"It doesn't matter," Sephiroth said.
"It doesn't matter to you. You and Fair have already been exposed and obviously aren't going to turn into A-copies."
"I hope I get used to the smell soon," Zack muttered, wrinkling his nose. His eyes watered a little against the ever-present fumes from the underground mine fires.
He shifted the armful of old containers of Hojo's nutrient fluid he had collected from the truck to get a better grip on them. Only one still had any liquid in it, less than a milliliter that barely coated the bottom. According to Sephiroth, the IV and blood products they'd substituted were an imperfect solution at best. Good thing they'd found Hollander.
The other two jugs were empty, but Sephiroth had said they probably still held some dried residue. Maybe Hollander would find something useful.
As Zack approached the rundown industrial building he and his fellow refugees laughingly called home, he threw a half-hearted glare at the power plant's cooling pond. It was an unsightly blot on nature, just like the jumbled buildings, earth-moving equipment, and unused smokestacks that loomed over the area. The stunted, scraggly trees, the brittle half-dead shrubs and brush, the broken reeds and yellowed lily pads, and the dreary, scummy water were all eyesores; they didn't help the manmade lake one bit.
His nose picked up a faint odor, like rotting eggs, but with a distinctly acidic undertone. It wasn't quite like the sulfur reek that permeated the atmosphere, but it was probably also due to burning coal. His eyes caught a slight motion out near the center, as of a jumping fish or perhaps a large frog. So the area wasn't as dead as he'd believed.
He wondered how the pond still survived, why it hadn't dried up years ago, then spied on the far left shore a pipe extending from a rock-lined drainage ditch. A sparkling ribbon flowed from it into thin rafts of slimy algae. Of course. The cooling pond was designed to stay filled. It would have been of little use to the power plant otherwise. The pipe probably led back to the same mountain aquifer that Genesis's group got their own water from, or maybe to a closer, natural spring. It appeared to be a passive system, unlike the potable water supply.
Zack passed a few thin cracks in the concrete, and again flexed his nostrils at the pale threads of smoke wafting into the air. There was no escaping the dirty, acrid stink of burning sulfur and other minerals. The network of underground mine fires that riddled all of Centralia and its outlying areas ensured that with the noxious gases they belched. Fissures both large and small in the earth were everywhere, even right under his feet, emitting gas and white smoke.
"It's worth it," Zack told himself. "It's worth it. Hollander says he can fix Angeal. It doesn't matter how much sulfur and crap we have to breathe."
Jeeze, they'd only been here for one night, and he was already regretting his life choices. What a moron. He was a SOLDIER—well, an ex-SOLDIER. An ex-SOLDIER First Class. He could handle a little adversity like stinky air.
An instant later he gasped as a phantom sledgehammer slammed into his chest. The jugs clattered to the ground, but he barely noticed. His heart pounded, his blood rushed through his veins, and he couldn't breathe! Sweat broke out through every pore in his flushed skin. He teetered, suddenly lightheaded, and he couldn't fucking breathe!
In the midst of a blinding whirlwind of panic, Zack felt rubber-gloved fingers pressing against his cheeks, his forehead, his neck and hairline. When a hand lifted, he saw it held several white discs—sensor pads like Hojo had used! The hands pushed relentlessly against one spot then moved to the next. Someone was attaching the sensors—no, oh no, he was back in a lab! A lab! He was being prepared for monitoring, for more experimentation!
The hands pulled away. Hollander's bearded face filled his view, wavering and swimming as though seen through tears and clear glass. "All right, we've got you all wired up," the scientist said. "Now let's see what makes you tick."
No! Not again! Nononononononono—
"Angeal!" Zack gasped out in sudden comprehension and dread. The jugs forgotten, he bolted toward his new home. He could save Angeal this time! Someone there should know where Angeal and Hollander were! There was still a chance!
Sudden shattering all around him— The world splintered away. Hands on his face again, strong fingers pressing down, sinking deep into his skin, blending, merging. Sephiroth's face this time, closer, closer. Sephiroth, staring intently at him, saying something over and over, but Zack couldn't hear through the roaring in his ears. His living flesh clutched at Sephiroth's fingers, trying to draw them in, seeking their safety and reassurance.
Angeal's whirling energy screamed at Zack, dragging him through the mining site and into the ugly building. Zack raced through hallways and up a set of metal stairs, pivoting hard left at the second floor. He didn't know where he was going, but every fiber of his being insisted it was the right way.
He ran smack into a mob of winged bodies—G-copies, he vaguely recognized, five or six, all heading in the same direction as him, but not fast enough. He shoved them out of his way and barreled forward.
Panting harder and harder, he slammed open a heavy door and rushed into the room. "Angeal!" he shouted, and skidded to a stop before running headlong into jumbled machines screeching out irregular, shrill beeps and whistles on overdrive. Monitors displayed incomprehensible, erratic lines and jagged patterns. He immediately spied the villain in the lab coat.
"Hollander!" he yelled, pointing at the scientist.
Hollander staggered back against some kind of console full of blinking lights and screamed at him, "Stay out! Containment's breached!"
Sephiroth's strong, calm voice overrode that command: "It's fine. Nothing will happen."
Zack's agitated gaze flicked over the room: past the chaos of monitors flashing wildly squiggly lines and the computers pinging with strident insistence, and his eyes locked on Sephiroth. The ex-SOLDIER stood in front of a shattered glass and metal box, cradling Angeal's head against his chest. Angeal's bare skin was speckled with small, white sensor disks, but otherwise appeared untouched.
"It's not fine!" Hollander insisted. "Why do you think Hojo used all that biohazard equipment, anyway?"
Sephiroth ignored him, instead murmuring softly to Angeal's head. Zack also dismissed Hollander's warnings, and strode across the room to join his friends. He heard Hollander hiss, "Fools," but it didn't matter. Nothing mattered in that moment but Angeal.
Sephiroth said in reassuring tones, "It's all right, calm down. No one's going to hurt you ever again. I'm here with you. I'll always be with you." His eyes flicked up. "See, Zack's here, too. We're both here with you. It's safe. You're safe."
At that moment Genesis burst in, black wing flaring wide. G-copies crowded in behind him. "What's happened to Angeal?" he yelled. "Hollander, what the fuck were you doing?"
"Nothing!" Hollander screamed back. "I just wired him up for some sensor readings! I didn't even scratch him! If he's injured it's because Sephiroth broke the safety glass!"
Zack took in the damaged box behind Sephiroth. It was wide open, its glass front panel broken apart and crazed with spider web fractures. Two large, broken sections, each holding a mounted, rubber glove, hung loosely from the frame. Splinters littered the beige linoleum floor. "What is this thing?" he asked.
"It's my damned glovebox," Hollander said. "Or it was. Now it's useless junk."
Sephiroth finally looked up from Angeal. "You don't need it. But if it's so important to you, you can get another one."
"It's not like we can mail order them."
"What's a glovebox?" Zack asked.
"It's a cabinet designed to allow work on hazardous materials," Hollander told him. "The specimens are placed inside using a special protocol. You put your hands in the gloves to work. It keeps biohazards contained inside it. Like Angeal's cells!"
"You took his head out of the specimen container and put it in there?"
"Of course. Can't work through all that glop he was floating in, now can I? I planned to assess a sample of the liquid and start some cell cultures when I was done with these initial scans."
"Will he be okay in just air?" Zack directed that question not to Hollander, but to Sephiroth.
The older SOLDIER nodded. "Of course. He breathes, for lack of a better term, through his skin. He only needs the nutrients in the liquid for nourishment and to grow. We'll return him to it soon."
Genesis strode over to Sephiroth, stripped the leather glove off his right hand, and lightly rested his exposed fingertips on Angeal's cheek. He smiled and finally dismissed his wing. "We'll get another glovebox the way we get most of our equipment," he said absently, his gaze and hand fixed on Angeal's face. "We'll get one from some clinic or lab."
Hollander sniffed and crossed his arms over his chest. "And in the meantime? The whole lab is probably contaminated now. We'll need to quarantine—"
"It doesn't matter," Sephiroth said.
"It doesn't matter to you. You and Fair have already been exposed and obviously aren't going to turn into A-copies. Genesis and his copies are probably safe, too. But—"
"Angeal won't accidentally infect you," Sephiroth said coldly. "He understands that you're necessary. I've made everything clear to him. He's already recalled any remaining free cells that escaped the glovebox."
Hollander gaped at him, pale and speechless at that terrifying tidbit of information. Zack felt a little shiver at the way Sephiroth had emphasized the word "accidentally." Was Angeal angry enough at Shin-Ra scientists, specifically Hollander, that he might deliberately infect and mutate him? Zack knew from his dreams that Angeal, if he so desired, had absolute mastery over his cells and any creature hosting them. An infection would ensure control over a wild card of a mad scientist, wouldn't it?
But that might ruin everything. The G-copies sure didn't seem to have retained any of their own identities. Unless acting under Genesis's direction, they usually behaved like mindless zombies. Could Angeal keep the infection under enough control that Hollander wouldn't become a regular copy and lose himself? Horrible thought.
Maybe just the threat would be enough to keep Hollander in line.
A slight motion caught Zack's eye. Genesis was slowly pulling his hand from Angeal's face. A few super-fine, stretchy filaments connected his fingers to Angeal's skin for just a moment, almost like the translucent strands of an early morning spider's web. They briefly glimmered in the light, then broke and vanished. Genesis rubbed his thumb against his fingertips absently, though otherwise hadn't appeared to notice anything.
It had probably been residue from the nutrient liquid, Zack decided. Angeal's head was in open air now, and any remaining IV and serum fluids had probably dried and gotten a little gummy. "Are you guys going to give Angeal a bath? That feeding liquid is probably sticky on his face. I bet it's uncomfortable."
"We already cleaned him off," Sephiroth said.
"The sensor pads required clean, dry skin to adhere properly," Hollander elaborated. He sighed in resignation as he glanced over his monitors, which had settled down to show smoother, regular patterns and emitted much quieter, slower beeps and whines. "I suppose I have to believe that this lab is safe and continue on with my work. Nothing else to do, is there? Sephiroth, just keep Angeal calm and I'll finish taking my readings. Then we can put him back in his nutrient bath."
"I won't be leaving him alone here when you're done," Sephiroth said in obvious warning. "Just so you know."
"I assumed not, but once he gets bigger, you won't be able to cart him everywhere with you," Hollander said snidely.
"When it comes to that, we will not leave him alone. Ever. We'll set up a cot and take shifts with him."
"We?"
"Myself, Zack, and Genesis."
Zack was surprised. No one had mentioned this before, at least not to him, but Genesis nodded as though he'd known of the plan all along.
Sephiroth said, "There'll be no accidents or unauthorized experimentation. Do I make myself clear?"
"Crystal clear," Hollander said with notable ill-humor.