There were twelve other recruits who had survived the initial cut, Nero making a baker's dozen of them. Vincent made a joke about lucky number thirteen, which made Nero snicker. Evidently Deepground had not been entirely devoid of humor. The first round of testing was mundane enough, and involved a great deal of forms and papers to be filled out. The medical exam left the nurse assigned to Nero somewhat stymied, though Nero was compliant enough. The blood and other metrics told them everything- and nothing.
"SOLDIER blood is its own creature," the nurse lamented. "The Jenova overrides all else. It's impossible to tell even what blood type he is."
"Why are you telling me this?" Tseng asked, even as he accepted the folder of papers. "I'm not his blood relative or power of attorney."
"He's technically a biohazard," the nurse explained. "He'd be required to report it himself. Besides, he's a SOLDIER, and it's not exactly a secret these days how they got their strength."
"No," Tseng agreed, "it isn't."
"I've advised him of the personal precautions he must take," the nurse went on. "He seemed very willing. I don't believe he'll be any trouble." So far, it was true.
Nero had been right. He wasn't much good with firearms. He could be if he practiced, he had a good eye, but whatever nonsense the Restrictors had fed him made it impossible for him to hold anything steady, even with two hands. After accidentally warping two pistols- one into a toilet in the men's locker room, and the other inside the tank of the water cooler in the break room- Rude gave up and allowed Nero to step back. With the weapons part of the training over, Veld watched as the parameters were reset on the training simulator and the new recruits took up positions for the hand-to-hand portion.
This would be the second time Nero would be pitted against non-Tsviets. There had been blood the last time, and Veld hoped there would not be a repeat performance. Now that the troops had some idea of what they were up against, Nero was having a harder time keeping them all at bay. Veld had been a little nervous at first, and still couldn't shake the nagging feeling that this could all go very bad, very quickly.
"Don't kill anyone," Veld had reminded Nero in no uncertain terms. "You don't get extra points for drawing blood. Someone taps out, you let them. Try not to hurt anyone if you can avoid it. Got it?"
Nero had nodded and given him a short, military "Yessir" before taking his place inside the arena.
Word had gotten around about the new recruit who fought with shadows. The volunteers included Turks, as well as a couple of former SOLDIERs. No one received mako these days, but those who had survived the debacle with Sephiroth and his cadre were still physically impressive. These combatants would not be so easy to toss around.
The buzzer sounded and the sharp ping of paintballs firing from those who wielded guns began almost immediately. Rather than dodge, Nero held up one hand, a huge hole opening in the space immediately before him, swallowing the the little paint pellets into solid, black nothingness. The troops blinked, but quickly shook off their surprise. Those with swords or mag rods rushed him, those with long-range weapons hanging back. The group had come to the unspoken decision to attack him as a unit, but Nero didn't seem to be having much trouble with the more organized assault.
Most of his tactics focused on defense. He'd yet to lay a hand on anyone, instead using his shadows to trip and trap them, opening holes for people to fall into or run through, only to come out somewhere else. A couple of times he was forced to fire a volley of magic- what kind Veld couldn't tell, except the charge was blue-black and sparkling with electricity- when someone got too close.
After a minute or two, they seemed to be at something of an impasse. Nero stood half-crouched, waiting, both hands engulfed in swirling blackness. The troops- Turks and SOLDIER veterans alike fell back, wondering what to do. Rather than wait for him to attack, one of the SOLDIERs rushed him while the others opened fire. Before Veld could call foul, one of the Turks had leaped the barrier and flipped on the flood lights. Nero shouted- either in pain or surprise, it was difficult to tell- cowering under the harsh glare. They'd found his weakness and exploited it. Nero was defenseless- or so they'd thought.
The SOLDIER raised his practice sword as if to strike and Nero ducked and dodged like an acrobat, long body twisting at an impossible angle before he abruptly lunged at the SOLDIER. It took Veld a moment to realize Nero had seized the thin black shadow of the SOLDIER's sword. He held it in both hands, a corporeal weapon of solid darkness. The SOLDIER didn't even blink, but met him blow for blow. Nero did not have the grace or technique of Sephiroth or Genesis, but he was fast and wily. The SOLDIER bore down on him, his greater ability with a sword forcing Nero back towards a corner. Abruptly Nero seized the shadow in both hands and yanked, pulling the single shadow blade apart into a pair of machetes. Not expecting this, the SOLDIER stumbled back as Nero struck once, twice-
"NERO, NO!"
Veld leaped over the barrier, the emergency buzzer already blaring as the SOLDIER collapsed to the floor, twin blades of perfect blackness sticking out of his chest. Nero jumped at the shouting, snapping back to reality. In horror he looked at the gasping, bleeding SOLDIER, at Veld racing toward him, and the medical squad streaming in through the doors behind him. One of them shut off the floodlights. The moment the lights went out, Nero crossed his arms over his chest and vanished, dropping through a hole in the floor. Veld barely had time to grab a hank of hair and dive in after him before the puddle of void closed over his head.
They tumbled hard to the gravelly floor of a dim cavern. Nero scrabbled back and away, stumbling over himself in his hurry to get to his feet. Veld held on, convinced that if he let go, the boy would disappear and he'd never see him again.
"I'm sorry!" Nero blurted, trying to wrestle away. "It was an accident!"
"Dammit, hold still!" Veld grunted, latching onto the kid's arm. Strangely, Nero froze, still half-crouched on the ground.
"I'm sorry," he repeated, voice small.
"Gods damn it Nero, I told you not to kill anyone!" Veld heard himself growl, voice magnified into a shout by the vaulted roof of the cavern. "What the hell did you even do?"
"I don't know! I'm sorry!" The kid was on his knees, arms crossed over his chest like a sinner come to confess. "I didn't mean to, I swear! It won't happen again! Please don't hurt Vincent…"
"I- " Veld broke off, all oxygen sucked from his lungs. He'd had a lecture prepared- not a chew-out per se, but definitely a stern talking-to- but now he could not remember a single word.
"Hurt Vincent?" he repeated. "Why in the name of Alexander…?"
Nero got to his feet, eyes terrified, but stance military straight. "It was my mistake. I forgot. I'm the one to blame. I'm the one who should be punished."
It took Veld a moment to find the words, and another minute to get his jaw to work. "Nero...I'm not going to hurt Vincent."
Clearly, Nero did not believe that. Cautiously, slowly, Veld took a step toward him.
"Vince and I shout. We argue, but we don't mean anything by it. I'd never hurt him, and he'd never hurt me. I'm real fond of him, we've been together for a long time. I'm not gonna hurt him, and I'm not gonna hurt you."
"It's okay," Nero insisted. "I can take it."
"The only thing you're gonna take is responsibility," Veld told him not unkindly. "Warp your ass- and mine- back to the surface so you can tell that SOLDIER you're sorry. You owe him that much."
"So he's going to punish me," Nero said with an air of one who hadn't been following but now understood.
"No," Veld said after counting to ten. Backwards. In Costan. "No one is going to punish you. We have the whole thing on tape. You're right, it was an accident, but you're going to have to go through all the protocols to verify that. Believe me, all the paperwork is punishment enough."
"You're sentencing me to...paper?" Nero looked beyond confused. Veld fought the urge to facepalm.
"Nero," Veld began, coming closer, "we don't treat our troops like that. Yes, we do punish them sometimes, but it usually involves extra pushups or cleanup duty in the kitchens or the latrines. Hurting the people you're training to keep you safe is a damn stupid way to do business."
Nero nodded, his eyes betraying his lingering confusion. Veld sighed.
"C'mon, let's go back to the arena. I'll help you sort this out, okay?"
Reluctantly, Nero nodded. "Okay."
As Veld disappeared into the void, Vincent's fragile grip on his headmates shattered. He'd shaken off a moment's paralysis when the SOLDIER fell to Nero's twin blades, following Veld into the arena, but his hesitation cost him precious seconds-just enough time for Veld to be swallowed up by shadow.
Vincent skidded to a halt on the spot where Nero and his partner had vanished. Behind him, EMTs worked on the injured man, ignoring Vincent entirely. He spun around, searching the arena and the area outside of it for any sign, Galian's vision penetrating the shadowed corners. He knew it was illogical - Nero and Veld had dropped out of sight seemingly straight through the floor - but he couldn't help it.
They were gone, gods knew where. Gone, into the night, out of sight, not right, not right…!
Oh gods, not now! Mask, no...don't….
Hellmasker took control, shoving Valentine to the back of his mind. He scanned the group gathered around the SOLDIER and the crowd of spectators beyond the ropes. There was blood, just enough to spice things up, and if he had any say in the matter, there would be more, oh yes, but it would be black, not red...
He started, jumping backward as the shadow-mage popped up out of nowhere, one hand towing another man behind him - a familiar man with amber eyes and silver-bronze hair.
"Mine," Mask growled. Bronze-Veld belonged to him, not to some bastard shadow-mage out of hell!
Bronze said something to the mage in a low voice, to which the mage nodded, his eyes wide and scared. Bronze stepped away from him, approaching the EMTs.
"How is he?"
One of them looked up. "Stable, Sir. We stopped the blood loss. We've got a Cure ready to go, he'll be fine."
Mask forgot about them and leaped.
The mage went down under him with a startled grunt. A knife popped out from under Mask's sleeve, sliding into his hand, its point just grazing the mage's throat.
Eyes wide and yellow as a cat's stared into his, and then two strong hands grabbed Mask by the back of his collar and yanked.
"Vincent, no! Get off him!"
Mask snarled, spinning around to face Bronze. "Don't touch me! Not your turn!"
Bronze blinked. "Valentine?"
Mask hissed, struggling to free himself. Bronze had made him drop the knife, his precious knife that he'd hidden so carefully, where had it gone..? The mage was moving, somewhere behind him, he felt the tug on his own shadow, he needed that knife...ah, there it was right at his feet!
"Nero, stay!" Bronze barked at the mage, and the furtive movement behind Mask stilled. Bronze shook him, hard.
"Mask, get the fuck out. I don't need you messing things up even more than they are."
"He took you!" Mask snapped. "Not his to take. Let me GO!"
Mask twisted free, scooping up the knife and turning back toward the mage. Bronze seized hold of his braided hair. Spitting curses, Mask swung a fist.
Bronze dodged it easily and slapped him hard across the face. Twice.
Mask froze, panting, fell to his knees. He dropped the knife, dropped his face into his hands.
"Veld...oh gods, I thought you were gone. I'm sorry!"
"Vincent?"
He looked up. "Wha...yes. Of course."
Veld studied him for a moment, body still poised to fight, his foot pinning the knife flat to the floor.
"All right." He reached, gave Vincent a hand up. "Out. Go wait in your office, or mine, I don't care which, just get out of here."
"But...Nero." Vincent turned to look at the boy, still crouched a few feet away, eying him warily. "Oh gods, he'll think I tried to kill him! I didn't...Mask...It wasn't me!"
"Valentine, go." Veld pushed him toward the exit. "We'll deal with it later. Out."
"Yeah. All right. I'm going." Vincent took a few steps, stopped and looked at Nero.
"Nero. I'm sorry. I didn't mean it. Please don't…." His voice trailed off. The words "don't hate me" never made it out of his mouth. He swallowed them, blinked away the stinging in his eyes, and walked away.
Nero watched Vincent go, golden eyes still huge with fear behind his mask.
"...was that it?" he asked.
Veld could not immediately think of a reply. A moment later, he an idea. A terrible, horrible, awful idea.
"Yes," Veld told him, only thirty year's practice keeping his voice calm and even. "The training arena is just for fun. For practice. You don't need to be afraid for your life here. However, if you break the rules, people are going to be angry with you. Vincent was angry because he thought you'd kidnapped me or hurt me."
It wasn't entirely a lie, but it was the most twisted of half-truths and he hated himself for letting Nero think that Mask's outburst was comeuppance for his mistake. Perversely, Nero relaxed ever so slightly and nodded.
"It won't happen again," he vowed.
Veld felt sick. "Good. Come with me."
The door to Vincent's office was shut, the door to Veld's open. Veld left Nero in his empty office with strict instructions to wait there for him. Crossing the hall, he tapped softly on the door with one knuckle before letting himself in.
Valentine looked up, face a picture of distress to match Nero's.
"Veld! Veld, honest to gods, I didn't mean-" he broke off as Veld pulled him close in a crushing hug. Automatically, Vincent put his arms around him, tightening his grip as Veld buried his face in his shoulder.
"...Veld?"
"He thought I was going to hurt you," Veld murmured into Vincent's shirt. "Because he messed up, because that SOLDIER got hurt, he thought I was going to take it out on you."
Vincent said nothing, just held on.
"I had to lie to him," Veld went on. "He kept going on about being punished. I couldn't make him understand. He doesn't believe he won't be tortured for every little mistake. I told him Mask's little outburst was his punishment- not for hurting the SOLDIER, but for running away."
Stepping back a bit, Veld looked up into his partner's face. Vincent's red eyes were wide with horror, the expression not so far from Nero's. After a minute he closed his eyes and nodded.
"I understand."
"Do not let that happen again," Veld said, hooking a hand behind Valentine's neck and pulling him down until their foreheads touched. "Lock him up with your nightmares. Have Gigas sit on him, I don't much care. Just don't let him attack the poor kid again."
"I promise," Vincent vowed. "I'm sorry. When I saw you vanish through that portal into nothing I just…"
"I'm flattered," Veld said, the sardonic smile creeping up on its own. "Do you really think he'd hurt me?"
Veld didn't actually want to know the answer to that. He didn't think Nero would purposely hurt either Vincent or himself, but today had definitively proved that accidents could and would happen.
"Not on purpose, no," Vincent agreed.
"Talk to Mask, then talk to Nero. Let's not have a repeat of today."
Vincent nodded. "Okay."
"Nero?"
The kid looked up sharply. Arms crossed over his chest, hands balled into tight fists, he stood where Veld had left him.
"I'm sorry!" he rasped through the respirator, and Vincent swore it wasn't the mask but a throat tight with held tears that distorted his voice. "I just...I forgot! It was an accident!"
"I know, son," Vincent said as gently as he could. He wanted to pull the boy into his arms and hold him tight, but he fought the instinct back. Nero wouldn't understand the gesture as Vincent intended it, and he didn't want to frighten the poor kid worse than he already had. "It wasn't fair of us to throw you into the ring like that. You're not used to playing for fun."
Nero nodded and looked hesitantly up at Vincent through his bangs. "Are you...okay? He said that was all he would do. Did he mean it?"
It took Vincent a moment to puzzle out what Nero was talking about. And then it clicked. The double slap to the face. Mask had seized control, and the only way to get Vincent back in the driver's seat had been a physical smack upside the head. Nero was used to being punished for other people's mistakes. This time, the mistake had been Nero's, and so he expected Vincent to pay the price for his error. He had completely dismissed Mask's attempt on him. Nero thought the slap was the punishment.
"I'm fine," Vincent managed, wondering if he ought to perpetuate the lie that Veld had started. Oh gods, where to even start? "Nero...Veld wasn't punishing me for what you did. He did it so I wouldn't hurt you."
"Huh?" Nero was clearly perplexed.
"Sit down?" Vincent pulled one of the hard-backed visitor's chairs over and took the other one for himself. Obediently, Nero sat.
"That's...that's not how we do things up here," he began, trying to keep Veld's words in mind. Reminding Nero that his entire life to date was 'wrong' wasn't going to help anything. "If I fuck up, I take the heat for my own mistakes. No one's going to come after you or Veld if I do something stupid. Also, nobody up here is going to make you bleed just because you messed up. Everyone makes mistakes. Nobody gets it right on the first try. It's okay to mess up."
Nero just stared at him with an intent and earnest expression, clearly trying to make sense of what was being told him. He wasn't dumb, but the concept was too alien for him to fully believe.
"We both messed up," Vincent went on. "You forgot yourself and stabbed that SOLDIER. That was as much my and Veld's fault as it was yours. We threw you into a combat simulation knowing it was a possibility that you'd forget and just react, and that's exactly what happened. No," he said, holding up a hand as Nero began to apologize yet again. "It is not all your fault. We knew better, and we did it anyway. You just did what you've been trained to do. I'll bet you never even practiced with a dull sword or shot blanks."
Nero shook his head. "No. Not since I was little. We always used sharps and live ammo."
As much to repress his internal screams as to hide the twisted expression of livid anger, Vincent rubbed his face with his hands.
"Well, we don't use sharps or live ammo when we practice, okay?"
"Okay," Nero agreed, taking every word to heart.
"Veld went after you because he was afraid you'd run and we'd never see you again. I went after you because I thought you'd hurt Veld."
The kid tilted his head to one side, both curious and confused. "Why would I hurt Veld?"
"Well, see, that wasn't what I thought of first," Vincent admitted. "Veld and I go way back. I've lost a lot of people in my life. Just about everyone except Veld, really. I'm a lot older than I look. Anyway, when I saw you two disappear I just...snapped. I'm a different person when I get like that. I wasn't myself when I went after you. You're okay, right?"
"Yeah, fine," Nero said amiably.
"Okay, good. I'm not fun to be around when I get like that. Veld had to smack me upside the head to snap me out of it. That is the only reason he hit me, and it wasn't to cause me pain so much as to bring me to my senses. Do you understand?"
"Kind...of…?" Nero hedged. "So...if I mess up….I'll be punished directly?"
Inwardly, Vincent sighed. "Yes. And you will not be punished severely. Like I said, we don't want to hurt you, we just want to make sure that you won't do the same stupid thing twice in a row."
The boy nodded slowly, digesting this. "Okay," he said at last, and Vincent felt as if he might have made some semblance of progress. "...am I still in trouble?"
"Not per se," Vincent assured him. "You're still gonna have to make a statement to the WRO inquiry board, and you need to apologize to the SOLDIER. Outside of that...Veld might sentence you to scrubbing pots for a week. Think you can handle that?"
Behind his mask, Nero's cheekbones lifted in a smile. "Yeah. I can handle that."