Chapter 39 - Obligation, Loyalty and Other Duties as Assigned
February, 1991
In the executive elevator, Sephiroth focuses on his posture as Midgar descends below him. He leans back onto his heels and drops his shoulders. His chin rises, the skin underneath tickling. Even with it being so early in the morning, all his usual sleepiness is gone. It disappeared when he found Mariella waiting for him by the main exit.
Now, Mariella stands next to him. The elevator chimes as the floors go by. Bland music fills the empty space.
"I've called the school already. You won't be marked absent." She smiles at him but it feels weird.
If he isn't apprehensive about this, her eyes would push him over the edge. Inside them, there is a controlled worry. She's looking for something in him. His life is changing. Somehow. It is something that Mariella hasn't predicted or doesn't have any choice in. Even when it is something that she chooses, she never looks at him like this.
Only when Professor Hojo is involved, does she stiffen like she's dead.
The floors rise along with his anxiety.
"We are going to have a meeting about SOLDIER?" He asks to fill the silence more than to get an answer. She already said this when she swiped her card and punched in the number. It's not the right time. He doesn't get SOLDIER meetings. It's a few more months before he's officially in the program.
"Yes. Exciting, isn't it?" She doesn't even try to sound convincing.
"Sure."
If this was a scheduled meeting, he wouldn't be worried.
Instead he feels like he is careening off into the unknown with rules that he doesn't understand. His mind guesses but he calms himself into a stillness that he relies on more and more. Anything he guesses will be wrong. He doesn't know enough. It's impossible. It is out of his control. It is better to save his energy for when he does know.
The impossibility turns out to be a meeting on the newly refurbished conference floor. Mariella's heels clicks echo against the black marble. She never wears heels. She's not telling him anything, just leading the way. His shoulders rise and muscles knit tight but he forces it all back. He's a future SOLDIER, meetings shouldn't scare him.
Mariella knocks on the door and then opens it without waiting for a response.
Three men sit around a conference table that fits twenty. Sephiroth pauses at the door but doesn't allow himself to stay there. He doesn't guess which of these Shinra staff is most important. He knows. The blonde man sits with a confidence that he can control everything in this room. More importantly, when he stands up, the other two scramble to follow.
"Sephiroth," he says in a voice that's so warm that he can feel it on his skin, "it's a pleasure to meet you."
The white suit extends a hand and Sephiroth takes it. He practiced handshakes with Mariella last year. He hopes he doesn't squeeze too hard. He says nothing, only meets his eyes and nods. The less he says, the less trouble he can be in. That's a safety he knows from Dinand.
"Lazard Deusericus." Lazard shakes his hand.
Sephiroth can't stop the sharp look he gives the Director of SOLDIER. This is the hand that signed his contract hanging on his wall. This is the man that he will be working for. It is a true SOLDIER meeting. Why would they need to meet with him right now?
Rocks form in his stomach. Sephiroth pretends they aren't there.
Lazard lets out a chuckle and adjusts his glasses. "I see I don't need to introduce myself. Take a seat, will you?"
Sephiroth feels unreal as he sits across from the Director in his school clothes. He has one set of nice clothes in his closet. He's put them on several times to envision what it is going to look like to meet Lazard Deusericus in them. Instead, he's got his winter coat over one arm, a tired gray shirt and his standard issue exercise shoes. He was up late working on the final touches on an essay and hadn't had the energy to try on what he was wearing.
He regrets that.
"This is Clarence Normandy, he works in PR and hopefully with you." Lazard waives to his left at the man who might be in his forties. His black hair is pressed tight against his head. Clarence nods and smiles in the plastic way that public relations members do.
"And Edin Morse." Lazard finishes with the man, almost boy, that's settled next to the seat that Mariella took. "Surely, you know Mariella's PA."
Sephiroth drags his eyes away from Lazard to stare at the personal assistant that he never knew Mariella had. Edin plays around with a tablet in front of him and twitches. It takes a minute for the nondescript man who probably has a year on him to raise his vision and meet his.
"It's nice to finally meet you," Edin says. Complexity moves in that gaze and it stirs a fight in Sephiroth's gut.
"Likewise," Sephiroth responds and doesn't hide the ice in his voice.
If Lazard notices the tension, he diffuses it by clapping and drawing attention back to him.
"I often work off the philosophy of keeping things as simple as they can be, especially when you work with an entire army of genetically modified SOLDIERS," he says and picks up a pen in front of him. "I want to start by apologizing for making you miss a day of school unexpectedly."
"That's fine, sir."
The paper that he was worried about not submitting on time seems like a distant dream.
"Good. The war is coming and we need to fill our ranks with properly trained infantry and SOLDIERs. Remind me Doctor Haynes, how long does it take for a trained SOLDIER to come into existence?" He taps the pen on the table top.
Mariella calculates. "About two months, from start to finish, assuming the first rounds of exposure and basic training go well. That will get you a basic SOLDIER. The process extends afterward of course with more exposures."
Exposure. That word always causes sweat to form in Sephiroth's palms. It doesn't matter the context.
"Right. I don't know if we have three months. Our enlistment numbers are dismal. We thought we had enough but Wutai is rallying more than we thought. The public knows why we need to go to war but they don't want to do it themselves."
Sephiroth nods. The general assumption he sees is that people think that they will win the war without any effort. If Lazard thinks that the war is going to come in three months, he will make it to his graduation. The timing couldn't be more perfect. He will walk across the stage and then fly off into battle. That is okay. He can do that. That must be what they want to tell him. He can handle that.
"We want to pull you in partially and early," Lazard says.
Those words tear through the peace settling over him.
Sephiroth focuses sharply on the Director.
Lazard continues as if he hasn't said something that makes Sephiroth's heart freeze. "Mariella, as your guardian, has agreed and so has the R&D department but I want your consent as well." The smile comes back. "It won't be full-time. You'll still go to school but the rest of your free time will be working with SOLDIER. I suspect that it will be about…twenty hours a week?"
Sephiroth wants to blow out a breath to steady his swimming thoughts but instead he leans back in the chair until it squeaks. He looks at Mariella.
She nods at him in assurance. "You get to fulfill your purpose early."
The room goes quiet as Sephiroth fights the mixed emotions in him. He's not ready. His life has been tests, surviving training and trying to squeeze some time to be away from Shinra. He's never thought of that as something that can be taken away at the snap of this man's fingers before May 25th. It is precious now.
"We were already planning for you to get some media and press after you formally enlisted," Clarence speaks for the first time in a smooth voice, "Now it will be a fully backed press program since you've been confirmed for First and enlistment numbers are so low."
" What?" Sephiroth can't believe what he has heard. He is to be a First Class?
"Come now. We get your performance reviews and see the simulation footage. There is no need to start you off in the lower ranks," Lazard says, "It was unanimous. Sephiroth, you are a First Class SOLDIER through and through."
Sephiroth's head waivers. Keeping a straight face is hard. He's getting everything that he dreamed of. First Class? Isn't that what he was hoping to get when he was older? He is barely seventeen.
The bruises and punching, it is paying off right here in this room.
Clarence takes over talking. "We need someone to lead the people to enlist. After a little cleaning up and training, we are sure that you can fill that role. You're young, intelligent, strong and, most importantly, attractive underneath all of that."
He presses forward with more details but the words barely reach Sephiroth. He wants to concentrate but everything is bubbling up in him. Their words hurt him. He's not any of those things. He's not smart. He's not attractive. He's certainly not strong.
"Here is an updated version of your typical calendar." Mariella is handing him something. He takes the tablet without noticing it. The blocks of color blur as he tries to concentrate on reading the words. He can't see it. It means nothing to him. It's the same as the abstract painting on the wall behind Lazard.
"Education is important but we will all understand if your grades slip a little in the last quarter. We can even explain the situation to the school," Lazard continues, "You've already proven your aptitude in all your subjects."
It's another punch inside of him.
Sephiroth's composure cracks further.
Emotion threatens to overwhelm him.
They've noticed?
SOLDIER has been paying attention?
Sephiroth thought that he was working in a vacuum. The empty space that he competes only against himself because no one else cares as much as he does. His crazed obsession with being perfect seemed to be ignored. Mariella is the one that looks over his report cards. He always figured that they got carried up but he never thought anyone cared.
He's always been a folder in a drawer.
"If you agree, the process will start immediately. Today, we will do most of the physical work and then the rest of the week will be grooming you for the press. We've got the press release scheduled to go out next Tuesday. It's a fast turn around but we need you to start drumming up the public now." Clarence sends a paperclipped packet of paper across the table at him. "Here is the working PR and promo."
Youngest First Class SOLDIER - Sephiroth. Shinra Banks on Future Leader in Wutai War.
The words are bold and confident above a picture of a mocked up boy that is not Sephiroth. Everything is different about the SOLDIER printed. A challenge is in his eye along with a confident curl of his lips. Sephiroth's fingers hover over the photo.
He's smart, they said. He's strong, they said. He's worth the title of First Class, they said. They've noticed everything that he's done. It all hasn't been for nothing. The photo goes out of focus and emotion threatens everything inside him. They understand something about him that's been pounded out of him every moment that he's stepped into Shinra.
His throat clamps and parts of his face hurt.
"May I use the restroom?" Sephiroth asks. His voice cracks. For once, he doesn't care.
"Two hallways to the left and down at the end," Lazard says.
Sephiroth barely makes it into a stall before he rips apart, sobbing into his hands.
As he sits, he's not even sure exactly why.