"I don't get it, Maria, I just don't. How can it be a bad thing for Cloud and I to rely on each other?"

"You don't rely on each other. He relies on you."

"So? I don't mind."

"Hopeless." Maria throws up her hands, stepping off the elevator with a nod of thanks to the operator. She doesn't slow down until they've crossed the catwalk on the South side and blown past at least a half dozen doors.

The one she stops at has bars across the window. Not an encouraging first impression.

"Here, Gloria put your stuff on your bunk already. Should be easy to find."

"You're not coming in?"

"If I hurry I can still catch the meeting. Gloria and I haven't been to base since spring. I need to catch up."

Zack rubs the back of his neck. "Well, thanks I guess."

"No problem," the Captain taps her forehead in a lazy salute.

Turning on her heel, she strode away, leaving him with the distinct impression that he'd disappointed her.

Not wanting to wander down that path, he pushes through the hatch-style door and into a strange sense of double-vision, one foot each in the present and the past.

There are the same metal bed frames as basic training, the same sterile floors and metal lockers and sheets tucked tight enough to bounce a five gil coin off of them. The only difference is the color—drab brown instead of navy. Conduit pipes in the ceiling instead of foam squares.

Only three men occupy a room fit to house twenty, but there are boots lined up under most of the bunks. These must be the folks that opted out of the meeting.

He steps full inside as heads pivot and crane to see around the line of bedposts.

"Yoooooo," one says with awe, shoving another in his shoulder.

A mop of curly brown hair catches his eye.

"Kunsel," he grins, jogging the rest of the way.

His face comes into view, and that same disjointed meshing of past and future throws Zack for a loop.

He's the same, but so different; his face sharper and jaw wider, little creases just starting to form at the corners of his mouth. That thick, wavy hair Zack remembers is still shaved on the sides, but longer now, flopping down his square forehead and curling just above kind and curious eyes.

The force of Kunsel's hug knocks his breath out for a second and he laughs, not really expecting it.

They had been friends, but they were friends in the way of young, hot-headed soldiers. Gossip, bragging, meaningless competition, and girls. Even when they parted for the last time, he's pretty sure they only shook hands.

Blinking back the sudden melancholy of that thought, he gives Kunsel just as strong of a hug back.

Kunsel shakes a little, and Zack pulls away to get a good look at him. The other man swallows shakily, reining himself in before the other two give him shit.

"I knew it, I always knew," he says.

"You always know everything," Zack says.

"Well somebody had to be your surrogate brain."

"That quick?" Zack sets his hands on his hips. "Five seconds and you're already making fun of me!"

"Processing grief is my superpower," Kunsel winks.

"You ass," Zack laughs, punching him in the shoulder. "So are these your new friends? Introduce me."

"Friend might be a strong word," the older of the two joked, extending a hand. "Name's Wedge. Well, Bennie I guess. That's my little bro, Mikey. Can't claim the name with him biting my heels."

He lets out a big laugh, which his brother echoes, a little softer and higher, tinged by eagerness and hesitation. He has the posture of a guy who's used to being overlooked, his shoulders rounded in and his face a little mousey.

Zack shakes both of their hands in turn, careful to give the younger the same time as the older.

"Good to meet you both."

"So what the hell happened? Spit it out. I've been waiting half a decade for this story." Kunsel sits next to Mikey and taps his heels, gesturing to the open spot on the bed across where Bennie sits.

"Right," Zack sighs. "I'm not sure I should talk about it. It's the kind of thing that it's dangerous to know."

"Don't be silly. Big Bennie over there was an elite researcher with the Weapons Division before he stole the plans to some mech Scarlet's designing, and Little Mikey has been running with the Sewer Rats since he was twelve. 'Top Secret' is water-cooler gossip around here."

"Well, that explains how you fit in," Zack says wryly. "I've never heard of the Sewer Rats. Is that a gang or something?"

"Oh no, nothing like that," Mikey says quickly. "We were more like…"

"Human traffickers," Kunsel mutters.

"No! That sounds so bad."

"But that's what you did."

"For people in trouble!" Mikey huffs. "You know how Don Corneo is famous for smuggling illegal stuff into Midgar? Well, the Sewer Rats found his route and used it to get wanted people out."

"Using the sewers?" Zack tips his head, smiling when the others nod their heads.

"Yup. Which is how I met these crazy kids," Kunsel says proudly.

"Your boy got himself into trouble, snooping around in confidential files and the next thing you know he's begging my bro for the next ticket out," Bennie says.

"I did not beg. Much. Besides, you were in even hotter water than me, Bennie boy. You've got no room to talk."

"It was no trouble, really," Mikey assures, rubbing his button nose with the back of his fist. "But what about you, Zack? How'd you end up not-dead?"

Reluctantly he sits, resting his elbows on his knees. Where the hell should he even start? To explain the lab he has to explain Sephiroth, to explain Sephiroth he has to explain the Crisis, and that's not even touching Jenova manifesting Sephiroth through Cloud's body and running him through. He'd sound like a complete lunatic.

"Let's just say that Sephiroth had a few screws loose before Nibelheim, and while he was there he learned some things that pushed him way over the edge. He tried to burn down the village, and then Shinra came and covered it up. The survivors were experimented on, and I only just escaped. I guess it was two months ago now." He scratches his hairline, tugging absently on the jagged strands around his ear. "If you texted me, safe to say I didn't get it."

"I might have sent a couple hundred messages in a prolonged state of denial," Kunsel admits.

"I'm so sorry that happened," Mikey says.

Zack winces at the pity, rounding his shoulders.

"Keep your sympathy. I had a chance to stop him, but I wasn't strong enough. A lot of people would be alive right now if I had just acted faster."

"Hold up—"

"Better than Sephiroth?" Bennie sputters. "Is that even possible?"

Kunsel reaches out and Zack tucks his hands under his arms.

They can't understand, not without knowing Sephiroth like he did.

The General wasn't some infallible god. He was isolated, and sad, and cracking silently under the pressure of being himself. No one else saw it, but Zack did, and he hadn't done a thing.

Fighting is more than muscle and sword swinging. Sometimes fighting is a hug, or the right word said at exactly the time someone needs to hear it. He hadn't known that back then, and now he'll die wondering if it might have been enough.

He can't make them understand that, and so he just walks away, catching sight of his torn, muddy travel bag on a bunk bed near the back.

His heart feels heavy when Kunsel jogs to catch up.

"Okay, so maybe I shouldn't have made you talk back there."

"It's fine."

"Don't clam up on me. I really thought you defected with Sephiroth and faked an incident or something, I had no idea it was that bad."

"Please stop." Zack huffs, turning on him. His friend stumbles, almost running into him. "I just want things to be normal, alright? I want to put all this behind me and start over, but the damn Turks won't let me, so here I am."

"The Turks?" Kunsel tips his head.

Damn his mouth. He let it get ahead of him again.

"What do the Turks have to do with it? Wait, are they after you? Is that why you're here? Hang on, what even happened to Sephiroth? I just realized you didn't say. Is he still alive?"

He forgot this part of being friends with Kunsel—the endless questions.

"Yes, they are after me. Yes, that's why I'm here. I heard that the former Director of the Turks had joined Avalanche, and I thought maybe he'd call off his old dogs if I asked nicely enough. Is that enough, or should we break out the thumbscrews?"

Rather than rising, Kunsel loses steam.

"Sorry, I… don't really like being asked questions anymore," Zack mumbles.

"Because of the experiments, or…?"

"Yeah."

"I really just want to help," Kunsel says. "All I really wanted these past few years was to see you again, and now I am."

The obvious care in his voice chafes Zack, and he has no idea why. He hasn't been right in so long that it's starting to feel normal. Throwing his bag on the flood, he sinks onto the bed and rubs his eyes.

"If you want to help, then help me find Veld. That's really all I care about right now."

"I don't know if he even has contact with his old buddies. Elfe would freak out if he did."

"It's all I've got," Zack says. "I worked with these guys as a First. I don't want to fight them, but they won't leave me alone. What else am I supposed to do?"

Kunsel frowns, his face pinched, and Zack feels gross. All he's done since the Crater is lie, omit, and misconstrue.

His friend sighs, and averts his eyes like it pains him too much to say it with eye contact.

"I don't know why you think you can trust a single word from a Turk, but if that's really what you want then I can take you to him."

"Wait… really?"

"Sure. It's not like he's a POW. He's right upstairs in the Turk dorm."

"They have their own room?"

Kunsel looks down his nose like Zack's lost his mind, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Could you get any shut-eye with a white shirt in the room?"

Zack hasn't heard that slang for a while. Pulling up a lopsided grin, he shrugs and tries not to think about whether his 'white shirt' friends are still alive right now.

"These days I'm lucky if I get to sleep at all."

The halls have gone dark by the time Kunsel leads him out. A single gas lamp glows far off, mounted to the railing of the rotunda balcony. Everything else is nearly pitch black, a creeping, oppressive black that Zack can't escape no matter where he looks.

Rather than walking towards the light, Kunsel turns and steps further into the dark.

"There are fire escapes at the end of the hallways, but most people are too lazy to use them. You're up for it though, right? It's only a few flights up."

A few flights turned out to be ten, but he managed not to look too breathless when they finally stopped on a landing labeled 'South Eight.' They stop by the nearest hatch in the wall.

"This is it. You can find your way back, right?"

"Sure?"

"Cool. Have fun." Kunsel turns to go.

"Hey, why are you being so weird about this?"

In the dim light, he can't make out the other man's face. He only sees him tilt his head and shift his weight.

"I guess you wouldn't know, but after you and Sephiroth flatlined the brass went psycho. They started decommissioning every operative that ever worked with Sephiroth. They pulled out our permanent records and went through every mission beat by beat.

Talk about thumbscrews—they put me on a lie detector and asked me about my little sister! The hell does she have to do with anything? And by 'they' you know who I really mean, because heaven knows the board members weren't about to get their hands dirty."

"Oh."

"Avalanche doesn't discriminate, but if I were you I wouldn't talk too loud about being friends with Turks around the other ex-SOLDIERs."

"I see," Zack says.

"Probably should have told you straight up, my bad," Kunsel sighs, walking towards the stairs. "See ya later."

"Did anything not go to shit in the last six years?" Zack says to the empty hallway.

Without Cloud there, the urge to talk to himself is overpowering. He isn't used to being alone with his thoughts.

Raising his fist to the door he knocks, which feels weird on a bunker door, but less weird than letting himself in.

Wide brown eyes peer through the barred window, and get even wider. Wavy auburn hair bounces as the woman comes down from her tiptoes and jerks the heavy door open.

"I thought I told you I would kill you the next time we met," Cissnei smirks.

Zack laughs unexpectedly. She looks great. Lighter without the stress she used to carry. He pokes her in the shoulder.

"You, beat me? As if!"

"Who is it?" a deep voice calls within the room. Zack's ears perk up.

Cissnei opens the door all the way, looking behind her.

"An old flame. You remember SOLDIER First Class Fair."

"Flame?" Zack blinks.

The interior is much like the SOLDIER's dorm, just with fewer beds and more riveted, rumbling pipes in the ceiling.

The former Turk Director sits with his ankles crossed on a cot, dressed in a brown Avalanche uniform with his shirt unbuttoned and a white tank underneath. A book lays forgotten in his lap.

Zack almost can't believe it was this easy.

"Yes, that name rings a bell. You worked a lot with Tseng during the Crisis, isn't that right?"

"Right." He has to suppress the instinctual impulse to add 'sir.'

"What brings you here, SOLDIER?"

"He heard I was here, obviously," Cissnei teases, hooking her arm around his elbow. Maybe it's good that Cloud isn't here. Awkwardly, he untangles himself and puts a step between them.

"Actually… I've been trying to make contact with you, sir."

The older man lifts his chin. "Is that so."

"Yes." Zack looks past Cissnei's disappointed frown to pull the door closed, and hurries to approach Veld, sitting on the next bunk over and leaning close with his voice low. "I encountered some of your Turks a few weeks ago, and I thought you might like to know that they're in danger."

"'His' Turks? You mean Tseng's. They had their chance to get out, why should we care?" Cissnei says with surprising bitterness, standing between the beds with her arms crossed. Veld raises his hand for silence.

"What is your message?" he asks.

"Ahh… well, the short version is that Tseng's in a really awkward position. He doesn't blame you for leaving, but if he doesn't bring you in soon then the brass plans to decommission the whole department."

Veld doesn't react, not in any way Zack can parse. He runs his finger down the centerfold of the book and pulls a wrinkled receipt from his shirt pocket, sliding it into the spine to mark his place.

"I see," he says. "Is that the whole message?"

"Uh… yeah?"

"Hmm. Well, thank you for passing it along," the graying man says without emotion.

Zack lingers, a little baffled. Veld closes the book and holds it between his hands.

"Was there something else?"

"What kind of a reaction is that?" Zack blurts, stunned. "I just told you all of your old subordinates are gonna be killed."

Cissnei grabs his elbow suddenly, a business smile icing over her face.

"Say Zack, you must have just gotten in. Has anyone shown you the gym yet?"

"What the hell," Zack shrugs her off, scooting away to glare at Veld. "Don't you care at all? I thought you guys were like family. That's what Tseng always said. Or was that just corporate bullshit?"

"Sir—" Cissnei says.

"Of course I care," Veld says..

With a forceful clang, he throws his book onto the metal locker beside his bed and sets his feet on the floor. Cissnei jumps instinctively into parade rest.

"First Class Fair. Yes, I remember you now. You're remarkably whole for one of Hojo's toys. Tell me, as a man thoroughly chewed up and spat out by the company, did you really expect a compassionate reaction from me?"

"W-what?"

"I'm serious. You seem to have a clear idea of what I ought to do, so tell me; what did you expect me to say?"

"I guess… I thought maybe you would want to take responsibility. You're their leader after all, and they're in this situation because of you."

Veld stifles a chuckle, threading his fingers between his knees.

"Take responsibility? And what difference would that make?"

"Excuse me?" Zack says.

"If I turned myself in and thereby saved the lives of my former colleagues, what would the ultimate outcome of that action be?" Veld asks. He waits a moment, just long enough to prove a point, the question entirely facetious. "I'll tell you, since it's clear you haven't thought this through. The result of my death would be nothing less than the reinforcement and the maintenance of the status quo. A totally meaningless sacrifice."

"Unless you count the lives of an entire department!" Zack argues.

"They made their choices," Veld sighs.

"So what, that's it? They deserve to die? Just because they're the enemy and you're a true believer in the case? Down with the Shinra?"

Cissnei covers her mouth, and it pulls a strange, fond smile out of Veld.

"Hardly," he says, "I'm as cynical as they come."

"Then why?"

"Because my daughter is here."

Zack studies his gnarled face. "And what about Tseng? You saved him, trained him from when he was a teenager. Isn't he like a son to you?"

A deep sigh bends Veld's neck.

Cissnei shifts uncomfortably, her lips white from how tightly she's pursing them.

"Zack, it's late. Maybe we can continue this another time."

Veld lifts a scarred hand with a quelling look. His gaze flicks to the cover of his book and back. It's an old hard cover, the spine dented near the top and the yellow corners frayed.

'Children of a Different Sky,' the title reads, 'Retrospectives from the Second Wutai Conflict.'

"Time changes people. If I could summarize all of life in one statement, that would be it," he says. "Once I did regard Shinra as my family, and their cause as my cause. I believed in the project of industrialization, in the necessity of moving society forward by any means necessary

In matters of personal conflict, I stood by Shinra every time. You could say that I was a 'true believer' back then. But I was never without doubts. As a former First, I'm sure you know the feeling."

Zack's stomach clenches and he resists the urge to give ground. The ex-Director's eyes dig into him like claws.

"Some twenty years ago, a very young Tseng became embroiled in an information leak. At the tune he was just a recruit with slanted eyes and a foreign-sounding name. An ideal candidate to take the fall. I ordered a firebombing of the entire city instead."

"Like Banora…" Zack murmurs.

"The same. All to cover that boy's mistake."

"But that's so extreme…"

"Shinra's power is predicated on their monopoly over mako technology. If that were to be proliferated, then others would compete with them. They authorize extreme measures to prevent that, including the wholesale destruction of entire cities. I was encouraged to take no chances, even when the town I was bombing happened to be my own home, and the place where my wife and child resided."

His voice cracks and wavers as he speaks, and Cissnei sits beside him, offering silent support.

"That's…" Zack whispers.

"Don't say evil," Cissnei says. "Unless you honestly think you've never done anything objectionable, don't you dare call us evil."

Veld grips her wrist a moment, exchanging an unreadable look before returning his somber, dark eyes to Zack.

"Belief is a powerful magic. It can compel us to do things we would never contemplate on our own. I spent my life choosing Shinra. I am here because I want to make a different choice this time. My daughter survived, and she is walking down the same fanatical path I forged. I can't sit back and allow that to happen."

Zack grits his teeth, the air in the room thick with regret.

"So that's why you're here? Because you think Avalanche is wrong?"

"However well-intentioned, this movement can only end in disaster. Shinra only waits to eradicate them because it's politically expedient to do so. Once they've rallied the people around the flag and solidified anti-Wutai sentiment, they will destroy this organization with the stroke of a pen."

"That easy," Zack asks. "Even with all the growth they've had and the money they're getting. Is there no hope at all?"

"So you do know about that, interesting. It must not be such a secret anymore." Veld taps his fingers on the book cover. One index and then the other, back and forth. "But do you know who that shadow benefactor is?"

Veld draws another theatrical pause, and another dry laugh.

"It's the president's son, Rufus Shinra."

Zack's mouth drops open. His mind spins like a hamster wheel.

"I… thought it might be Tseng," he says.

Veld smiles a wide, knowing smile. "Oh, Tseng is very much involved. They're a bit of a pair, those two. Yin and yang."

"Why support the group trying to take down his father's company?"

"It's quite rational from his point of view. What with the war machine building towards another senseless campaign and Hojo's cult filling the President's head with nonsense about 'Neo Midgar' in all likelihood there won't be any money left for him to inherit."

"Hold on, wait a second," Zack paces a loop, stopping just as suddenly as he started to throw his hands out in frustration. "What the hell are you even talking about?"

"You were a First, Fair. None of this should be new information to you."

"Well it is, okay?" Zack shouts.

His head buzzes, memories flicking by at a dizzying pace. Was this really how it was? The entire time, and he never knew. And yet, it makes a sick kind of sense. There had always been strange orders and missions that felt a little off. He'd often wondered who wrote those mission briefs, and who thought chasing mostly harmless critters out of mine shafts was worth an elite SOLDIER's time.

Had it been bullshit, all along?

"So you're tell me that this whole place, Avalanche, Fuhito, everybody, it's all actually run by Rufus fucking Shinra?"

"Well…" Cissnei trails off.

"It's not so simple as to say that he's in charge. He gives them funding and weapons. All these charming tan uniforms," Veld picks hatefully at his open tan shirt, "have been bought by the Shinra fortune, that's true. But when it comes to Avalanche's actions, there's a limit to how much he can control."

"I heard there was an assassination attempt a few years ago," Zack says.

"That was Rufus," Cissnei nods. "He promised Avalanche that if they killed the President and put Rufus in charge, that he would shut down the reactors and convert to Planet-safe technology. But Fuhito didn't believe him."

"Rightly so," Veld interjects. "That boy cares for nothing but gourmet food and his pet dog. He'd never shut the reactors down, not unless the alternative would make him even more money."

"So Elfe and Fuhito told Rufus they would assassinate the President if Rufus could get him to come to Junon on a specific date. Rufus delivered, and Fuhito double crossed him. He used the attention drawn to the President to slip into the Junon base—"

"And hijack the Sister Ray," Zack's eyes widen. "Wow, that's stone cold."

"And it pissed Elfe right off," Cissnei grins. "Because Fuhito didn't tell her either. He just took his best fighters and did it. We were still with Shinra at the time, of course, but this story is legend around here. To this day the organization is split into factions. They're constantly fighting and undermining each other. To be honest, these days the two sides of Avalanche hate each other even more than they hate Shinra."

"So this whole thing is a sham, basically," Zack says, dumbfounded.

"A house built on sand," Veld nods. "Believe it or not, Rufus is the one mediating between Elfe and Fuhito now. He's desperate to keep the organization together, at least until they fulfill their bargain and clear the path for Rufus' succession. He's invested too much to give up, even though they've shown themselves to be disloyal."

"And they're going to go through with it?" Zack asks.

"That's precisely where it becomes complicated," Veld strokes his stubbled chin and opens his book to a black and white full-page photograph.

Three figures stand side-by-side in mismatched, shell-dented Wutaian armor. Elft, Fuhito, and a broad-chested man with his hair tied up under a headband. He points to them each in turn.

"Avalanche began as a foreign legion in the Second Wutai War. Most of them were orphans, students of Bugenhagen who grew up learning about the ways of the Ancients. My daughter was among them, having survived the firebombs and been taken to a lab to be experimented on. She escaped and was taken in by the mystics in Cosmo Canyon.

She grew up hating Shinra, and for her and her faction they are the ultimate enemy. But Fuhito is an environmentalist at his core. He opposes Shinra simply because they run the reactors. If the reactors were to be wiped out and Shinra started making bio-degradable baby bottles, then he and his cronies would consider that a satisfactory outcome. Therein lies the main conflict."

"Elfe wants to see Shinra destroyed. Eliminating the President would kickstart a period of uncertainty and unrest as they adapted to a new leader. Elfe would use this fear to erode their power, and presumably go public with Rufus' corruption and patricide to prevent the public from supporting him," Cissnei explains.

"But doing that would mean that Rufus has no reason to keep funding them," Zack says.

"Exactly," Veld says, moving his pointer finger to Fuhito's younger face. "And Fuhito needs that money to pursue his greater project—the replacement of all Planet-harming technology from Gaia."

"So who's that other guy?" Zack points to the smiling, broad guy next to Elfe.

"Shears. He used to be the leader of the moderate faction, but he was ousted around the time I arrived. Though he started as a bandit he's grown into something of a pacifist. Not much space around here for that kind of talk anymore. Too much anger. Last I heard he was in Midgar doing some kind of grassroots thing, but that was a while ago."

"But you don't believe in any of them," Zack cocks his head, crossing his arms.

"Oh they're all quite admirable in their own way, but it's a house of cards, don't you see?"

Veld turns his book with the spine up and each cover resting on one leg. Pushing it in either direction, he lets it teeter on the edge of falling.

"Neither side can get what they want without denying their 'allies' what they need. But they both need the other side in order to keep the house standing. Even if Shinra weren't as ruthless and mighty as they are, could a movement this fragile really change the world?"

"And that's the only option, huh? Fuhito or Elfe, Avalanche or Shinra?"

"Of course. As fractured as they are, Avalanche is by far the most successful insurgency in modern history. No one has ever presented a real threat to Shinra, fragile or otherwise. But make no mistake, Shinra will come out on top. This house will be blown down, and they will make an example of everyone who ever held a passing moment of sympathy for the idealistic, upstart rebels."

Veld nudges the spine of the book and allows it to fall flat on his lap.

Zack's hands curl into fists.

Why is it always like this? Always a choice between bad or worse, the rock or the hard place. He walks a circle and tears at his messy hair.

"So you've got no plan either. You're just here for damage control. Get your daughter out before it all comes crashing down."

"If only it were so simple," Veld says, sighing. "She's not going to give up, and she's not going to change course. I'll have to watch her self-destruct one day. All I can do is make the most of the time I have left."

"And that's just fine, is it? You're all good with that," Zack growls, stopping with his back to them.

"Zack—" Cissnei hisses.

"For real, what the hell is wrong with people?" he yells. "Do this, go there, do me a favor and then we'll talk—it's bullshit, bullshit! All you people want to do is throw your hands up and blame somebody else, and I'm fucking sick of it. I'm tired of running for my life from people that don't want to kill me, or trying to save someone that doesn't want to be saved so I can kill someone else who doesn't want to die, all so I can live a quiet life that I don't even think I deserve."

He turns, blinking back tears of frustration and staring between them with nothing short of absolute desperation.

"What did I expect? I don't know, but I'm sick and tired of having two options and no choice."

Veld and Cissnei shift as one on the bed, the covers rustling and cheap old springs creaking.

His breath comes fast and shallow, hissing out of his clenched teeth like a tire with a slow leak. He feels numb from the breakdown, almost hungover. Cissnei worries her lip like she's about to speak and he realizes he doesn't actually want to listen. If she tries to make him feel better he might just break something.

To his surprise it's not Cissnei that speaks first. Veld stands, taller than him by a few inches and giving off not a single shred of sympathy.

"I won't ask about your motivations, Fair. It's clear you have a lot on the line. I will say this, I do care about my Turks. I want to take responsibility, but my loyalty must be to my daughter first. If you can convince her to leave, then I will owe you a debt of gratitude. I will go to my death, if that is what you wish."

"Really."

"On my honor," Veld says.

He extends his hand.

Zack regards it, adrenaline vibrating through him like a drum beat.

"Whatever that's worth," Zack mutters, grabbing his hand and shaking it hard enough to make him wince.

As he stomps out, he hears Cissnei whispering, maybe unaware of how sensitive SOLDIER's hearing is.

"Gaia, what's up with him? Is he in love with Shotgon or something? Who knew he cared so much about the Turks."

The door clanks shut as he stomps out, resonating through the dark hallway. Murmurs of movement and whispered voices hum in the wide-open rotunda. The elevator whirs past, full to bursting.

The meeting must be over.

Excited to tell Cloud what he's learned, he runs down the stairs in big leaps. Loose clusters of people mill down the fifth floor hallway. He ducks around them to get to the SOLDIER dorm.

"Hey, there he is," Kunsel yells. "Guys, guy, huddle up. This is the guy I told you about. SOLDIER 1st Class, by the way! No shit."

"Ex-SOLDIER," Zack says absently, eyes flitting around in search of a wheelchair. "Where's Cloud?"

"Who?" Kunsel says, before shaking his head and amending. "Oh, I remember. Little blonde kid, right? Kinda shy. Yo, why didn't you mention you were traveling with him?"

Zack makes his second scan of the room, his heart picking up pace, and runs out into the hallway. No sign, not even when the elevator stops and a smaller group of passengers get off.

Kunsel calls after him as he walks to the rotunda at a half-jog, leaning far over the railing to see the ground floor far below.

Nothing. No one. Just a few stragglers chattering.

The whole of the concrete floor is bare and empty, already vacated. A gong sounds from somewhere, low and vibrating on the metal walls.

"Lights out in thirty minutes," someone below yells.

"Zack, hey—woah, sorry, excuse me—uh, wait up, what's the matter?" Kunsel slams into the railing next to him, looking at him like he's crazy.

Maybe he is crazy. Between Maria, Cloud, Fuhito, and Kunsel, it seems to be a unanimous opinion.

"Cloud was at the meeting," Zack says breathlessly, his whole body shaking like that gong was strung inside him. "Everyone else is here, so where is he?"

"Maybe he got held up talking. People love to chat up the newbies."

"Maybe," Zack says, not believing it. The elevator starts to close and he yells out for it to wait.

Kunsel stares at him like he's grown an extra head, and fuck it, maybe he has. Maybe he isn't right without Cloud hanging around him like a ghostly, mental stowaway, and is that such a bad thing, really? It's kept them alive this long. It's kept them sane in circumstances that no regular person could withstand alone.

"Dude, it's almost curfew. They're going to lock us in any minute."

"Then I better find him fast," he says, running into the car full tilt and shaking out his clammy hand. Kunsel jogs behind, hesitating at the threshold before groaning and stepping in beside him.

"You haven't changed a bit," he whispers, shoving his hands into his pockets like Zack made him come along. "Always flying off the handle. I'm sure he's fine."

"First floor, double time," Zack tells the operator.

The iron grate clatters shut. Kunsel glares sideways at him and Zack lifts a brow.

"Going down," the operator says.

The sensation of falling in slow motion does nothing to calm his nerves.