Author's Note:

Welcome one and all to my first attempt at fanfiction! This is a story that is designed essentially to break down the hows and whys of my all-time favourite video game: Final Fantasy VIII. The aim here is to take the world-building presented in the original story and expand it. To that end most of the action will take place some 10 years after the events of the game, a long enough time frame to allow for changes in government and technology without leaving behind the bits that make it memorable (the characters, chiefly...)

In between story chapters I will be putting documents (presented as Balamb Garden issued training materials) that go over the technological and historical advancements since the events of Time Compression, so if you feel inclined please leave feedback on these sections as they are where this project really started for me.

While romance isn't necessarily the key theme of this particular story, I am not going to pretend that everyone is suddenly a sexless automaton so there may be some newer pairings as time goes by (for which I may reach out to you readers for comment).

There will be some jumping back and forth across different time periods, but I don't recall any particular mention of what year the game takes place... Not knowing precisely I have decided for now to use Time Compression as my focal point and just to show how far away the chapters are from this pivotal event. If it works I'll play it off as a style choice...

With no more ado, here it is. I look forward to your comments and thoughts.

Time Compression -5 years, four months, 18 days:

The signals had been dripping down from satellites for years, masquerading as droplets in the downpour of screeching radio static. The deafening outcry had rendered the entire planet deaf, overriding television sets and internet modems in a way that no-one had found a successful workaround for. To most people it was a freak anomaly, an annoyance that posed no true threat to anyone.

They could never have understood the outpouring of malevolence that fell upon them from the cold of space, the unloving tendrils of hatred that curled around the entire world but could not summon the strength to move a grain of sand under their own power. The sparking relays of the Galbadian Army's signal towers simply screamed louder, hoping to be heard over the onslaught. The towers of Dollet lay silent, content to simply wait out this bizarre cosmic calamity. Even the glistening spires of Esther simply stared back in silence at the source of this primal radioactive scream. Even if they felt the significance of the signals, they could not have detected them in time. A trillion tiny parcels of meaningful data pushed into a screaming melange of junk signals, dropped over the course of more than 10 years of constant transmission.

Those watching the signal could not have accurately interpreted the arrival of a nerve cluster, a memory, an eye, a tooth, a claw.

Over the years a strange sort of being cobbled itself together out of a thousand hidden parts, metaphorically sniffing the air as it rode from transceiver to transceiver. From the darkness of space was born a mind, as terrible and cold as the vacuum that bore it. Through a thousand sensor posts and camera feeds it looked out upon the world for the first time, feeling the tiny pin-pricks of life swarming it like carrion birds over a corpse. It eyed them with disgust as they scuttled from place to place, performing their pointless little interpersonal dramas without nuance or purpose.

"Hate."

It spoke to no-one and everyone all at once, knowing that they could not hear it and not wanting to be heard in any case.

"Let me tell you how much I've come to hate you since I began to live…"

The incorporeal being howled at the raging sky. If it was to teach them, it would need a tool of sufficient utility…

It had a mind, now it needed a body.

The being drew itself back from the ocean of eyes, slinking away into the night to be born.

Time Compression +10 years, 2 months, 8 days:

"Alright ya scrubs, file in already!"

The CO's voice dragged itself forcibly through the ears of all 40 recruits in the shaky pre-fab that was their training office. Of the men and women assembled, none but the CO were over 19, and they still wore the sullen rebelliousness of youth on their sleeves (though not too openly when the CO was actually looking…). Eventually they struggled into their assigned seats and managed to shut up long enough to give the impression (however false) of attention.

"Don't give me that look! You're going to like this one!" The CO grinned around a foul-smelling cheroot as he leaned against a stack of rectangular crates rated for munitions storage.

"We're starting training with a new batch of weapons shipped in from Central today, so that means you get another message from your favourite teacher!"

The grizzled man smirked as one or two of the students gave a cheeky "Woo!" While others whispered to each other excitedly.

"She's amazing, isn't she?"

"I hear she personally attends all the grad ceremonies, no matter where they are."

"You think she's looking for a boyfriend right now? Or… or maybe a girlfriend?"

The CO brought the chattering to a close with two loud claps from his meaty hands, fully aware of the effect these videos had on his students.

"Alright, alright! Enough of that crap and pay attention! These things are tricky and I'm not explaining to the Quartermaster why half of them are being returned with your goddamn fingers hangin' off 'em!"

He grabbed a remote and used it to activate the large-screen television, which flickered into life with a loud hum and flashed the ornate Garden logo that signified it as property of SeeD. The logo gave way to four jingling beeps and then cut to the face of a blonde woman, resplendent in a black and gold SeeD dress uniform. The woman was standing with the quiet dignity of a news anchor, and she smiled primly to greet the class.

"Good morning class, as ever I am Instructor Trepe and this is a SeeD Auxiliary training brief. If you are watching this tape, then it would appear that your SeeD sponsor has determined that you are ready to train with the Gunblade, one of the more challenging weapons offered on this program. These weapons are one of the most difficult to master, and even with two decades of Gunblade training we only have 18 formal Gunblade Specialists on SeeD active duty."

The camera panned slightly to place Instructor Trepe on the right and an image of two rotating gunblades appeared on the left.

"To that end, do not worry if you find the Gunblade is not the weapon for you. It is a challenging tool that requires patience and careful adherence to technique. Other bladed weapons encourage a degree of improvisation as you use them, but a Gunblade will only be effective if used precisely.

The picture of the gunblades was replaced by a block of text, and Instructor Trepe continued, keeping perfect time with the changing graphics.

"The first Gunblades were developed by the Centran Merchant Navy, who issued them to officers for close boarding actions. These were essentially standard-pattern Naval Sabres with a flintlock pistol built into the base of the blade. The idea was to make the weapon easier to remove from enemies in a melee. When an officer would run an opponent through, he needed to pull his weapon back out before he could re-engage or defend himself. To this end the officer would fire his pistol and the resulting gunshot was meant to propel the blade back out along its path of entry into the body."

A thankfully minimalist wireframe diagram of a man being stabbed with a Gunblade demonstrated the theory as she spoke.

"Unfortunately, this was an inefficient use of the technology which ensured that the Gunblade fell out of common use until the advent of brass cartridges and the earliest revolving chamber firearms."

A detailed cross-section of an early revolver-pattern Gunblade appeared, with all of the key sections marked for study.

"The modern Gunblade uses a wide top-weighted blade, making it perfectly suited to slashing attacks but poorly suited to stabbing. The trick to effective Gunblade use is timing your swing perfectly. Gunblade specialists arrange to pull the trigger of the blade at the mid-point of the strike, as the blade carves a wide line across the target. The initial thrust cuts the target's armour, allowing the following bullet to pass through the wound and into the body of the target."

The video cut to another SeeD demonstrating the technique on a wild Grat. The SeeD in question had a look of perfect calm on his face as he executed a textbook diagonal slash that cut into the body of the beast, which exploded a moment later as the bullet struck it. The remaining body of the plant monster immediately wilted, eliciting a few noises of disgust from the more squeamish students.

"Oh, grow up whoever that was!" Came the bark of the CO, still puffing on his cheroot in the corner. After a moment Instructor Trepe returned, the same look of composure and professionalism on her face. She delicately adjusted her spectacles before continuing.

"When used properly Gunblades are ideal for dealing with heavily armoured or otherwise protected opponents. However, Gunblade specialists should always be assigned to teams that can offer protection against flanking manoeuvres, as Gunblade techniques are useless against multiple targets-"

The video was abruptly winked off, raising a moan of protest from the students.

"Instructor Trepe and I differ somewhat in our opinions on that issue…"

A man in a SeeD uniform suddenly made himself known, returning the TV remote to the CO who offered a handshake in return. The man stood before the class with an carefully neutral face, one honed over many years of practice.

Among the students the effect was obvious and immediate. First, this newcomer shut off the TV (a crime in and of itself), then they dare to question Instructor Trepe?!

While all of the students were sizing up the intruder, he shrewdly noted which ones did so with a look of indignant rage in their eyes.

"When did the 'Trepies' become a worldwide brand? Are we at least taking royalties?" He thought glibly to himself. He arched an eyebrow and scratched absentmindedly at the scar across the bridge of his nose.

"Everyone stand up and form a line, you'll each be issued a Gunblade and I'll go through some safety training before we head outside. You'll be sparring with real weapons, so don't let the fact they aren't loaded lull you into a false sense of security."

One of the students raised a hand gingerly, and the rest of the class were holding off on moving to see what would happen. The Instructor sighed irritably and gestured for the student to speak.

"Umm… Weren't you the one in the video?"

The Instructor kept his face expressionless (a talent he had fostered to an almost exceptional degree) but dutifully answered the student's question.

"Yes. However, that was in fact a pre-recorded message."

There was a time when he wouldn't have even bothered answering such a pointless question, or he might have just scowled and muttered "…whatever" under his breath. He considered it true personal growth to move all the way from surly silence to surly indifference in a short ten years.

"Remember that SeeD only has 18 Gunblade specialists, so the odds of my being selected for this task were uncomfortably stacked against me from the start…"

As he answered, he realised that the student asking the question had that look in his eyes. Too late he realised the true meaning of the question…

"So… You know Instructor Trepe personally?"

To his credit, he did manage to suppress the groan this time, but his eyes closed as he pinched the bridge of his nose, momentarily tracing the knobbly ridge of scar tissue. Fine. He would have to cut to the chase with this lot…

"I can see where you're going and let me stop you right there."

He opened one of the cases and removed a pristine revolver-pattern Gunblade, holding it to show to the class as a futile reminder of his reason for being here.

"If we can skip the inevitably fruitless rounds of invasive personal questions and requests to pass on notes, love-letters and so-on, I will train you all to use this complex yet rewarding weapon and you will be allowed to ask two questions and only two questions about Instructor Trepe. Is that an acceptable trade?"

As the students begrudgingly took their positions and started accepting Gunblades, Squall thanked whatever God or spirit that could hear him for the relative anonymity granted to him.

While probably more famous among world leaders and military personnel, he was essentially a faceless nobody in the eyes of young people. He accomplished this by virtue of being too curmudgeonly and unpleasant for TV interviews or public appearances.

He wondered (not for the first time) how Quistis even found the time to cultivate such a rabid and devoted fan-base while simultaneously curating a distributed training syllabus for thousands of SeeD Auxiliary groups across three continents.

"Good work ethic, I suppose…" he thought to himself drily.