8

CHAPTER 8 – GUARDIANS OF THE FOREST

The chilly morning breeze swept down the cobbled road. It mussed Squall's hair, prompting him to zip up his jacket for warmth. He sat on a public bench at the base of a stone staircase; an archway reading 'Timber – Balamb Line' stood at the top. The bustling city streets stretched before him, splitting off from the station square to form an intertwining network of twisting roads and alleys. Contrary to the city's name, its buildings were not constructed primarily of wood, but rather faded green stone. The old-world architectural style closely resembled Dollet's, the residual trace of an era long gone, when the land had been united under one flag. Routine patrols of Galbadian soldiers up and down the streets served as a reminder that such an era had come again.

The intercontinental express had pulled into the terminal right on time at 0600. Upon arrival, the trio had gathered their belongings, and exited onto the platform. Their forged ID cards had gotten them through station security without incident. From there, they'd proceeded down the steps to the station square, where they now waited for their contact to arrive. The information in the headmaster's file had specified 0700 as the meeting time. It was now almost an hour past then.

Selphie leaned against a nearby overlook with her arms slung over top. Another set of railroad tracks ran below; the morning express had rumbled through minutes earlier, emerging from the separate continental line terminals further along the station's length. Zell ambled back over from the nearby vending machine with a canned drink, and propped himself against the lamp post he'd left his duffel bag beside. In light of Squall's fainting episode, he seemed to have let their prior argument fall by the wayside.

Talk about a happy accident.

Growing increasingly restless, he reached for his own bag next to him. He unzipped it, and rummaged through the mass of tightly packed clothes until he found the sheathed gunblade. He withdrew it into his lap. The weapon's very touch and familiar weight comforted him, his one constant in the face of so much uncertainty ahead.

He pulled the weapon halfway from its scabbard, exposing the engraved lion's head. The emblem had been custom made to his specifications after passing his weapons certification; it was identical to the design on his pendant and ring. The strength, pride, and unwavering determination of the beast was his ultimate ideal. So it had been for as long as he could remember. He closed his eyes as he clutched the hilt tightly. In his contentment, he could almost hear a voice call to him.

"You need to be brave, to have a strong heart, like a lion. Promise me. If you can do that, you'll find her again…"

"The forests of Timber sure have changed, huh?"

Squall's eyes shot open. A young man with a blue bandanna had materialized from thin air beside him. He wore a tan vest over a white T-shirt, with baggy green cargo pants. He stood perpetually slouched forward with his hands in both pockets.

"But the owls are still around," he answered, sheathing the blade.

"Welcome to Timber, sir!" the man lit up.

He extended his hand. Squall made no effort to shake it.

"You're late. The meeting time was supposed to be 0700."

"Ah… sorry, sir. I've never been good with military time."

"0700 is just seven-o'-clock. And stop calling me 'sir'."

"Er… that's-"

"Hey!" Zell called across the square. "This the guy?"

He and Selphie traipsed over. The resistance operative swiveled to them, re-offering his hand.

"Yes, sir! My name is Watts, intel specialist. Pleased to meet you, sir. And miss!"

Squall's teammates accepted the handshake one after the other. He wasn't sure what to make of the young man, spastic and clunky as he was. Were his demeanor reflective of his faction, it did not bode well for the mission to come. He returned the gunblade to his bag and re-zipped it; there was surely no open-carry law in the city. Despite how vulnerable it made him, avoiding unwanted attention took precedence. There was always his GF to fall back on should the need arise to defend himself.

"Let's get moving," he said, rising from the bench.

"My thoughts exactly, sir!" Watts responded. "Right this way. It's going to be a bit of a hike."

He motioned down the adjacent street due west. As he marched ahead of them, Squall flashed his comrades a skeptical glance.

"Not the most punctual bunch," he quietly muttered.

"Ah, it was probably an honest mistake!" Selphie winked. "Still happens to me around the Garden."

"Yeah, don't be so quick to judge," Zell insisted. "I kinda like the guy."

Of course, you do.

The three tailed Watts through the Timber streets for the better part of an hour. They weaved their way among the hoards of passersby, keeping their distance from oncoming guard patrols as best they could. The traffic gradually thinned as the last trickling dregs of citizenry made their way to work. Various shops, pubs, and other establishments lined the streets, all crafted from the same ubiquitous stone.

Of particular note to Squall was a tall building with the title 'Timber Maniacs' printed above its doors. The name was plenty familiar, despite having never visited the city before. It was a renowned magazine publishing company, famous for a number of top-selling publications. He'd specifically taken interest in their 'battle series', dedicated to all things weapons-related; the Garden library kept the entire catalogue in stock. The company also served as a major outlet for various freelance and op-ed works, though had begun shifting away from them at Galbadia's behest in recent years; it was just another outlet for dissent to be sown among the people.

Before long, they'd trailed away from the inner city to the western outskirts. The cobbled streets gave way to rough, uneven pavement. The roads became narrower and less traveled. An increasing number of buildings stood boarded up and left to wither; those not condemned showed no signs of routine maintenance. The twisting trek took them down alley after dank alley. All the while, Squall's attention stayed fixed on his feet; plentiful potholes and all manner of refuse threatened to trip him up with each step.

"Doesn't look like the friendliest part of town," Zell observed.

"This used to be the city industrial sector, sir," Watts called back. "Timber's big export was always our lumber, and all kinds of goods produced from it. After Galbadia invaded, they burned most of the forests to the ground hunting down the resistance. And the whole trade went with it."

"That must have been awful," Selphie said.

"Yes, miss. The jobs-market crashed, the economy tanked, and a lot of good men and women went broke. We didn't just lose our sovereignty, we lost any kind of financial independence we had. That's what we're fighting for."

They emerged from the network of refuse-strewn alleys. A chain-link fence topped by razor-wire stretched far down the lane. A looming, rusted complex stood on the other side, its windows caked with years worth of grime, or shattered altogether. Watts fumbled with a clearly sheared-through portion of the fence, and drew the iron mesh back to form an opening.

Squall took the lead. He reached through to place his bag on the inside before maneuvering himself into position. He ducked his head low, taking care not to catch his jacket on the metal grating. A moment's wriggling, and he touched down on the other side. Zell came next, followed by Selphie; the clumsy girl nearly toppled over from failing to raise her boot high enough.

"We're so ugly you can't bring us through the front?" Zell joked.

"We can't afford to take any risks, sir," Watts explained as he righted the fence. "Barely anyone comes around these parts anymore, but the front gate's right on a major stretch of road. If someone sees us and reports it, we're finished."

He led them around to the rear of the complex, where a set of railroad tracks extended from the back of a large hangar-like extension. They arrived at a rusty side door; it swung open with a loud creak as Watts twisted the handle.

No lock? No guards? So much for not taking any risks.

They stepped through into a dimly-lit stairwell, the musky stench of mildew and corrosion driving Squall to wrinkle his nose. All went nearly pitch black as Watts closed the door behind them. Faint emergency lamps along the wall were their only illumination. They were far too few, providing too little light to operate by.

"I can barely see a thing!" Selphie complained.

"Sorry, miss," Watts apologized.

He unflinchingly stepped forward into the dark, suffocating hole. Squall carefully followed close behind. Just finding the first step was a challenge; once he found the railing, he was never letting go.

"The power lines were cut to this place long ago. All we've got is our own generator, and we need to make the most of what we get from it. Right now, it needs to go to our tech crew, so they can finish up preparations for tomorrow."

"What kind of preparations?" Squall asked.

"Why don't you take a look for yourself, sir?"

Slowly but surely, the four stumbled up to the landing and stepped through the doors at the top. They emerged onto an elevated steel catwalk overlooking a spacious hangar. Large bay doors stood at the rear, from which the train tracks progressed to the center of the room. There, a modified yellow locomotive idled; twin turbines were attached to its sides, with a cooling system on top to prevent overheating. Strangely, a painted red coach car was coupled to its front, rather than the back. Several technicians worked atop the backwards train with welding irons and face masks. Sparks flew as they touched up and sealed the metal paneling in place.

"Sirs!" Watts called down to them. The irons sputtered out as they raised their masks in acknowledgment. "The SeeDs have arrived to assist us!"

A choir of hooping and hollering sprung up. Squall frowned at their premature jubilation; he and his squad had yet to be told the specifics of the mission, and here these people were celebrating as though they'd already been freed from oppression.

"Welcome to the fight!"

The greeting came from a dark-haired man climbing up the nearby metal staircase; his face sported a goatee of the same shade. His pants were a dark navy, his shirt indigo. The tan hiking shoes were the only part of his attire not some shade of blue. He rose to meet them, and extended his hand.

"Name's Zone, leader of the Forest Owls. Good to have you aboard."

It was not out of respect that Squall accepted the handshake. Watts had already left a clear impression by showing up late; he needed to determine once and for all the caliber of client he was working for. Right away, he could tell how flimsy the man's grip was. What little confidence he had was shrinking fast.

"Squall," he half-sighed. "I'm the squad leader. This is Zell and Selphie."

"Nice to meet'cha!" Selphie beamed. The two shook his hand in turn.

"We were getting worried SeeD had ignored our request," Zone admitted. "Wouldn't be the first time. Or the fourth. As you can see, we're just putting the finishing touches on our train."

"What's it all for?" Squall impatiently asked. "We're still in the dark here, so let's get down to it."

"Sure thing. We've got a full diorama set up to go over the plan. But first, let's get you guys sorted. Watts, show them to their quarters. Meeting room in 10."

"What about our princess, sir?" the slouching boy asked. "Is she still napping?"

"She hasn't come down yet. I've still got a few things to look over on the car. 'Squall', was it? Could you do me a favor and go get her? Her room's on the top level. Up those stairs over that way. Turn right and head to the door at the very end of the hall. Can't miss it."

He gestured to a staircase further along the catwalk, stretching up beside a windowed office wing. Squall turned back to Zone, shooting him the most irritable glare he could fashion.

"Pardon me, but were we hired to run errands?"

"N-no, nothing like that," he flinched, backing away slightly. "You're not… angry, are you?"

Squall continued staring him down. The handshake alone had been enough to tell he was a pushover.

"Ow!" the rebel leader doubled over, clutching at his torso. "My stomach's acting up…"

Squall rolled his eyes; he'd heard enough cries of pain in his life, whether in training, or on the shores of Dollet, to recognize it was an act.

"This is the last time for this kind of thing," he declared. "Do we have an agreement?"

"Absolutely," Zone mock grunted. "Thank you."

He turned around, and started back down the stairs with haste.

"I'll take your bag, sir," Watts offered, his tone noticeably less cheery than before.

"No, you won't."

Squall unwound the duffel bag from his shoulder, and held it out to Zell. For however much it tore him apart to trust his gunblade to him, it was astoundingly the better option.

"Be careful with it."

Zell accepted the luggage without a word; the uneasy look in his eyes spoke for him. Squall took off down the catwalk to the staircase Zone had indicated. It stood near a door flanked by two bay windows; a wide office space with a long table rested inside, presumably the aforementioned meeting room. He climbed the stairs in silence, paying no mind to the ongoing project below.

The corridor at the top perfectly reflected the condemned building's exterior; its faded wallpaper had long since peeled away, exposing the mold-covered drywall behind. A bulletin board with many tattered pieces of paper hanging from it caught his eye. Most were old quarterly reports of sales figures. The one outlier was a cut-out Timber Maniacs article about an organization called 'Roshfall Lumber'.

He turned right to make his way down the hall. Several doors along the way hung open, seemingly without care, their interiors gutted of all but the most basic components. The company's collapse must have been swift, expectedly so given the rampant deforestation. He could perfectly envision the burning woodlands, the billowing smoke soaring high into the midday skies. So clear was the image, he could swear he'd witnessed it firsthand.

He reached the corridor's last door, and rapped on it twice.

"Come in…" a groggy moan answered.

Let's just get this over with.

He twisted the knob, and swung the door open. What awaited on the other side was almost too much for his eyes to take in. Relative to what else he'd seen of the building, the amount of work that must have gone into renovating this one room was ludicrous. Its walls and ceiling were coated in dark pink. Low-key lighting from the bedside table lamp provided a homey, romantic air. An elegant dressing table sat on the far side, with all manner of beauty supplies strewn across its counter. Beside it stood a mahogany dresser. Beside that, a queen-sized bed; its duvet and pillows perfectly matched the room's paint job.

A girl with long dark hair lay nestled within the covers. She tossed them off as he stepped inside. Evidently, she'd either slept in her clothes, or simply been taking a nap. She wore a sleeveless blue duster sweater over a black tank top. Her slender forearms bore matching blue warmers, with a black ribbon tied around her left bicep. A blue denim skirt hung over her black spats, leaving the rest of her toned legs bare.

Her tired eyes flitted as she brought her head up to meet Squall. They shot open in awe the next moment. Squall's own followed suit. His breath caught in his lungs. He knew this girl, beyond any doubt. The deep brown eyes, the rounded face, the caramel highlights in her hair; it was all as he remembered.

"You…" she finally eked out. "You're the one… from the ball. Does that mean…?!"

Squall sucked in a breath, and blinked twice to return his face to normal. No wonder he hadn't seen her around the Garden in the last week. All the same, what were the odds that he of all SeeDs had been dispatched on this assignment?

"Squall Leonhart, SeeD operative," he formally introduced himself. "My squadmates and I are here to assist your faction."

"Yes!"

She flung herself from the bed, grappling him into a tight hug. It took every bit of restraint he had not to knock her away; the leap had briefly registered as an incoming attack. He begrudgingly let her cling to him for a moment longer. Her arms trembled with excitement as they stayed wrapped around him.

"You came! SeeD really came!"

"Take it easy," he said.

He moved his hand to her shoulder. She took the hint, and slowly unfurled her grasp.

"Sorry," she blushed. "It's just, I'm so happy! I've been sending requests to Balamb Garden for more than 6 months now, and never got any reply. I'm so glad I went to speak with Cid in person!"

"Oh," Squall muttered; he recalled she'd been on the lookout for someone that night. "So, the person you were looking for at the ball was the headmaster?"

"Well…"

Her eyes abruptly dropped away from his. She backed up to sit on the edge of the bed.

"Yes, and no. Do you know Seifer Almasy?"

The very utterance of the name sent a shooting pain through Squall's gut.

"… yeah."

"I thought so. Seifer and I met each other last summer. I told him all about us and what we're fighting for, and he got really fired up about it. We kept in touch through the mail after that, sort of like pen-pals, I guess. I mentioned how I wasn't having any luck, and he swore he'd find a way to make it happen for me. About a month ago, he sent me a letter saying he could get me into the Garden as his date for the ball. I didn't realize he'd gotten put on the catering staff at the last minute, though."

As she chuckled, Squall cast his own memory back to his chance meeting with Seifer following the exam. He'd certainly been in high spirits for someone faced with punishment so severe. Apparently, his placement on the catering staff had been a blessing in disguise. For so-called 'pen-pals' however, the fond way she spoke of him suggested there was something more there.

"Anyway, I found him, and… he's got this scar on his face now, just like yours."

That really is going to haunt me to my grave, isn't it?

"So, are you guys, like, blood brothers or something?"

"No, nothing like that," Squall deflected; he stifled the urge to retch at the thought. "Just… wounds from training."

"I see."

A concerned look flashed across her face. It disappeared as she raised her eyes back up to him.

"Well, at any rate, it's nice to properly meet you… 'Squall', was it? My name's Rinoa… Rinoa Heartilly."

She gracefully extended her hand. He shook it without reservation. Watts had been unworthy, Zone unfit; for her, it was only proper after the dance they'd shared. She kept her clasp on his even after he released his fingers.

"I've gotta say, I didn't know SeeD members could dance so well," she teased.

"It's something we all practice during espionage training," he bluntly informed her. "Always approach your target inconspicuously at a dance party. It's one of many skills SeeDs are expected to learn."

"Oh… so it's work related."

She withdrew her hand with a disappointed look.

"That's too bad."

What does she want from me?

"But, anyway, Seifer helped introduce me to Cid. I wasn't sure what to expect from the head of Balamb Garden, but he's such a nice man, isn't he? I didn't have much hope he'd approve a contract for a measly little group like us. Once Seifer and I explained the situation though, he had it drafted up for us right away. With your help, we can finally take back this city!"

"On that note, let's get moving," Squall cut her off. "Zone asked me to come get you for the mission briefing."

"Ah, sure thing!"

Rinoa rose from the bed, and crossed to the dressing table.

"Just let me fix my hair real quick. Oh… and, uh, Squall? Is… he here, too?"

There was definitely something more there. Their personalities couldn't be further opposed from one another; Seifer was smug and arrogant, this girl cheery and naive. And yet, somehow the two had found common ground, and presumably formed a relationship. His rival's words from the field exam rang in his ears again.

"Someday, I'm gonna tell you about my romantic dream!"

His 'romantic dream', huh…

"No. He's not a SeeD. He didn't make the cut."

"He… he didn't?"

Rinoa averted her eyes again. The sting of deceit had struck true.

"That's… that's a shame."

She turned back to the table, her spirits now deflated. She reached for a brush, and ran it though her dark locks. As she lifted up her hair, Squall noticed a pair of white angel wing motifs stitched into the back of her duster sweater. Upon finishing, she picked up a slim chain necklace from the table; it was the same she'd been wearing that night, with a lone silver ring entwined through it. She threw it on over her head, slipped her feet into a pair of black, ankle-high boots, and turned off the lamp.

"The meeting room's on the second floor," she told him. "Let's go. We've got a lot to go over for tomorrow."

The two retraced Squall's steps back to the hangar. They descended the staircase to the windowed office wing; as expected, Rinoa led the way through the door. A grid of blocky indents stretched across the floor, implying the room had previously housed row after row of cubicles. It was now bereft of furniture save for a wide table with ten chairs. Zone, Watts, Zell, and Selphie all sat around it; their eyes all turned to them as they stepped inside.

"That's Zell and Selphie," he pointed his squadmates out to Rinoa. He moved to sit by their side as the three exchanged pleasantries.

A large diorama took up almost the entire table. It resembled a short stretch of woodland with three parallel rail-lines running through. Two model trains sat atop. The first on the middle set of tracks was a green locomotive with three passenger cars; the first and third in sequence were green as well, while the middle car was a hideous, hand-painted red. The second train rested on the upper line, just before a switch point connecting to the middle tracks; it consisted of another red passenger car in front, this one store-bought, with a yellow locomotive to the rear, obviously representative of the project being assembled in the hangar. The reason for its backwards coupling was still unclear.

"Looks like everyone's here," Zone announced from the head of the table. "So, let's get this briefing underway. To put it plainly, if this operation is a success, the Forest Owls will be forever known in the pages of Timber's independence."

"That big, huh?" Zell asked.

"You bet," Rinoa said. "It all started when we got hold of some top-secret info from Galbadia a few weeks ago."

"Gathering information is my specialty, miss!" Watts saluted.

"The long and short of it is this," Zone explained. "President Vinzer Deling will be coming into the city tomorrow morning on a private train from the capital. We're going to kidnap him before he gets here."

"Holy shit!" Zell blurted out in surprise.

"Exactly. That's why we desperately needed to hire professionals for this job."

How much are we doing this for, again?

"Everyone please take a look at the diorama. It's not built to scale, or completely accurate to the terrain, but it should give you a general idea."

That sure fills me with confidence.

"This might get a little confusing, so pay close attention. The yellow train on the top rail is our transport out in the hangar. The car coupled to it is a replica of the one the president will be traveling in. Let's call it the 'dummy car'."

"Question!" Selphie interjected. "Why's it attached to the front of the engine? Is that a mistake?"

"No, that's intentional," Rinoa assured her. "It looks weird, I know, but it's all part of the plan."

"Anyway, the president's train is the one on the middle rail," Zone continued. "It's made up of the locomotive and three passenger cars. Deling's is the red one in the middle. The other two have security on board; we'll call them the first and second escorts. Our objective is to disconnect the president's car from the rest of the train, link it up with ours, replace it with the dummy car, and escape back here."

"And how the heck does that work?!" Zell wondered.

Squall concurred. It would be one thing if the president's car were at the very end of the train; its position in the middle seemed to make their plan impossible.

"I'll show you in a moment. Our first matter of business is getting you three on the train. The route it'll be taking from up around Obel Lake runs through a tunnel in the side of a mountain. The openings each have a concrete support frame jutting out from above. We'll drop you off with climbing gear so you can get into position."

"You want us to jump onto a moving train?!" Zell shot up. "There's gotta be a better way!"

"There isn't."

"Well, then answer me this: even if we do make it on, aren't the guards gonna notice three huge thuds slamming down on the roof?"

"Uh…"

Zone shared a sideways glance with Watts, and then he with Rinoa. The faces of all three were flush with embarrassment. Squall's left eye twitched in disbelief; for all their confidence, or perhaps foolishness, that they'd made such a critical oversight was telling. Fortunately, there did exist a method for them to slow their momentum; that Zell hadn't considered it was owed to his own lack of aptitude with wind spellcraft.

"There's a way."

He unclipped the silver sphere from his belt, and held it up for all to see.

"Yeah, I was about to say the same thing!" Selphie chimed in. "Great minds think alike, huh?"

"That trick?" Zell moaned. "There's no way I can pull that off!"

"Guess you'll have to piggyback on Squall, then!"

How you can do it is the real mystery.

"Okay, so, we've figured it all out?" Rinoa jumped in; her bossy tone made it clear she was trying to salvage whatever she could of their image. "Let's get on with it, Zone."

"Right," he continued, motioning to the enemy train. "Once you're on board, you'll move across to the first escort car, and uncouple it from the president's car. You'll have to use the climbing gear to reach the control panel on the side. And it goes without saying to make sure no one sees you. We have it on authority Deling can't stand being surrounded by his guards, so there shouldn't be any on his personal car."

He reached over the diorama to move the train along to the first switch point. At the spot where the upper rail joined with the middle, he separated the front two cars from the back. A gaping opening was left between both halves. Rinoa took hold of the yellow locomotive and dummy car.

"Once the cars are disconnected, we'll move in and link our train with theirs."

She guided the smaller train down the switch point and into the gap, connecting the front of the dummy car with the first escort, and the back of the locomotive to the president's car. All six cars were now linked together on the middle rail.

"You've got to be joking!" Zell threw his arms up. "Do you know how exact you'd have to time the decoupling for this to work?!"

"O-our tech specialist, Blitz, has done all the calculations," Zone said in a shaky voice. "He's determined the exact point along the route where we need to detach the cars. The back half will slow down from wind resistance and the rails' friction, giving us just enough leeway to squeeze in. As long as we make it onto the line before the president's car passes the switch point, we can adjust our speed to catch up with the front half."

"We've prepared this for you to use," Rinoa said.

Her hand dipped into a drawer beneath the table, reemerging with a digital stopwatch hung from a neck strap. She rounded the table, and handed it to Squall. The display had been pre-set to a time: 2:23.00.

"Given the speed of a standard Galbadian express line, and the distance to the switch point, if you start the timer right when the train clears the tunnel, it should hit zero when you need to disconnect the cars. We've tested it with our own engine and the dummy car. It gave us a big enough gap."

"You're really hedging your bet on the speed of the train, though," Zell reminded her. "If it's off by even a little bit, your whole plan goes up in smoke. Literally."

"Then, so be it. We've put in too much work to pull out now. You three just do your job like we tell you, and leave the rest to us. We'll make it work."

It's only our lives you're toying with.

Zone cleared his throat; apparently, he was composed enough to speak again.

"Once the connection is established, we'll have to decouple the dummy car and second escort at the same time to make our getaway. The timing on that one shouldn't be as tight. Rinoa and some guys'll be up to assist. We'll pull out at the next switch point further down the line."

"What about the second escort?" Zell asked. "How's it going to catch back up with the rest of the train?"

"Not our problem," Rinoa said. "By the time it slows down enough for the guards to notice, we'll be long gone."

"If they don't notice your train right away," Squall finally spoke up. "These passenger cars have windows, don't they?"

"Sure. We haven't included it in the diorama, but there's enough trees between the tracks to keep us obscured."

"And what about the dummy car? What if someone decides to check in on the president?"

"Not an issue, sir!" Watts cut in. "I managed to get some photos of the real deal. The rest of the guys have remodeled the car's interior to match it. We've even installed a voice-activated recording in the bathroom; when someone speaks near it, it'll play a spliced clip telling them to leave him in peace."

"You really think anyone's gonna fall for that?" Zell asked.

Maybe if that idiot from my dreams were the one on duty.

"As long as we get in and out quickly, it won't make any difference," Zone deflected. "Any other questions?"

"Yeah," Selphie said. "It's not really an important one, though. I was just thinking… this diorama looks pretty good overall, but why does the president's car look so shabby?"

The amateurish paint job hadn't been lost on Squall either. In light of the suicide mission as it had just been detailed to them, he'd completely forgotten. Being hung up on something so irrelevant was unthinkable. Or rather, it would have been for anyone else he knew.

"Rinoa made that one herself, miss," Watts revealed. "We bought everything else at a gift store."

"Ha, I thought some little kid made it," Zell laughed.

"Oh, shut up!" Rinoa snapped. "I made it look that way on purpose! It's… it's supposed to be a symbol of my hatred for Deling, and everything he stands for!"

"Man, you must really hate him, then," Selphie quipped.

"Obviously. Let's just wrap this up. We'll review everything with the rest of the gang over dinner. And tomorrow, we finally end Deling's reign of terror!"

"Hear, hear!" Zone pumped his fist.

"Excuse me," Squall interrupted, rising up out of his seat. "Before we get ahead of ourselves… I'd like to have a look at the contract you have with our Garden."

"O-oh," Zone stammered; his determination had suddenly evaporated. "Well, about that…"

"Cid told me it would take a while to get the contract drafted up," Rinoa took over. "That he'd have to run it by the administration the next day. I had to hop back on the train first thing in the morning, so I asked if he could give me a written agreement of some kind. That's all we have."

Squall was beside himself. The headmaster couldn't have been in his right mind to go along with such an amateurish request. Just what had she and Seifer said to convince him?

"It'll do," he conceded.

At his request, Zone hastily rummaged through the table drawers. He withdrew a single sheet of office paper, and rounded the table to Squall's seat.

"Hope that clears up any questions," Rinoa said, standing up from her own seat. "See you at dinner. We'll be counting on you guys to make it all happen."

Depending on what this says, you might be doing it yourselves.

Squall impatiently snatched the leaflet from Zone's hand. The man scurried off after Rinoa and Watts as they took their leave back into the hangar. Zell and Selphie ambled over, each craning their necks in to read the memo. The handwriting on the page was the same Squall had seen on his exam report, with the headmaster's seal stamped beside his signature at the very bottom.

"Dear Rinoa," the text read. "I thank you for your vested and longstanding interest in hiring SeeD. In light of Timber's dire circumstances as you've informed me, I will see a squad of hand-picked operatives dispatched to assist you in your plans. Please note that as this is a special exception, no replacements or additional support can be provided. I wish you all the best with your endeavors.

"Sincerely, Cid Kramer, Balamb Garden Headmaster."

"That's it?!" Zell nearly blew a gasket.

This can't be all we have to go off of...

"Talk about vague," Selphie agreed. "But, what can we do? Looks like we've gotta follow whatever orders they give us, right? To uphold the Garden's reputation, and all."

"Still think I was too quick to judge?" Squall turned his ire to Zell.

"I… I just figured they'd have planned all this out better," he muttered.

"As soon as we're done here, I'm going straight to the administration. There's no way any of this was in the actual contract."

"Good call. So, wanna see our quarters? It's what you'd expect in a dump like this, but they've got bedrolls for us, at least."

Understanding there was nothing more he could do, Squall set the headmaster's writing down on the table, and wordlessly followed his squadmates out of the meeting room. All the while, he reflected on his reunion with Rinoa, and the ill-conceived mission he was to execute for her.

Stubborn, overly-ambitious… maybe they're not so different after all…