A/N:

Yeah. I have no excuse for this chapter taking so long.

Rating (Chapter): T

Word Count: 3,169

Disclaimer: To quote another writer, "These are not my characters, I'm just abusing them."

Not Again!

By Catsitta

Chapter six: Memories not his own

Sephiroth stared into the mirror.

His eyes were green, but bore no mako sheen. In fact, as he examined his irises, the teen noted how dull the color was without the foreign substance bleeding into the pigment. No longer were there undertones of electric blue and aqua, burning bright and intermingling with the purest emerald glow he had only ever seen amid the Lifestream. Now, the green was flat, flecked with sharp shards of silver-gray and spatters of sepia.

He closed his eyes.

All his life, Sephiroth had wished for normal eyes, ones that were not like that of a cat's—luminescent with slit pupils. Yet here he was, his wish granted, and he could not be more miserable. Heck, he had everything he had wished for as a child. A father who actually cared about his well-being (in his own, strange way, Valentine did care). A mother who did not shriek orders inside of his head (he had yet to see his mother, however). And a human body. His current situation attested to the saying: Be careful what you wish for, you might just get it.

He had everything. Yet he had nothing…

000X000

"Alright, kid, you're all set."

Sephiroth stared at his arm, eyes fixated upon a vivid streak of puckered flesh. The mark reached from the heel of his palm to the crook of his elbow, and it stood out against too pale skin. A scar. He had never scarred before. It was yet another testimony to his pitiful humanity. How he hated it. He felt…purposeless. Helpless. Worthless. Nothing was redeeming about this form. Nothing! It was weak and broken.

Absently, his right hand traced the scar, skimming along the raised edges of the mark.

"Hey, kid…You okay?" Sephiroth scowled, thankful for the way his bangs shadowed his face. In the past few weeks, his hair had grown longer, well past regulation.

"I'm fine Doctor Fields." the former General replied, forcing himself to keep monotone. He refused to betray his internal distress. His mind was strong enough to overcome the weaknesses of this body. He would not lose control…

"It could be worse, you know. When you arrived, your vitals were flat lined. You were dead, kid, for who knows how long. Then, your heart started beating. It was faint. But it was enough. That scar right there is not something you should be ashamed of. It's a badge of survival. Endurance. Be happy that you got to keep the arm as well as your life, kid. You're doubly blessed in that sense of things."

"Are we done, Doctor?"

"Yes, Cadet Valentine, we are done. Good luck."

Quickly, Sephiroth stood. He hated hospitals. He hated Doctors. He hated himself. And that hatred burned, cold and wicked. It consumed him. It lingered like a Northern Continent chill. Gaia. He needed to get out of here. Fighting away the urge to turn around and wring the moronic doctor's neck, the silver-haired teen departed, his stride long and purposeful.

000X000

Instead of doing as Valentine demanded, and returning to their quarters, Sephiroth stalked the halls of the ShinRa, his experience as a General guiding his every step. He knew every inch of this building, including those that were top secret or supposedly did not exist. It was that former knowledge that unconsciously led him to a familiar floor…49. The virtual reality training room.

After peering through the window to make sure he was alone, Sephiroth entered a passcode at the side of the sliding door, one he had memorized in the early days of SOLDIER. Half of him suspected the code to be rejected, but lo and behold, it was valid. He smirked as the door slid open. The code was two-fold. Not only did it allow him entrance to the VR room, but it shut down any and all recording devices. It was a matter of privacy that the Elite enjoyed indulging in. Especially him.

Upon entering the room, lights flickered on and a compartment against on wall revealed what it contained. Goggles. Soon the high-tech device covered his eyes and the order given for a certain scenario. Twenty seconds later, Sephiroth stood in the center of Banora. Houses, quaint and calm made up the village. Trees, tall and heavy with pink-and-white blossoms, made impressive arches overhead, their fruits dangling in sinful invitation. He almost reached out to grasp the Banora White, but he stopped himself at the last second as reminded himself that the apple was not real. None of this around him was real.

For some reason, that sparked his newfound temper into fury. This surreal landscape was fake. The entirety of his life was chock full of lies, illusions and false pretensions to grandeur. He was sick of the unreal. But…

Sephiroth shook his head. Now was not the time to linger in the past. It was obvious that he was not going to wake up any time soon in his old life. Thus he hefted the standard issue broadsword he had "acquired" on a lower floor from a snoozing guard and gave the command for the mission to begin. It had been a strike to his pride to set the mission level at 1, but he knew that anything higher would likely leave him injured, and explanations for how he ended up with bruises covering half of his body was not something he was interested in.

Soon he was immersed a very basic monster hunting expedition. The locals of Banora feared for their lives and their orchards, so SOLDIER was called in to assist. Simple enough. Except, his left arm was terribly weak from its time spent in a cast and could barely support any weight. Wielding two-handed was something Sephiroth did for extra control and power when handling Masamune…but this time, it was the only way he could hold the blade. Again, he cursed his body for being so weak, before charging into the grassy fields where the monsters lurked. How he hoped that his previous experience in battle would translate into coordination in this body. It would be beyond infuriating to be unable to sync his mind and body, and end up hurting himself in the process of training.

It did not take long for the first monster to attack. The insect-like creature was flanked by two of its kind, and was quick to dart forwards. Sephiroth sidestepped the attack, surprised by his own reactivity. Maybe there was some instinct ingrained in these underused muscles of his. Instilled with a degree of confidence in his body, the swordsman stepped forwards and swung his broadsword in downwards slice. The blade connected, scattering the creature into a burst of pixels.

With a smirk, Sephiroth twisted on his heel and slashed another monster. And another. He recalled his fight in the underground tunnels with Tifa against the security robots, how the cast had hindered him then, yet he managed to survive the fight. Yes, this form was clumsy, weak and slow. But as the scenario played out, the longer he fought, his muscles began to coordinate with his mental commands. After twenty minutes, he was lost.

Lost in his memories. Lost in his thoughts. Lost in that haze that always consumed him in battle. It was a hyperawareness, of sorts, where the world moved in slow motion. It was also a dissociative state, where he could watch himself fight, like a spirit barely threaded to its corporeal form observing its mortal shell.

How long he remained this way, Sephiroth could not guess, but when the words MISSION COMPLETE flashed before his eyes and the scene dissolved, he snapped back into reality. A very dismal reality. Tugging off the goggles, the teen drew in a ragged breath and groaned as his body protested every movement. He was out of shape. Very out of shape…Despite the pain, however, he had not felt so alive in weeks. Since…since Tifa.

Growling at that particular thought, the former General put away the goggles and made his way towards the exit. That simpering, pathetic excuse for a human being was no concern of his!

Clapping broke the pensive silence.

Startled, Sephiroth turned, his eyes widening at the sight at the door. Tseng.

The Wutaian Turk wore an expressionless mask as he continued to clap, slow and patronizing. Those dark eyes of his were void of any emotion. After a short while, his hands came to rest together, folded elegantly before him. This man was the epitome of his trade from what Sephiroth knew of him. Cold. Efficient. Ruthless. Never did he fail a mission. Rumor had it that he loved his comrades like family, was calm and considerate when need be and always a level head in stressful situations. However, Sephiroth was not a Turk. He was the troublesome son of the best gun in business…A liability at best.

Straightening himself, Sephiroth stared down the Turk with as much confidence as he could muster. He had his pride, no matter how wounded, and he refused to cower before a mere mortal. Even if that mortal could fell him with a single bullet.

"Impressive," noted Tseng dryly.

"What do you want, Turk?" Sephiroth could not withhold the growl in his tone.

Arching fine brows, the Turk replied,"A moment of your time."

"Is that Vincent told Tifa when he attempted to recruit her as a Turk?"

Tseng tsk'ed softly,"Ungrateful child."

"Out of my way, Turk. It's apparent you have nothing important to say."

"Quite the contrary, Cadet, what I have to say could change your entire life. Opportunity knocks, so to speak. Shall you answer?"

"Shove it." Sephiroth attempted to sidestep Tseng, but the Turk widened his stance, making himself an immovable wall. His frame, while lean, was solid with muscle. A true force to reckon with, and the former General was in no mood to be laid out flat on his back. So he paused and shot the contrary man a deadly glare. "Unless your spiel differs from that of Vincent's, then we have nothing to talk about."

A sardonic smile crept upon Tseng's lips,"I assure you, what I have to say will pique your interest, Cadet. Come." He turned and motioned for Sephiroth to follow, almost as if the silver-haired teen were a disobedient puppy. Only curiosity and a great deal of self-restraint prevented him from biting that hand and showing this man he was no master of his, figuratively speaking of course. Instead, he bit his tongue and stepped out into the hallways, trailing slowly after the Turk when the man began to walk away.

An elevator ride and a few strange glances later found both men in the officer training facilities. All around them were ranked officials from every branch of the military, from SOLDIER to the Regulars to Turks. In one corner, a familiar face was pounding a punching bag to bits. Angeal. His attention was taken away from the First Class by Tseng placing a hand on his shoulder.

"This way," he commanded, guiding the Cadet through the maze of equipment towards a door at the room's back. As he opened it, the sound of gunfire filled Sephiroth's ears. A shooting range. How exactly were they supposed to 'speak' at a shooting range? Ignoring the questioning look Sephiroth threw him, Tseng continued forwards, his palm a constant reminder to keep moving.

Glancing around, the former general caught glimpses of the Turks practicing. Both were blonde, female and had eyes that promised death.

Sephiroth continued to walk until Tseng forcibly stopped him, turning him in the direction of the far wall, a paper target waiting at the end of the lane. A small case was set before him. Without being told what was within, the swordsman knew it to be a gun. But why?

"Assemble it," the Turk ordered with false nonchalance. "Then attempt to hit the target as many times as you can."

Irritated, the teen muttered a few choice words under his breath, before covering his ears with the nearby safety gear, and opening the case. To a man whom had never assembled a gun before, what lay before him would have been a mind boggling challenge. However, to Sephiroth, it was just another puzzle. He had never assembled this particular kind of gun before, but in his youth, he'd been training in the finer details of artillery. He hated guns, but he was trained in their use.

After a few seconds of analyzing the pieces, Sephiroth snapped the weapon together like a child might a toy, paying little heed to the eyes watching his every move. Slapping in the ammo cartridge, he finished his first task, and after checking the safety, he aimed the rifle, peering through the scope for a brief second, and fired.

Once.

"Hold it steady, son. Take your time and aim. Feel the weight of the weapon in your hands, brace yourself for the kickback."

Twice.

"Happy Birthday, son."

Thrice.

"SOLDIER? You know the risks. You know what could happen if…"

He kept firing until he had no shots left. Sweat beaded upon his brow, his head ached and his whole body trembled. What was he seeing? Hearing? Those flashes…those memories…he had never lived that life. No one ever called him son. Never once in his youth did he celebrate a birthday. He was born and raised to a SOLDIER, nothing else, no one ever questioned his entering the program.

Flickers of bizarre scenes continued to fill his head. He saw Valentine, glowing with fatherly pride. He saw a woman that could only be Lucrecia watching from afar, a small smile on her face. He saw Tifa, much younger than he knew he to be, training with her Master…playing the snow…laughing…He saw the ruins of a building, uniforms dotting the wreckage. His arm…it was trapped. He couldn't breathe. Gaia. Why couldn't he breathe?

Blinking rapidly, Sephiroth cleared these images and gulped down a few deep breaths. With trembling hands, his disassembled the gun and put it back in its case, quickly shoving it aside once done as if it were a poisonous snake, before removing the gear from his head. It was then that he heard clapping again. The room was eerily silent aside from that noise.

"You never fail to surprise me, Cadet."

He did not glance back at the Turk; no, Sephiroth's gaze was upon the paper at the end of the lane. Every single bullet went through the center of the "head" of the vaguely human shaped target.

"How so?" the teen asked, his voice strained.

"From what I have been told, you have never fired this kind of rifle…much less assembled one." Tseng approach him from behind, his shoes tapping against the linoleum floor. His breath was soon hot upon the smaller man's ear as he whispered,"and never once have you had the chance to wield a sword. Then add in the very peculiar fact that you knew a code to facilities that even the Turks do not know. Yet you assembled the gun with ease. You wielded a blade in a manner akin to a trained SOLDIER. You overrode the security of floor 49. And you speak and act with confidence and command that you never demonstrated afore."

A hand once again came to rest on his shoulder,"It begs the question: Are you whom you claim to be?"

Sephiroth jerked his shoulder away from the Turk, the motion sending ripples of discomfort through his overworked muscles. His thoughts were in a flurry. His body ached. And he was…confused. So confused. "I am Sephiroth," he replied softly. "That is all I claim to be."

Dark laughter filled his ears, reverberating deep in the older man's chest,"Keep in mind I am always watching, Cadet. I could easily make your life a living nightmare and Vincent would be unable to stop me from doing so. I could snap your neck right here and now…I could turn you in to the General for your actions. I could kill that pretty little friend of yours that Vincent brought to my attention."

"What is it that you want?"

"Nothing…at the moment. Be careful, Cadet, and refrain from interfering in matters that do not concern you. Your father cannot protect you always."

Tseng then walked ahead. Sephiroth, with no other choice, followed.

000X000

"I do believe this is yours, Vincent."

It was those words that Tseng greeted the other Turk with when they arrived in an expansive meeting room. Valentine, obviously acting as a security detail for the event that was going to commence here later in the day, scowled. Those ruby eyes of his were not focused on his troublesome son, rather, they lingered on the Turk at his heels.

"The boy appears to have too much time on his hands."

"I'll find work to keep him occupied, then."

"Rumor has it you're filling the paperwork to pull him from SOLDIER."

"Indeed," Valentine crossed his arms.

"Was it not for the sole purpose of—"

"—no. My legacy is not his burden."

"Your actions say elsewise, Vincent. Your wishing to recruit Miss Lockheart. Your pulling him from SOLDIER. Your training him guns…"

"If I were able to turn back time, I'd have kept him in Nibelhiem."

"You cannot deny he'd make a fine addition…"

"Leave."

"You have no command over me, Vincent."

"Woah! What's going on in here?"

Three head snapped around to look at who stood in the doorway. To the trio's unanimous surprise, it was Zack Fair. Of all people…The raven-haired SOLDIER sauntered closer, smiling all the while. Turk business would have to wait.

"I was passing by and heard arguing," Zack continued, paying no heed to the glares being shot in his direction. "Then I look inside and what do I see? Two Turks and my new buddy! It's been a while since I saw you Seph. And your arm is all healed up too. Look at the scar, wicked cool!" Soon he was standing next to Sephiroth and had one arm looped around his shoulders,"Where did you get that sword? I didn't think they trained Cadets to use them and with your dad being a Turk and all, I thought you'd be more of a gun fellow."

Sephiroth opened his mouth to speak, but Zack was persistent,"Now that you're healed up, we can train like I promised. You'll love it and hate it all at the same time, just you wait. By the time exams roll around, you'll be caught up with your classmates and know some cool SOLDIER secrets. The General gave me permission to, ah, mentor you, sorta. It's a temporary thing and likely was to keep me from continuing to pester him…but it's legit, kid. I bet you're excited!"

Before anyone else could say another word in the matter, Zack steered Sephiroth away from the Turks,"I'm going to borrow him for a while. Don't worry Vincent, I'll return him in one piece!" With that, they exited the room, every individual involved left utterly speechless.