walt asked.

"She's my girlfriend. Now, why don't you tell us what happened that night Mr. Averly?" Zell crossed his arms over his chest.

"Kyp was inside the press," Walt gave in. "I know it was reported as one of the molds, but it was the press. Audley switched the power back on to this wing of the building and turned the machines on while Kyp was still inside. He was crushed alive and then this whole section was set on fire. A poorly organized mock investigation was surmised to calm the media, but no real action was ever taken. I would say Renascent faded away shortly after Audely was captured by an investigator who just happened upon him during a drug raid in Timber."

Zell turned and walked back out the way he came in.

"Hey man! Where ya goin'?" Irvine called out to him. Receiving no answer, he followed him.

"Perhaps it's best if we end this visit," Walt suggested. Squall said nothing but nodded. They let him lead them back out to the main lobby.

"Thank you for your time," Quistis shook his hand and then followed everyone else out.

Seifer and Squall were waiting for her when she reached the van, the – a now murky yellow color under the parking lot lights.

"First off, that Walt guy is in on the raids," Seifer spoke as he leaned kicked a foot up on the van's bumper.

"What makes you think that?" Quistis asked.

Seifer shrugged. "I just don't trust him. He seems too knowledgeable I guess."

"Well first off, I'd like to think the plant manager is knowledgeable about what he's working with. And secondly, if he's in on it why would he tell us who's running it?"

"I don't know. Maybe he was in for a while, realized how ruthless this Audley guy is and then decided he wanted out. Don't ask me. I was just expressing a gut feeling. And I also can't help but feel like he knows more than he shared in there."

"Who? Walt?" Squall asked.

"Well yeah, but I was actually referring to Dincht that time," Seifer answered. "I'd say he and Fujin have been doing their research and he's only told us half of their findings."

Squall nodded in agreement. "Like for starters, Audley escaped from prison about seven months ago."

"You think Zell knows?" Quistis asked.

"More than likely," Seifer cast a glance towards the van and watched as Irvine tried to talk to Zell. "Why the hell else would he go off on a rant like that. Not to sound concerned or anything, but something is seriously irking him. He doesn't go off like that."

Squall massaged his temples. "We need to sort through all of this."

"I agree. But in the meantime, let's do it somewhere other than this parking lot. If anyone here is involved in the raids I think we need to avoid arousing any more suspicion than possible," Quistis suggested. Seifer and Squall nodded and then climbed in the van.

The ride back to Balamb Garden was even slower than it had been going to Westman's Stiller. While Quistis and Irvine had quickly called the front seats, Seifer and Squall were content with folding down the back seat, so that they could just sit on the floor and stretch out. Zell gladly joined them and ended up lying on his back, feet kicked up against the interior wall of the vehicle.

"Audley's loose you know," Zell spoke up unexpectedly. "He forces people to work with him. He's starting Renascent back up."

"How do you know all this?" Squall asked.

"Fujin did some research and brought me an article. I did a little more digging around for myself." Quistis turned around in her seat at his declaration.

"Volunteer research and I couldn't get you to write a chapter summary for homework?" she asked.

Zell grinned. "You didn't need to hear that."

"I'll say."

"Anyway, the old building where Renascent used to be just sat locked up for years. All the equipment, machines, even the metal and unfinished weapons were just left behind. Then all of a sudden, the Deling police department gets a call that there's a group of men looting the building. They get there and its empty, save for a few metal scraps. They were baffled and indulged the press because it was such a mystery how a handful of people could take an entire warehouse's worth of large machines and get them out so quickly. The only clue they had was the escape vehicle was a dark colored, privately owned locomotive. Of course everyone in the area was interested. Especially in Deling, those people thrive off drama and suspense. Anyway, the police department suddenly quit talking about it and told the press it was all classified. Come to find out, Audley had escaped about a month before that building was stripped bare. The prison guards that survived never announced his escape because they figured he was dead ya know." he stopped talking as he gently rubbed his eyes.

"Was he in D-District?" Seifer asked.

"Huh? Oh no," Zell shook his head. "Ya see, there's an island, somewhere off the coast of Centra that the Galbadian Government leased from the Centran Government. You know, back before the lunar cry wiped out all of Centra's large cities. On this island, there's a Galbadian prison of about D-District's equivalent. It's hidden on all sides by dense vegetation. It's pretty much Galbadia's version of Hell. D-District is just a symbol of Galbadian power, a monument of sorts. It's meant to intimidate and break. This other place of theirs, called Bedevil Asylum is built inside some ancient Centran ruins. It's where people are sent to disappear." Seifer and Squall stared at him expectantly. When Zell said no more, Seifer frowned.

"You make it sound like D-District was a walk in the park," Seifer grumbled with a distant gleam in his eyes as he stared at the constricting leather of his gloves on around his fist. "I don't know about this Bedevil place, but I'm telling you, D-District was Hell. You and nobody else will ever convince me otherwise." A hushed, worried silence filled the transport vehicle, every SeeD knowing full well the rumors of tortures that had spread about Seifer's served time after the second sorceress war.

"I didn't mean anything by that," Zell spoke up. "I was just saying that Bedevil is run by guards that would just as soon kill the prisoners than put up with them. Anyone that gets past the guards without dying is usually crushed down by the currents around the island….assuming they get past the monsters put on the island as an additional security measure. Anyway, for the longest time it was reported that he drown in the currents around the island. The fact that the prison's supply helicopter crashed outside Timber for no known reason was coincidentally overlooked. He's undoubtedly still alive and has all the equipment he needs to supply a small army. He tends to kill people that get in his way or who don't get along with him. My Pa was one of them. I'm starting to think his murder was an attempt to drive Westman's Stiller into the ground. My parent's company would've been competition to him. My Pa would've been competition. He was great at what he did."

"If he just got out of prison though, how would he be able to rally the resources to get back on his feet so quickly?" Quistis asked.

"He's practically a billionaire now, thanks to his slightly shady business deals and investments in the past. He can get a hold of anything he needs. He has connections…and loyal employees," Zell's voice lowered. "Guys…If he's trying to rebuild Renascent he may go after Westman's Stiller again. Ma could be his next target."

"Then followed by you," Seifer turned to him and stared at him with an unreadable expression on his face.

Zell stared up at the ceiling and ran his hands through his hair. Ignoring Seifer's comment completely he continued, "I just can't figure out why Renascent is so important. I mean unless he's going to build an army to try and take over the world or something." Squall frowned at the thought.

"Lucas and Dak," Seifer started. "Fujin's stuck in this mess like you are isn't she?"

"Seems like it," Zell nodded.

"They're trying to force her out of SeeD," Squall rejoined the conversation. "I overheard her talking to…..I think it was her father. It sounded like someone threw the phone, it was full of static, but he was trying to force her to stay away from any missions related to this."

"If Lucas and Dak were there, that means they're working for Audley," Zell frowned.

"She's in danger if they are," Seifer clenched his jaw shut.

"Audley could use her as their manipulative force," Quistis suggested.

"He has to be already….or else they're afraid he will if they don't cooperate…" Seifer examined his gloves as he tightened and loosened his fists.

"Are they really that close?" Zell asked.

"I don't think it matters," Seifer answered. "Given the only one of her brothers that seemed to have any decency about him was Dak….I think it's just the fact that you've grown up with someone and have known them for so long, regardless of your relationship with them, you don't want them to be gone. It just wouldn't seem right. Did that make sense?"

Quistis, Squall and Zell all stared at him, remembering the day they'd all thought he'd died. Around him, everyone grew quiet. All that was audible was the whining of the tires on the pavement.

"Havin' heard all this, would someone please tell me what's goin' on? You guys lost me somewhere after Audley escaped from prison. What'er we supposed to do now? I mean we got names but what do we do with 'em?" Irvine asked from the front seat. Squall remained deep in thought and Seifer just leaned his head back against the wall.

"That would seem to be the question," Quistis mumbled.