Vincent stared at Veld. "Come again?"

"I said-"

"No, wait." Vincent held up a hand, shaking his head. "I just woke up. Gimme a minute to jump-start my brain."

Sitting on the edge of a borrowed bed in the medical wing, Vincent accepted the hot, sweet coffee Veld had brought. After a few sips, his eyes brightened a bit, and he began to lose the bleary, haunted expression he'd woken up with.

Veld doubted the caffeine still had any effect on him - other drugs did not - but what counted was that Vincent thought it did. Placebos, Veld reflected, could be useful.

"Now," Vincent said, setting the cup aside. "What the hell are you on about?"

"We've got a Deepground operative on ice. One of the patrols found him running loose in the city, stealing food. He's got some kind of weird ability to use shadows to hide in and travel through."

"I got that. Tell me the other part again?"

"He's the spitting image of you. Well, accounting for one or two minor differences. Come and take a look."

"I think I'd better," Vincent said, rising. "Just let me shower and change first."

Nero looked a damn sight better after a night's sleep. Veld had been worried that he would leave; they certainly couldn't stop him. He'd stayed, and was just now finishing what must have been a substantial breakfast.

The WRO cafeteria wasn't known for gourmet meals, but they could feed SOLDIERs when needed. At the doctor's recommendation, they'd provided Nero with enough eggs, sausages and hash browns to sink a battleship. Anyone else would've been sick, but the doc's exam, coupled with info recently pulled from Deepground, told them Nero almost certainly had a SOLDIER's metabolism.

"Food can't hurt him," he'd said. "Feed the boy as much as he wants." So they had.

Setting a guard on the kid was more of a formality than anything, as he could apparently shadow himself out anytime he wanted to. He hadn't done so, which gave some credence to the story he'd told them, but Veld reserved judgement and kept to the protocols.

He had the guard unlock the door, and stepped inside, Vincent just behind him.

Nero immediately rose, brushing crumbs from his fingers. "Sir."

"Nero," said Veld, "would you remove the mask one more time, please?"

Nero sighed, almost inaudibly, but complied, pulling the mask away from his face.

Veld felt Vincent's sudden intake of breath.

"Oh my gods." Vincent moved closer to Nero. Nero watched him warily, his eyes darting once to Veld, questioning.

"Put it back," Veld said, and Nero replaced the mask, his sigh of relief buzzing slightly through the respirator. He held his ground as Vincent approached.

"Who are you?" Vincent asked, looking him over from head to foot and back again.

"My name is Nero. I'm a Tsviet. From Deepground."

Vincent glanced at Veld.

"Elite SOLDIER corps, exclusive to Deepground," Veld supplied. "More of Shinra's genetic tinkering."

"Ah. Of course." Vincent turned back to Nero.

"You...you have my face," Nero said, gesturing toward his own. "Are you from some other branch of Deepground? A brother they kept in reserve?"

"No. My name is Vincent Valentine. I work for the WRO."

"Oh! I'm sorry." Nero's posture changed subtly, almost as though he was trying to make himself seem smaller. Once more, his arms crossed over his chest. "Please excuse me, sir."

Vincent flashed Turk signs at Veld: Is he always like this?

Veld nodded.

He's been questioned?

Of course, Veld signed back.

Fill me in?

Veld gave a second nod.

Veld kept his silence until they'd reached his office and shut the door. He sat down behind his desk, looked up at Vincent, and said, "Anything you want to tell me, Vince?"

"I- what?"

"He's not your brother, unless your old man made a deposit in a sperm bank somewhere and never told you. And this boy's far too young for that."

"...the hell are you asking me?"

"On the other hand," said Veld, continuing his train of thought, "once Hojo's involved, all bets are off. What I'm saying is, he got the DNA from somewhere. Someone. You."

"Veld, I was in a box for twenty years!"

"Yes, and before that?"

"Trapped in his lab for-oh gods." Color rose in Vincent's normally pallid face, shifting quickly from pink to green. "You think he… while I was….he took…"

He clapped a hand over his mouth and ducked into Veld's bathroom. Veld waited until the gagging noises ceased and Vincent had come back, sinking into a chair.

"You okay?" Veld asked.

Vincent nodded, still a bit on the green side. "You think he's my son."

"It's a possibility. And the important thing is not where he came from, or how he came to be. It's what are we going to do with him now?"

"What did you learn in questioning?"

Veld shrugged. "He says he's looking for the other Tsviets. Two were his siblings, and the other two, well, the relationship is unclear. I'm not sure if there's a blood tie there, or just squadmates. He's been very cooperative, though."

"You think it's a trap."

Another shrug. "I don't discount the possibility. Patrols have been doubled throughout the city, guards posted at what's left of Deepground - which isn't much - and Tseng's got Turks prowling around looking for anything, or anyone, unusual. Security here at HQ is on high alert, as well. None of which may matter if there's anyone else out there who can do whatever it is he does with shadows."

Vincent glanced at the door, as though Nero might be waiting on the other side of it. "Awful lot of trouble to go through over one skinny boy."

"Maybe. Maybe not."

Vincent sat forward, leaning on Veld's desk. "Veld. What do you really think?"

Veld couldn't quite suppress his grin. Even after twenty years out of circulation, Vincent could still see right through him. "I think there's an even chance the kid's telling the truth."

"How much would it take for that fifty percent to tip in one direction or the other?"

"Not much," said Veld. "But as to which direction - we'll have to wait and see."

"Hm." Vincent sat back, and Veld let him think.

"What if we tried to integrate him with the existing troops? He's SOLDIER-trained, so he probably kicks ass. We could use him, and it would give him something to do, a structured environment-"

"-And keep him where we can watch him," Veld finished. "Not a bad thought. Well, you're head of Weapons and Training, you work with the troops regularly. Do you think he'd fit in?"

"We won't know unless we try."