The morning announcer sure painted him in an unflattering light.
Zack slept peacefully that night and awoke refreshed and ready to hunt for red monsters. The lack of nightmares was quite a pleasant surprise. Perhaps Angeal's weird "constructed" ghost had decided Zack had had enough for now.
"It's your own subconscious, stupid," Zack muttered.
However, though Zack didn't sleep very late—it was only seven in the morning—he found himself alone in the room. Sephiroth had already gone, leaving behind a note on the dresser next to Angeal's container.
Go ahead and order breakfast from room service, the note said in Sephiroth's neat script. I will make our purchases and return no later than noon. Keep an eye on things while I am gone.
Zack knew "things" meant Angeal. Indirectly, "things" meant he should keep interlopers like maids and maintenance workers out of the room. Zack rolled his eyes, crumpled the note, and tossed it in the wastebasket. "Damn, man, you could have woke me and told me yourself." Sneaky bastard, he thought, leaving me stuck in the room with Angeal again.
He immediately chided himself for pettiness. They both owed Angeal the best support they could manage, considering what they were doing to him. They could have killed him cleanly, but instead they kept him alive with the insane hope they'd get him back to human someday. And maybe it wasn't so bad for him. The nightmares weren't fun, but the voice Zack sometimes heard while he was awake didn't sound upset.
But was that really real, or was it just Zack's own wishes? He really, really wanted Angeal to be okay with what was going on, so maybe he was just imagining that Angeal was okay. Maybe the "scaffolding" his mind provided built a structure that fulfilled his own hopes and Angeal was just stuck with it.
"This isn't productive," Zack muttered. "I can't do anything about it. It doesn't matter if it's real or not."
This realization somehow helped him.
Sephiroth hadn't mentioned if he'd cast the morning sleep spell on Angeal or not, so Zack took care of it. An extra layer of magic wouldn't hurt anything. Afterwards, he inspected the base of Angeal's neck. He thought the lump of flesh there might be somewhat larger, but it wasn't significant growth and it certainly didn't look like it might be forming into another Ahriman or other monstrous body like last time. Zack thought back to how Sephiroth had explained that Angeal had "promised" to restrict his growth as much as possible.
Zack found it disturbing, especially in light of his own dreams and "conversations" with Angeal. He probably shouldn't keep dismissing them as an overactive imagination, but accepting that they might be real manifestations of Angeal's spirit or memories? That was far too distressing. Better to avoid thinking about it entirely.
To distract himself, he called up room service and ordered enough food for three people, then once again hid Angeal's container in the bathroom. Mindful of Sephiroth's irritation at finding Angeal on the bathroom floor yesterday, he made sure to bring the container back into the main room after the server had dropped off breakfast.
While he ate, he turned on the television to monitor the current status of his...situation. It was darkly humorous, he reflected, that he was watching the news for reports about his own forthcoming—and fictional—execution.
He wasn't surprised to see his face plastered on the screen, with his old hairstyle in all its spikey and wild glory, paired with insulting commentary from the news announcer. Zack ran his hand over his shorn locks. Had they grown? Perhaps his hair needed to be cut again, like Sephiroth planned to re-dye his own. How recognizable was his face, when all was said and done? Most people didn't look beyond the superficial, and almost everyone on the planet believed he was incarcerated by Shin-Ra. Surely no one on the Western Continent would associate him with "Former SOLDIER First Class Zack Fair, traitor to Shin-Ra and enemy of everything decent and good."
The morning announcer sure painted him in an unflattering light.
The newscast even showed a protest crowd in front of Shin-Ra's headquarters in Midgar. The angry, yelling mobs waved signs that called him every nasty name in the book, plus a few he'd never imagined. People shook their fists and demanded that he be executed immediately. The on-site reporters reveled in the chaos, interviewing protestors and asking all kinds of biased, leading questions.
The general consensus was the sooner "that scum-sucking traitor" was dead, the better.
The coverage returned to the news anchor, who calmly announced that the station would run a play-by-play retrospective of Angeal Hewley's execution in the next hour, and that Zack Fair's was expected to follow the same formal procedures. She offered a short and emotionally charged editorial on why "that traitor's" execution should be advanced to an earlier date.
At least she didn't use the phrase "scum-sucking."
Zack turned off the television. He didn't want to see any more. He dug out a pair of scissors, went into the bathroom, and proceeded to trim off his hair into the sink. He practically had a buzz cut when he was finished. No more spikes for him ever again!
"Good idea," he heard Angeal say behind him. "Even I wouldn't recognize you with that haircut."
Zack ignored the phantom voice and washed the clippings down the drain. Why had he ever wanted Angeal's "constructed ghost" to talk to him?
"You're imagining it," he told himself. "You're freaked out and overstressed, and you're imagining him saying what you want to hear." He desperately wanted to hear that no one would look at him and realize he was "that scum-sucking traitor, former SOLDIER First Class Zack Fair." Even if that reassurance came from Angeal's disembodied and "constructed" spirit.
A little later, Sephiroth returned and flung his sunglasses on his bed. He nodded approvingly at Zack's shorter hair, and told Zack that he'd purchased fresh supplies for Angeal and had already stowed them in the truck. He bobbed his head knowingly when informed that Zack's impending execution was on the morning news. "Yes, I know," he said simply. "It is a problem. I've been making new plans." However, instead of disclosing his plans, he disappeared into the bathroom carrying a brown paper bag.
He stayed in there for over an hour. Zack waited impatiently and sometimes pressed his ear to the closed door. He often heard muttering, and what sounded like tearing cardboard and paper, and water running. When Sephiroth finally emerged, he had a towel around his neck. The reek of ammonia and other chemicals wafted out into the main room. His shoulder-length hair was wet and a somewhat darker shade of brown.
"Dying one's hair is a hassle even in civilized surroundings," was all he said about it.
Zack thought it prudent to keep his mouth shut.
"Will you trim my hair again?" Sephiroth asked. "While it's still damp. I noticed it is growing, and you appear to have done an adequate job on your own today. And please make it shorter, no longer than my chin and jawline." He grabbed one of the room's two small chairs, plopped down onto it, arranged his towel to protect himself, and gazed at Zack expectantly.
Quite a change in attitude—back on the Eastern Continent Sephiroth had resisted cutting his hair just to shoulder length. Now he wanted even more shorn off. How could Zack say no?
Given Zack's increased infamy, it was best if they both changed their looks again. Zack had his new cropped haircut, and Sephiroth needed something shorter that would blend in better with the common hairstyles in the Corel Area.
Zack grabbed some more towels and laid them around the chair. While he carefully snipped off about four inches of his companion's hair, Sephiroth regaled him with more stories of red monsters, their depredations on Pithole and other nearby towns, and more details of what was an increasingly obvious cover up of their activities.
"Farther out of town, people are less reticent. Particularly the children," Sephiroth said. "They talk about how their older brothers have left town to go look for work. Not unlike the tale you sometimes tell about why you are travelling. It seems only strong young men have been kidnapped."
Zack scowled and snipped off a stray clump of brown-dyed hair. "So Genesis and Hollander really are making new G-copies."
"That does appear to be the case." Sephiroth nodded. He turned to look Zack in the eye and get to the real point. "Be sure to wear sunglasses whenever you go out. Your face is all over the media, not just that news show you saw this morning. I caught sight of other newscasts in store windows. Your short hair will help disguise you, but dark glasses will hide the mako glow in your eyes. We can't allow your new notoriety to give us away. Your face is probably on every television screen and newspaper on the Planet. Right now, you are the most hated man in the world."
"Even in Wutai?" Zack tried to joke, but his voice trembled. Honestly, he was already hated there, just for his role in the war. Could they hate him more?
Sephiroth didn't smile. "Yes, even there."
Zack buried his face in his hands. To think, he'd joined SOLDIER to be a hero! And look at him now. How had his life gone so horribly wrong?
Sephiroth stayed quiet, letting him have some time to compose himself. Zack took a deep, shuddering breath, dropped his hands, and looked up. "Shin-Ra is making a big hoopla out of this supposed execution so everyone knows what I look like!" he said in sudden realization. He should have seen it before! Why else make his face so public? "They're trying to flush us out, maybe get someone to report us. Me."
"That is my assumption," Sephiroth agreed calmly.
Zack should have known. It had all been going too well. They should have realized sooner that Shin-Ra would try to expose them. He should have known!
"What about you?" he asked. So far, Sephiroth's public reputation had not been officially sullied.
"I have no idea how they plan to explain my own absence. Their cover-ups are still in progress."
"Probably claim you're out on top secret missions."
"That seems likely."
Zack eyed his companion. Sephiroth sounded so...so matter-of-fact. He'd probably expected something like this, judging by how calm he appeared. Zack recalled him saying that it had taken Shin-Ra longer than he'd expected to announce Angeal's fictional fate and Zack's condemnation.
Damn bastard, keeping vital information like that to himself. Probably Sephiroth believed he was doing Zack a favor, keeping him from getting panicky or something.
"Probably," he heard Angeal's voice agree with a note of humor.
Zack uttered a defeated little laugh. "Back to camping, I guess," he said, trying to make light of their situation while fighting against denial and depression. Camping was the only way for them to stay out of towns and away from the public eye while they traveled. He knew it was for the best, and it wasn't like it was anything he hadn't done before. He and Sephiroth had roughed it back on the Eastern Continent and before that, too, when he'd been deployed in Wutai. Still, he'd truly enjoyed sleeping in real beds, with a solid roof overhead, electricity, indoor plumbing, and eating nicely cooked restaurant food.
They couldn't allow themselves to get caught. Zack felt a shiver creep up his spine at the thought of what would happen to them. He clipped off a final, rebellious lock of Sephiroth's hair to even the back edge up. Nothing but perfection would be acceptable, he knew.
"Back to camping," Sephiroth confirmed. "That is what I wanted to discuss. I'm glad you've seen the necessity on your own."
"Necessity, sure."
"Given all the media coverage and likelihood of Turks searching for us, we should both have offensive and defensive materia equipped at all times. Be sure to keep it hidden under your clothing. Also, if we need to spend any more time in populated areas, you should probably consider changing your hair color."
"Maybe we should grow beards, instead!" That would be a lot easier. Zack imagined himself as a redhead or bleached blond and disliked the images intensely.
"It would be just one more thing to dye," Sephiroth pointed out, clearly believing that Zack should dye his own hair, bearded or not. "The original hair colors would show through quickly as it grows, and be front and center on our faces. We'd have to touch up the color every night." He added in a disgruntled mutter, "Bad enough having to keep makeup on my eyebrows. You have no idea. Regular hair is easier. The colors blend better and are less obvious."
"Right." Zack heaved a weary, dispirited sigh. Facial hair did seem to grow fast, and the eye was drawn to weird color differences. Even if he only grew a scruff like Angeal, it would be a constant struggle to maintain it.
"We will be successful, Zack."
"Yeah, we're finished," Zack said, setting the scissors aside with meticulous and unnecessary precision.
"Only the haircut is finished." With that confident statement, Sephiroth got up. He gave his shorter and somewhat shaggier hair a shake, and carelessly dropped his damp towel on the bed.
Zack tried to emulate his friend's conviction, but it was a losing battle. He just couldn't be confident, not anymore. Everything was going against them.
Sephiroth wandered over to a hanging mirror. "This looks remarkably similar to a haircut I had when I was a teenager. You did a good job."
Zack's mind boggled at the thought of Sephiroth as a teenager, but at least the haircut was acceptable. He'd tried for something a little less terrible looking than a simple bowl or pageboy cut and was glad Sephiroth seemed to like it—or at least accepted it without complaint.
Zack scooped up the hairy towels from the floor and hoped the maids wouldn't hate him when they cleaned the room. He did his best to dump the clippings into the toilet, even dunking the towels in the bowl to dispose of as much evidence as possible, and then flushed.
When he came back into the room, he had regained enough of his resilience to ask, "So where to next? Someplace isolated, I assume. I'm sure you've got our next destination planned, too."
Sephiroth walked over to Angeal's container and placed his hands on top of it. He was silent for a moment. Zack stared at his back and waited.
Then Sephiroth said, "Our goal is Centralia. I've been studying maps of the area and learning about its peculiarities. Centralia is roughly three or four days along the highway on the route toward Rocket Town. Angeal agrees."
Of course Angeal agreed. Zack repressed a sigh and asked the more pertinent question: "Why Centralia in particular?"
"It's in the right direction, it's completely abandoned, and, well, call it a...a hunch."
"A hunch? What's there?" Zack asked.
Sephiroth turned back around. He kept one hand on Angeal's container.
"Endless fire," he said with an odd, crooked smile.