Chapter 80 - Returning Home
February, 1999
Nothing would change the apprehension in Sephiroth as he sinks into the green mako for the first time.
Every instinct screams as the water closes over his head. He sinks and fights to control the beat of his heart. He will not show panic. He will not give them that satisfaction. Opening his eyes shows a hazy green world.
Irrationally, he tries to hold his breath but it doesn't work. The equipment and mask strapped to his face digs groves into his cheek and forces him to breathe. It hisses rhythmically. The machine bubbles and gurgles as it takes the air out of his lungs and replaces it with fresh oxygen.
It is out of his control. He doesn't release the air. The air powers through him, forcing his lungs to work. A human function of his is taken away. He turns his head against the shimmer of lights. His hair turns and crosses his vision in arcs. It's sickeningly warm and sticky in the tank. The water has just enough traction to pull and tug on his skin like nails.
Yet, the machine forces him to live on in this water.
Hojo had explained why simply: "My dear Sephiroth, even if you fall unconscious during exposure, you will not be removed. It is part of the process." Teeth flashed white. "It is natural."
This is the treatment both Genesis and Angeal had done. This is exactly what they had explained to him. Nothing is amiss. He should be able to do it. At least he doesn't have the concern that Angeal had confessed to him quietly. The nakedness besides the small standard short does nothing to him. Growing up in R&D beat that out of him quickly. The remaining softnesses of his body are not his to protect. The clothes on his back can be stripped away for data and science. He has no say in it.
One of the female assistant's eyes hadn't stopped tearing him into her memory as he approached the tank.
The buoyancy rocks Sephiroth and he has to stop himself from dragging back up to the surface. Writhing and fighting would be what Hojo wants. How much pleasure would he get from Sephiroth blindly trying to escape this tank? He practices going limp. He can taste the plastic of the mask. An ache in his jaw has formed. The water stirs idly through the grate under his feet. The mako cradles him, neither letting him fall or rise without him exerting effort.
He scans the staff watching the monitors.
Mariella isn't there.
Hojo had refused to let her be in attendance.
The reason for that is simple. Hojo simply didn't trust her to be there. He did not trust her to not "mother" him. It suited Sephiroth well enough. They didn't know how to reconcile with each other. On a few occasions, they had brushed into each other but they grate against each other like broken glass now.
How could he forgive her? How could he forgive himself?
Orlin's time ticks away in the back of his head but he can't face the idea of going back with her.
Bubbles draw lines up his neck and he shivers through the sensation. He has lost track of time. Hojo will not kill him with an overexposure. Not as long as Shinra finds him useful.
Regardless of everything, Hojo will not kill him.
He swallows around the tube and forces his muscles to loosen.
The monitor's tracking his progress echo into the mako. It is out of his control. He cannot worry about things that he has no choice in. He can only endure them the best that he can.
Sephiroth pulls himself further back in his head. The noises and sounds muffle. The hiss of air and out of his lungs almost feels normal.
This would not break him open. The cold water heats. Static settles in the back of his skull. He blinks and knows his face twitches. The IV tugs on his arm. Even this will not give them access to his soul again. The rawness, the flickers of Wutai come back to him. They will not peel into him, strip him back to that child like their enemy once had.
The sensors on his chest pinch, dragging him back to reality. He's slipped. The only reason he realizes it is because the staff in front of his tank are different and he's floated almost sideways. He kicks out. His hand presses against the cold glass and he holds on to orient himself.
The ventilator pulls the air out of his lungs. He sucks at it reflexively. He's underwater. He will drown. The compartment floods with oxygen until it is forced down past his lips and into him. Bubbles draw up past his face. He coughs against it until he swallows. The roll of air reminds him of where he is.
The glass is blurry. His mind is barely under his own control. This is like being drunk, he supposes. Everyone moves faster and more coordinated than him. Aimlessness has taken over him. His legs are numb. This should be concerning but it slips away from his attention and falls down the grate into the fan stirring the tank. He is floating. There is no need for legs.
He is staring at blocks of shapes. They aren't moving. A muscle in his neck twitches. His head moves with it. Silver strands of hair paint across his eyes before settling again. Everything is idle. He barely remembers that he should think. There is no reason to. He's incredibly warm and contentedness rolls over him in waves. Is this what it is like not to fight? To have and be what he wants? To be happy?
The colors shift and it forces his eyes to focus.
Hojo stands in front of his tank.
His scarred fingers are white and pale as they touch the glass. His hand is pressed to the glass where they mirror the position of Sephiroth's as he has pressed against the glass to stay upright. His fingers are longer than Hojo's but the scientist doesn't match them perfectly. It's a strange connection between where he has been. Condensation gathers on the glass. The mist spreads between the digits.
The green mako paints it like a horror. A connection between them. He can feel it. Hojo is witnessing this moment and is bathing in it like it is his own.
Hojo's face warps and twists through the glass, affection in his eyes.
Sephiroth jerks away. He sinks so far away that he bumps his head against the back of the tank.
No.
He closes his eyes.
No.
He will not allow that.
The mako slips him back under. It sweeps him up in a hum of a song that has no true soul. It tickles along what he is, it teases moments free, it takes and gives in equal parts. It unrolls all complications into simplicities. The darkness of his life is still there but it stands at a distance. The past holds hands with him, the death and destruction that he has committed, but for once it isn't everything.
He hangs away from it and almost feels free.
Sephiroth wakes up in recovery. He is dry and clean. A white blanket has been brought over his body. The room smells like clean laundry. It's a perfume but it does the job of being nondescript.
The loss of the mako is so pertinent that he shudders with it.
He presses his face into the pillow and hopes it passes.
It does, but only with time.
It takes a while for Sephiroth to decide what to do with Mariella's invitation to go see Orlin. Usually he dismisses them. They come on occasion with the same subject line: Going to check up on an old friend.
Not going is easier. He can pretend that nothing has happened. Mariella's eyes, still filled with some version of anger and guilt, don't mean anything. He walks on and allows himself to be wrapped up in the isolated world that he has become part of. It can hover in the background of his mind ignored until, just like the inevitable, it withers away.
It is the coward's way.
This is not how Angeal would handle the situation.
Genesis wouldn't even bother being polite. He would probably argue with Mariella until both their voices went hoarse from shouting.
What would he do? After seeing Hojo look at him like he cares, it unsettled something deep in him. He wants to seek out Orlin, to reach out to him. Perhaps it would be for the best that their last conversation would be Sephiroth upset at his actions.
This would require Mariella. He doubts that he could get away from Shinra without an excuse.
He leaves the message in his inbox.
Mariella is waiting for him a few days after his last meeting. As Sephiroth walks out with Angeal, he manages to dissipate his surprises in blink. Her eyes snap up to his as she leans against a wall. She's tense. Her fingers dig into her arms as she crosses them.
"Sephiroth, come with me. I've gotten the results you needed."
Before he can refuse, she is halfway down the hall.
"Looks like you better get going," Angeal's tone is casual but the quiet question is under the surface.
"Indeed."
It's too much of a public place to refuse someone like her.
Mariella is waiting with the elevator door open when he finally catches up with her. The building is mostly empty this late at night except for the people leaving the meeting. An edginess hangs on her as she holds the open button. He steps inside. She's still wearing her normal work clothes. Either she has been working late as well or she's been waiting for him.
Her badge chirps on the sensor. A classified R&D floor is selected. Sephiroth shifts his weight. It's a floor that he knows Hojo doesn't frequent but there is already too much unknown in this for him. She stares at the floor numbers tick up, steady in her stance.
"What are we doing, Mariella?"
He doesn't like having to ask the question. He shouldn't have to. There was a time where he would never have to.
That time has passed.
"I don't like what I did." She pauses. "What I am doing with Orlin but I need you to understand why."
He studies that mixture of pain and anger in her threatening to break the surface. "There is no need. He is your experiment."
That jab makes her stiffen. "He is his own person. The experiment is a farce."
Sephiroth knows she won't want to hear his answer so he stays quiet.
The R&D floor looks like every other. The white tiles are shiny. The LED lights pick up on every imperfection. They didn't bother to decorate. It's endless clinical walls of doors with numbers on neat placards. A few staff members ghost between tasks. Here, Sephiroth doesn't stand out. They all know him enough that their attentions skate off of him in disinterest. It is one of the very few things that he likes about being here.
Mariella's hair waves in its ponytail as she hurries through the maze. She swipes her card to open a door in the heart of the floor. It opens to a small antechamber. Protective equipment is laid out in boxes. Orange cans line the next door. She slips on a pair of gloves before the door closes. He stops. She wouldn't trap him. There is too much urgency in her for that.
"This is classified." She tosses two plastic bags at him. "Put these over your shoes, gloves are over there, pick up a blue mask. You don't need the rest of it. You've been exposed to enough that this level is negligible for the period of time we will be in there. "
"What are we doing?" He holds the bags, unmoving.
She pulls a thicker mask over a light blue one. Her face is cut off and hidden but her eyes are bright in the light.
"I can't be caught bringing you here. Pull back your hair," her voice is muffled as she tightens the strips that push hard lines into her cheeks. Another pair of gloves snaps over the first pair on her hands.
"What are we doing?" He asks again.
Her exhale is tense and annoyed. "I'm showing you exactly what Hojo is up to. Now put those on."
She turns away from him as she pulls from another box. Slowly, he starts to put on the equipment asked of him. He watches her put on a layer of protection that he doesn't need. It's clearly a habit. She scans over his more meager layers before she's finished slipping on a lab coat covered in some thick coating.
Without another word, she inserts her card in the next reader and waits for it to process.
The circle pulses running a security check.
The green light flashes and a heavy lock clicks.
The next room is a morgue.
The metal doors are neatly closed but Sephiroth understands immediately once he steps in the room. The air is heavy with the smell. It almost curls against his face like a reminder. Mako. The space feels soaked with the blood of the planet.
Mariella is already at a hatch. She pulls out the tray with the body bag inside. The black plastic shines in the lights. A label with the mako symbol has been printed on it. Classified - 8 has been put across the side with yellow tape. It's above his level. If he remembers correctly, it is at her limit.
The smell increases before she even starts on the zipper. She glances up at him. Her eyes look like the only human thing on her under all that protection.
"Look at this and tell me what you think."
She pulls the tab and peels back the bag to show another clouded clear bag underneath. This one is covered inside with green droplets that fall as she touches it. She holds the plastic straight as her hand pulls this zipper. His shoes tap on the tile as he approaches from the other side.
He watches the dead body come back to the air.
The two plastic bags fall to the sides like a cocoon. The smell is overwhelming. The slight decomposition is drowned in the smell of chemicals and mako intermixed coyly reminding him of memories that are too deep in him. Mako is pooled around the man's shoulders. Sephiroth steps away to sneeze before turning back.
Mariella leaves the body bag closed around the man's stomach. She places her hands on the tray, leaning against it, staring down at what she's uncovered.
Sephiroth blinks.
This is not a man. This used to be a man. His features are mutated, pushed up and away with growths that don't belong to anything natural. White points stained brown with blood have pierced through his lips. The skin color has changed in places, not deciding on a shade. A few strands of hair are plastered to his skull but the rest have disappeared. A crown of horns have crept up through his collarbones.
Mako decorates him like a blanket of crystals.
Mariella reaches in and moves the thing's head to the side, showing the distortion in profile.
"He has come to me to record the cause of death," Mariella says evenly. Her fingers come away from the cheek glistening in strands. "I'll make two reports."
Sephiroth can't look away from the thing laying in front of him. He tries to put together what he must have looked like before. Dried blood crusts the nose and the corner of the mouth. He can't imagine this body ever smiling. How could he when there are fangs piercing through his lips?
"The first report will be the honest answer with mako readings in all his remaining vital organs and an autopsy report." She blows out a breath. "It will be with this exposure and damage? At least thirty pages. More with toxicology. That will go to R&D. The second will be the public record. It will state that he died from self-inflicted mako poisoning. This body will be burned."
The smell is oppressive now the more the body lays in the air. Sephiroth's stomach turns. He can't imagine exactly what happened or how much the SOLDIER was conscious for. Thinking about this mutation breathing and moving make him want to move away and forget.
"Shinra knows," she says.
"Why do they let him?"
"Because he gives them products they can use."
That truth is heavy between them. It makes sense. It clicks into place like anything else that they have done. His eyes trace the ear he can see, it's pulled long and bends at the end because it is too long for his head. It smashes into the pool of green the skull is resting in.
"Hojo picks men that have no close family. The ones that can disappear with an easy explanation crafted by Shinra." Mariella's fingers hover over the body's eyelids. They aren't completely closed. The whites underneath are flimsily and dried.
"Like Orlin?" He looks up at her.
"Exactly like Orlin," she says softly.
He pauses.
There are drops of mako decorating the mutated face. A few of them look like frozen tears. Something deep releases in him.
Sephiroth looks up at Mariella.
"Okay."
She pauses. "You understand?"
Mako and the decay stains his mouth as he takes a breath.
"I believe I do."