The Warrior

Chapter 19

For the awesome-est readers ever. Because you make me happy when I'm otherwise the world's biggest dirge. Umm, I should totally have replied to each on of you individually and I so will next time.

Jesse let out a whoop of triumph, literally bouncing in her chair and almost fell off. Several heads turned curiously, but no one spoke as the young tech righted herself with a breathless smile. Splayed across the large monitor were the access codes to Sephiroth's control chip. All three of them.

They were going to get them both! Tifa would be so relieved. Jesse could barely contain her excitement, she had to go to the bathroom. It had been a long morning and she'd chugged a 16 ounce coffee breve with 4 shots of liquid vitality earlier.

In hindsight, she should have known better, but having worked within those walls with the same people for so many years had lulled her into a false sense of security. She trusted them all with her life – they were her family, after all. Unfortunately, while Tifa might believe in the General's capacity for good, she was not the only person who had been victimized by his betrayal and lived to tell about it, and one of those people just so happened to be in the same room as his termination codes.

And Jesse had left him virtually alone in that room.

People came and went, but no one was paying attention to the main computer because it wasn't their job. He was there, staring up at the screen when she got back. Her smile faltered just a little when she saw him, a worry line creasing her brow. Something was off. She glanced at the screen and felt her stomach plummet to the floor.

"Jonny," Jesse whispered, taking a step forward. Her feet seemed so sluggish all of a sudden like she were dreaming and the faster she tried the run the harder it was to move. "What are you doing?"

'Are you sure?' Having seen those three words more times than she cared to admit when dealing with computers, she almost cried at the absurdity of it all.

Jonny cast a fleeting glance over his shoulder and his eyes were so dark and solemn it made her chest ache. Then his finger was on the key and he was pressing it with a methodical slowness, and all she could do was stare. The codes flared to life and there was a noise from the computer like nails on a chalkboard, and then Sephiroth's vitals were displayed and her world went spiraling out of control. The toxin released into his brain and then everything was blinking and the noise was like a siren in her ears in time with the erratic beat of his heart, until there was nothing.

Silence. Blank silence. The lights had gone out.

Jesse felt herself sink to the floor. Her hands were at her mouth holding back the horrible sound she knew was trying to get out. She didn't know why she should feel so wretched – she didn't eve know him, had heard only the worst things about him. But Tifa had asked her and she had said she would, and now he was dead because she'd left Jonny alone in the room!

"Oh God," She choked. "What have you done?"

"I'm sorry Jesse." His voice cracked a little. "I couldn't...I couldn't let him go!" There were tears in his eyes when he looked at her and his fingers were clenching in his hair, "I'm sorry."

"Oh Jonny." Jesse just shook her head, disbelieving. "Tifa's gonna kill me."

The young man paled, blinking in surprise. "What? But...why?"

"I told her we'd save him." She drew out wretchedly and pulled herself to her feet. "I don't know what I'm going to do...what am I – how am I suppose to tell her..." Her voice trailed off into a deepening silence.

Seconds ticked by and no one made a sound.

"I..." Jonny pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes and let out a sob. They fell away like anchors, "I'll tell her."

Jesse looked at him sadly, "You don't have to Jonny. I know- I mean, I understand. You had every reason to do it really. I should've talked to you."

Beep. Beep.

They both turned with a start when the the screen suddenly lit up. Jesse gasped and dashed forward to see if her eyes had deceived her, and they had not. There was a steady readfrom the heart monitor; Sephiroth was alive.

Jonny appeared beside her, to which she cast him a wary glance. He lifted his hands submissively and said, "I'm not gonna do anything. Is he alive?"

"Yes." She confirmed. Her fingers moved across the keys lightning quick as a series of windows popped up on the screen, until she had a look at his brain. Then she whistled, shaking her head in bemusement, "Amazing. His body is already cleansing itself of the toxin and he's barely been alive for a minute."

"Will he survive?"

"Oh yeah." Jesse affirmed easily. "What I'd like to know is how did he come back? Were the Jenova cells still active in his body? He was dead for a good 2 minutes at least."

"I'm not a doctor." Jonny shrugged.

"Neither am I." She agreed and added with a flippant smile, "Probably don't want to know anyway."

"I'm...gonna get some coffee." He said and started to walk away. He stopped at the door and glanced back, "You want anything?"

In light of what had happened due to her last caffeine intake Jesse had lost her appetite for coffee. She politely declined.

Nibelheim was burning. This was a dream he knew well. Usually he was burning with it. It didn't matter if he was free or tied to a stake, he always burned and the villagers just looked on wordlessly.

This time was different. There was a surreal sense about this dream, like he'd been here before – had smelled this place before; the earthiness from the woods and grass, the smoke from the burning houses, and the blood. Everywhere he looked was stained with red, himself most of all – he reeked of it.

A distant voice beckoned him, though he could not make out the words anymore. Somewhere in the recesses of his mind was their echo's memory, but nothing else remained save a name: Jenova. There was just him and the sword, and the library that started it all.

And her shadow over everything; Tifa. He could feel her everywhere, yet she was nowhere at all in his mind's eye.

He'd thrown gas on the houses in the dark of night when they were all asleep. There was something disturbing in his quiet conviction, something that made him want to hide from this memory and never look at it again, but his body moved of its own accord, setting each building on fire. Then he waited for the townspeople to scurry from their houses, losing themselves in their hysteria, and butchered them as they appeared. The ones that escaped long enough to run he chased down and cut to pieces as well.

Men and women, young and old begged for his mercy, but he had none to give. He hunted them, intent on every last drop of blood they could bleed. In all the times before the villagers had haunted him in this dream, but now he haunted them and their screams fell on deaf ears.

He didn't want to see this. It was not his smile that he felt pulling at the corners of his mouth as he ran them through , not his maniacal laughter as he watched them die. His teeth throbbed at the sound of his voice and he imagined clawing his eyes out so that he could not see, but the dream was relentless and no amount of desperation could break him free of it.

"This was not the way of a warrior" something inside him whispered. "You are the twisted experiment of an equally twisted man", it said.

That's when he saw her and just like that all the shattered pieces of his lost memory came together in a whirlwind of horrifying truth; this was no dream – this was his past. His heart stopped beating for what felt like an eternity – if only it had. He would've been happier dead.

She was so much younger then, almost a child, and happy. Or she had been. "I hate you." Never had he heard such sincerity in three simple words and he braced himself for what he knew came next.

Tifa drove the sword through him to the hilt. He wanted to kiss her, again, for it, fiercely. But he was dying and it would taste of blood and bitterness. So he did not.

Sephiroth awoke with a scream. The last time he'd done that was when he'd been a child, which in the terms of his life was an eternity ago. His childhood had been brief and screaming was not befitting of a soldier. They'd made sure he remembered never to do it again.

That now was the first time in all these years that he had done so seemed apropos. He wondered if Tifa would appreciate the sentiment, but just the thought of her made his stomach so tight he had to clench his teeth to keep from throwing up. There was someone else in the room and he was not about to give them the satisfaction.

After many slow, deep breaths he opened his eyes. He was almost upright, his body strapped to a surgery table that could be adjusted anywhere from laying flat to how it was now in near vertical position. The man that stood before him was one he knew well for having woken to him many times over the course of his life in similar fashion.

"Hojo." The word might have been a curse the way it rolled of Sephiroth's tongue. He bared his teeth in a snarl, every inch of his body tensed against his bindings.

The man's smile was as maniacal as he had been in his dream, or rather, in his past. His eyes were beaming as he shuffled closer, slow and careful. "You haven't screamed like that since you were a boy." He made a tut tut noise and quickly scribbled something on a clipboard that appeared from behind his back. It was the man's constant companion – his only companion.

Rage festered under Sephiroth's skin. He bit back a growl, composing himself. "You restored my memory?" He asked finally.

"Yes." Hojo drawled and met his gaze sharply. "How does it feel?" He asked and his eyes were shining. "How does it feel to know that you are the chosen one? Her chosen one?" And he laughed. He laughed himself into a fit and still he cackled and coughed, sputtering over the floor like something possessed. Perhaps he was. He was mad enough to inject himself with Jenova cells.

Sephiroth couldn't help the chilling smirk that was every bit the sinister creature Hojo had always wanted, "Oh yes," He agreed. "She did choose me."

Hojo's head bobbed in acquiescence pleasure. "The Promise Land awaits." Then he moved forward to undo the bindings on his legs, long narrow fingers as pale as bone working deftly with the buckles. Next were the wrist straps, then torso, the waist and last was at the throat. The scientist backed away then, still facing him with hands clasped neatly behind his back.

Sephiroth stumbled forward, almost falling to a knee. It took all of his self-control and willpower just to stay upright with some semblance of dignity. That he still had any before this man was a miracle in itself.

"My sword."

"Ah, a moment." Hojo scuttled across the room hunched at the shoulder like an old man though he was barely 50. He disappeared behind a row of empty test tubes and returned shortly after with the masamune dragging awkwardly behind him. It made a grinding noise where the tip scraped the ground.

Sephiroth's eyes burned with a silent, but deadly rage. He made himself wait and allowed a small measure of pleasure at watching the man struggle hopelessly with the mighty blade, where one slip of a girl had wielded it like a master. When at last Hojo shoved the hilt over for him to take and he wrapped his fingers around the familiar worn leather binding his retribution was almost complete.

With a quick flourish he tested its weight, examining the blade critically as he spoke, "Did you know that she stopped me with my own sword?" He lifted his gaze to meet the other man's with a cold, calculated grace.

Hojo stood unmoving, staring back. There was a fraction of sanity back in his eye that understood that the tide had suddenly altered course. "Who?" The word was clipped, impatient.

"The girl." Sephiroth supplied evenly. "The girl from Nibelheim."

His eyes narrowed behind his glasses and his lips made an ugly scowl, "What are you on about?" But he'd taken a step back as a flash of something like fear crossed his pale face.

Sephiroth brought the masamune around in a slow, sweeping arc until the blade rested gently against the other man's throat. "Where is she?"

Hojo did not move, but for a twitch at the corner of his left eye. There was a flicker of recognition there. "Oh, you mean the little cross-dressing whore that assassinated the president. She's no longer a concern, although really I should thank her – she saved your life you know – perhaps I'll send a card. It might even get to her before she's executed."

It took all of his discipline not to kill him right there, but Sephiroth had not gone through the brutal conditioning of his upbringing just to lose his temper now. Not to this man. He wouldn't give him that satisfaction either.

"Very well." He said conversationally. "Any last words?"

The fear in the man's gaze was palpable now as he burst into a hysteria induced fit of giggles – there was no other explanation for it. The seconds dragged on as the man doubled over, tears in his black eyes from some odd bit of humor that only he understood. Before long Sephiroth was laughing too, a strong and reverberating sound that drowned out the other man's high pitched nasal laugh. They continued together like for a minute or so and then the silence moved in.

After a moment Hojo spoke, spreading his arms out with a smile too big for his face. "Do it." He said. "Make history – you were made for it."

"Perhaps I will." Sephiroth murmured softly. His wrist flicked, a small almost indecipherable movement, and then the other man's head was falling to the floor in a gush of blood that made his insides roil. "But not for you."

Then he was doubled over heaving his guts out.

She was running from someone or something, but no matter where she turned all that moved ahead were tall buildings and winding roads with no end. Some would unleash a flock of Gargoyles – is that what you'd call it? A flock? - from their banisters that would fly down to chase her, but they weren't the only things behind her. There was pain in her shoulder, but she couldn't remember what it was from. Maybe she'd been stabbed or shot, it didn't matter. If they caught her she would die.

Sometimes there would be a person in front of her and she would call out to them, but as soon as her voice broke the silence they sped on ahead and disappeared. It might be Cid, it might be Marlene, Cloud, or Sephiroth. As soon as she took a new turn it would be someone else waiting for her.

"Stop!" She'd yell. "Hey!" But they never did and behind her she could feel the presence getting closer, reeling her in with a relentlessness that was terrifying. Somehow she knew she would never escape it, no matter how fast she ran or for how long, it would always be there.

Then it was there, running at her heels and she could feel icy tendrils sliding up her legs, slowing her down. She did the stupid thing and turned around, but it was too late anyway, wasn't it? It had no face, no substance. It was a swirling black cloud of cold eyes and death. When it touched her she screamed and suddenly she was standing at her old piano in the house she grew up in.

Her hand reached for the keys and the flames exploded from behind it, consuming the walls and the floors. She jumped back and turned towards the stairs, but the way was barred by fire and then it was all around her, burning the flesh from her bones and she opened her mouth to cry out, but there was no sound.

Tifa jerked awake and received a blinding stab of pain from the back of her skull for her trouble. Her eyes blinked, adjusting to the dark. There were no distinct shapes that she could make out. She was lying on a limp mattress from the feel of it and that was probably the only furniture in the room. The only visible light was a tiny sliver maybe a quarter of the way up what she assumed was a door from the floor. It was probably a sliding hatch to pass food through.

So she'd been captured, that much she could remember. They had rung her bell pretty hard, but not that hard. She wondered morbidly if it might have been better If they had so she wouldn't have to remember. But Sephiroth had been alive when she last saw him - at least she hadn't failed in that.

She didn't stop to analyze the fact that she wouldn't be in this predicament if she'd left him for dead. It never crossed her mind to leave him. Would they have arrested him too? Or something worse? She didn't want to think about that.

Tifa tried to roll over and froze at the jolt of pain from her shoulder where she'd been shot. Probably one of the other snipers did it. She hissed through her teeth, fingering the wound gently with her left hand. Someone had bandaged it.

Why hadn't they just killed her?

A sigh rippled through the silence as she stared up at nothing. How long would she wait before she found out what they meant to do? An hour? A day? It felt like she'd been there for a year already, but that might be attributed to the dream she'd had before waking.

Did they intend to interrogate her? Her stomach knotted uncomfortably. It would make sense for them to, unless they'd somehow caught the others, but that wasn't very likely seeing as none of them were present for the ceremony. That was her task, not theirs.

Tifa frowned worriedly. It was one thing to die, but to be tortured? That was something she had no experience with. Withstanding pain was a part of her martial arts training, but nothing like she might encounter here. She rather hoped they would simply execute her – she intended to keep Avalanche's secrets, if it was the last thing she did.

But she'd been living half alive for so long that living or dying hardly made a difference to her anymore. Cloud had been the only focal point in her life for the last five years and when he was gone, her mission. Now she had nothing. Did he know that she had been taken? Would he even care?

Did anyone?

Tifa fought a grimace at that train of thought. It wasn't entirely fair either. There were some that probably cared, but not enough to risk a rescue operation and she wasn't going to blame them for that. She'd known it might be a one way trip if she were caught.

It was the fact that she didn't care that bothered her.

A lump formed in her throat, which she forced down with a determined swallow. Her fingers clenched for a moment and then she took a deep breath, letting it out slowly and her hands relaxed. She closed her eyes and cleared her mind, like she'd been taught, and then she waited.

She intended to be ready when they came for her.

They did come, some hours later. Tifa had no concept of time in that little room. When the lights suddenly came on her head had jerked to the side, one hand reaching up to cover her eyes, and that had caused a lot of pain from her injury. Then the door was opening and she was sitting up with her back pressed to the wall, breath hissing through her teeth.

Whoever she expected to see, and really she hadn't thought hard about it, the person standing in the doorway was not in that admittedly short list. His attire was blinding in its stark whiteness and his eyes glinted like steel. They were blue. There was no warmth in his face, all chiseled from unyielding stone. He had red blonde hair that was slightly combed over in the front and there was something undeniably familiar about him.

It was a moment before she recognized his likeness. She hadn't seen his father many times, but she'd had a very good look not long ago; this was Shin-Ra's son. His first name escaped her, but she had heard of him. Though he was a good deal more fit than his father, they shared the same harsh lines and self-assured eyes.

"Miss Lockheart." He stepped into the room with a casual flick of his bangs with his free hand – the other held a shotgun slung over his shoulder. Behind him stood two Turks; the bald one she'd met in the elevator not long ago and the red head, Reno, who never tucked in his shirt. The man in white gave them a nod and they shut the door behind him.

They were alone now, but the presence of the shotgun was all the warning she needed. Tifa didn't move, but stared at him and waited.

"Allow me to introduce myself," he began cordially. "I am Rufus Shin-Ra, son to the late President Shin-Ra, whom you are well acquainted with."

She watched him warily, waiting for the punch line. Despite his cool exterior there was courtesy in his manners. Whether the coolness was attributed to the loss of his father or simply a staple of who he was she couldn't determine. He seemed otherwise unaffected by her presence despite her hand in his father's death.

"What do you want from me?" Tifa asked finally.

"Answers." Rufus quipped. "Names and locations pertaining to Avalanche, to be more specific."

She stared back at him unmoving. Now was her chance to throw him off if she could. "You're going to kill me anyway. Why bother asking?"

"Pain is a most encouraging tonic." He supplied and his eyes never balked once from her face. There was something alluring in all that empty distance behind his gaze. She wandered what it was he might be hiding behind such thickly iced walls.

"For lies." She argued. "A person will say anything to make the pain stop. It doesn't work."

"It is fortunate then, that I find torture to be lacking in good taste." And he smiled. It was merely a flash, gone in the next instant, but it had been genuine.

Tifa couldn't help the uncertainty she felt showing on her face. If it was his goal to put her off her footing he had succeeded. He was not being unkind, but there was no doubt in her mind that he would kill her if it served his purpose. Her eyes flickered to the shotgun he held with exaggerated boredom in his left hand, waiting for the other shoe to drop. When there was none immediately forthcoming she felt even more nervous – it couldn't be this easy.

"If you will not answer my questions, you face the executioners chair." Rufus supplied for her. "If you do...I will merely hold you hostage until the entirety of Avalanche is apprehended."

Tifa sucked in a sharp breath – that wasn't what she'd been expecting. There wasn't so much as a fraction of anger in his tone or face. It was like he held no relation to the man she'd killed at all, and now he was offering her life in exchange for information.

Her fingers dug into the mattress as she sat gazing darkly at the floor. It was an ugly thing, all mottled white and gray linoleum. She would have preferred plain concrete.

"You have till tomorrow to give me your answer." He said to her silence. Then the door clicked and she was once again alone. At least they left the lights on this time.

Tifa stared at the door and wished for a punching bag on which to vent her frustration. Maybe she did care after all. She was actually considering the offer. The realization of that simple truth made her sick and that ultimately was the tip of the ice berg in her decision.

But really, she'd known the answer all along – she was just too afraid to acknowledge it.

He returned the next day with an assistant in a gray tweed skirt carrying a tray of food, the aroma of which set Tifa's mouth to watering instantly. She refrained from looking too closely at what was on it, choosing instead to focus her attention on the man whose mercy her life hung in the balance of. The shotgun was gone today, but in its place walked something far more formidable and curious.

Her brow rose a fraction. How did he get one of those?

Vibrant green eyes stood out starkly against jet black fur, half lidded as they appraised her. A curious smile pulled at her mouth as the panther promptly sat down at her master's feet with a bored expression - her head came to Rufus's waist. It was so reminiscent of Soldier the cat that she felt a pang of unexpected sadness.

Blinking, she averted her gaze back to the man. He was watching her with interest, the assistant already gone. They were alone again, in a manner of speaking.

"Have you come to a decision?" He inquired with detached politeness. A hand casually stroked the top of the panther's head.

Tifa ignored the stab of hunger in her belly and forged ahead, "Yes." She said. "I don't have any answers for you."

"You don't have, or you won't give?" Rufus pressed on pointedly.

She bit her lip. It hadn't occurred to her to tell them she didn't know anything because she did and it would be a lie, which she was not good at. They didn't know for certain that she was in league with Avalanche and she had reasons enough for what she did without that affiliation, but her hesitation was more than answer enough for a man like him.

Tifa looked away resolutely. "I won't betray them."

"Are they that important to you?" He queried after a moment and there was a trace of real interest in his voice that surprised her.

She looked up at him, taken aback, and the answer was easy, "Yes, they are."

There was a brief flash of something like disappointment in his eyes that was quickly swallowed in cold detachment as he nodded curtly and said, "Very well." The large cat at his side looked up at him, almost concerned like. He ignored it though and continued dispassionately, "You are scheduled for a publicly televised execution tomorrow at 1400."

And just like that man and feline were gone.

Tifa felt like someone had punched her in the solar plexus as she slumped back against the wall. It was hard to breath for that first minute, but as the knowledge slowly sunk in and the nagging pang of hunger persisted she relaxed. They had left the tray of food on the bed beside her and now that she was free from their scrutiny she allowed herself the satisfaction of eating something warm.

Pancakes weren't normally her favorite, but right then she might have been happy eating anything and they were exceptionally good – not your standard jailhouse fare. It would be one of the last meals she ever had and she'd be damned if she didn't enjoy something before she died.

It was the rest of the day that she had to worry about. With nothing to keep her mind occupied and mediation her only avenue for keeping it empty, there was a lot of time left for self-exploration that she really didn't care to have. It would have been better had he told her she had one hour. More sudden and terrifying, but better.

Tifa set the tray on the floor when she finished and crossed her legs on the bed, but instead of clearing her mind as she had before, she thought about people. All the people she'd known throughout her life and what they had meant to her. It was a surprisingly brief list, but the last one made up for that in time because she couldn't figure out exactly what he meant to her.

Now she would never know. In some twisted sense it was probably better this way - she wasn't sure she wanted to be alive when he remembered what happened. She really didn't want this new perception of his character to change, because she liked it.

That just made everything harder.

The next morning came quicker than she thought it would. She hadn't really slept – couldn't. There was too much to think about and no reason to save her energy.

When the door to her cell opened and a tall blonde woman in a red dress and dangerously high heels stepped inside Tifa felt her insides tighten. The woman did nothing to hide her disdain as she tossed a bundle to her with a clipped, "Get dressed."

One look at the garments in question and she returned with a flat, "I'm not wearing this." She threw the items back at the woman, hitting her square in her overly inflated chest. They dropped harmlessly to the floor, but the slight did not go unnoticed.

A snarl curled the older woman's lip. "Put them on or I'll have the guards put them on for you!" She snapped and whirled away, slamming the door behind her.

Sighing, Tifa sat back down on her bed and glared at the skirt lying innocuously on the floor. A part of her was tempted to test their boundaries, but on the other hand what she wore to her death really didn't matter enough for her to risk losing her dignity over something so stupid. If that pretentious harpy thought she could demean her by dressing her like a hussy she had another thing coming.

She stripped out of her clothes, which were admittedly a bit rank at this point, and yanked on the short leather skirt and cutoff sport top. She was glad for her uniform's suspenders, which she attached to the skirt as an afterthought. It was something she might have worn as a teenager when she was too immature to understand the difference between classy and raunchy.

Now she was going to die in it. There was some kind of irony in there she was sure of it.

The same two Turks that had accompanied Rufus on his first visit came to retrieve her now. Both did an admirable job of appearing not to ogle her even though they were. The long whistle that Reno couldn't resist did away with all pretenses however.

Tifa shot him a narrow look as the bald one took a hold of her right bicep, not unkindly. No one said anything. They just started walking.

It was the first time she'd been out of her cell since being here, wherever here was. It wasn't Headquarters, that she knew immediately from the make up of the building. They escorted her down a long hall and around a corner, and then into an elevator. It was large and the floor was rusted metal grating, and it made a grinding noise as it ascended the floors. There were only ten of those, which in comparison was nothing to the Shin-Ra building.

So where had they taken her? Another base perhaps? But that would mean they were no longer even in Midgar. Had she been out for that long?

Another series of hallways and turns brought them two a set of double doors. Two guards stood on either side unmoving. There they stopped and the Turks shared a look between them before glancing down at her.

Must be nice having the height advantage all the time, she thought grumpily.

"Uh," Reno cleared his throat and scratched the back of his neck almost nervously, "You might want to keep your head down when we go in."

Tifa had a few seconds to process that mysterious statement before its relevancy flew scant centimeters past her left cheek in the form of what she could only assume was a very rotten egg, judging by the smell emanating from the wall behind her where it had hit as they entered. The bald Turk's grip tightened a fraction on her arm as he moved between her and the onslaught with admirable grace. He took a tomato to the side of his head without flinching.

She was overwhelmed by a ridiculously grateful feeling all of a sudden and pressed a little closer to the tall man. There were people screaming for her head, shouting obscenities, and it was all that security could do to keep them at bay. She had no idea so many had loved the president so ardently. Some of them were literally trying to claw their way through to get to her and there was nothing short of murder in their eyes.

It was terrifying. When her hand subconsciously found salvation buried in the bald man's suit he glanced down at her. With his sunglasses he was impossible to read, but she was not and his brow furrowed ever so slightly at her pale face. He fired his partner a meaningful look over the top of her head.

The red head seemed unsettled by this, but relented with a groan. Then he leaned in to her ear, whispering, "Ah, you might have been found guilty for dropping the plate on Sector 7, in addition to assassinating the President."

Her eyes widened and she stiffened, glancing between the two men in horror. It was a second before she realized she'd dragged both of them to a halt in her surprise. The deafening roar in the room was suddenly drowned out by the pulse of her blood in her ears. They had to drag her by force for some distance before her legs started to work again and by then she was so furious she could have beat the camera man half to death when he shoved said camera in her face.

If the Turks hadn't been there she might have. The idea that she would die for something she was not guilty of induced a panic in her that death in general never had. Now she wanted to fight, to bite, claw and kick - anything to keep her from being taken through that door in the far corner of the room, but it was too late.

Reno gave her a look that was almost an apology. His companion was as stiff as a board and wouldn't even look at her, but he continued to take the brunt of vegetables as they were thrown in her direction.

Rufus had not been joking about it being publicly televised. There were at least three different major News stations there with over ten cameras and at least five reporters, one of which seemed oddly familiar, but then she was swallowed by the crowd before Tifa could get another look. The door loomed unbearably close now and even a fool could see the fear in her eyes.

The woman in the red dress was waiting there along with an obese man in a green officer's uniform of some kind. He was heavily bearded with harsh, flat eyes and a booming laugh that drowned out all other sound in the room. What he found amusing she would never know, but the blonde smiled a vicious smile and gazed down at her with nothing but contempt.

Shin-Ra guards took the place of the Turks to escort her the rest of the way. The door was opened, and it was a massive round thing nearly two feet thick and solid steel. A wheel in the center would seal her inside. She was being pushed inside then and everything seemed a blur in her eyes. It wasn't until she'd been shoved into a chair that was bolted to the floor to have her wrists and ankles locked in that she knew in what manner she would die.

This was a gas chamber.

Author's Note: You know, I almost didn't do it, but the timing was so perfect and now I'm evil. Sigh. Have I mentioned recently that you guys are awesome? I couldn't believe the feedback and, ummm, the chewing out I received, lol – I mean that absolutely in a good way. I still maintain that certain parts of the last chapter were horribly rushed, but...as you can see I've updated in a more timely fashion and that is in large part because I've gotten to a place where I know exactly where I want to go from here on out. Yay! And because you guys are awesome. I said that, right?

I hope some of you are Rufus fans because I gave him some screen time for your benefit. I hope you enjoyed the subtle nod to the game as well. Happy reading! And reviewing? Maybe? Thanks!