10

CHAPTER 10 – DAYS SPENT ADRIFT

The boy slowly creaked his eyes open. They met the wooden rafters high above, supporting a grey stone ceiling. The stiff mattress he lay upon further assured him of his familiar surroundings. He groggily sat up, pulling himself free from the tightly drawn covers. Roughly two dozen twin-sized beds like his own took up the wide room. Each was neatly made, as was the expected morning routine. The walls lay bare but for a ring of evenly spaced gas lamps all around, now extinguished; the sunlight streaming through the windows on the far wall provided ample light. Such were the accommodations he'd awoken to for as long as he could remember, always with the other children, and until recently, his beloved Sis.

A chill suddenly ran down his spine. He remembered the fearsome man in tattered rags, openly bearing the two bloodied swords before him. The words he'd spoken, proof beyond any doubt it was he who'd taken her away, still rang in his ears. He'd tried to flee, only to be stopped in his tracks by the terrifying woman who'd magically appeared from a portal of darkness. The fear had kept him frozen to the spot. He couldn't remember anything more.

It was a miracle he'd survived. Or had it been a nightmare? It had all been so vivid, and his fear so intense. But then, so too was his desire to see Sis again. His loneliness had become so overwhelming, that at times it was difficult to convince himself that his day-to-day life weren't one long nightmare in and of itself. Had things truly become so bad? Had he reached a point where he could no longer tell the difference between reality and fantasy?

"Sis," the boy mewled with his head hung, eyes downcast to the woolen blanket over his legs. "Come back… please, come back… please… I miss you."

A rattling at the door broke him from his self-pity. His head shot up just in time to see it swing open.

"Hello…?"

"Hello? Squall?"

He drowsily cracked open his eyes to find Rinoa's own mere inches away. The yelp escaped his lungs of its own accord. She reeled backwards from his bedside with a shriek to match. He sat bolt upright. After a brief pause to calm his racing heart, he reached back with one hand to pull aside the drapery. The setting afternoon sun streamed on through the window and across the bedroom. With several labored breaths, he turned his ire to his unwelcome guest.

"What do you think you're doing? And how did you get in here?"

"I asked Quistis where I could find you," she candidly explained. "The door was unlocked. You looked so adorable, you know, sleeping like a baby. Sorry for scaring you like that, but… you were talking in your sleep. It looked like you were having a nightmare."

He prepared to give her a stern reprimand for intruding on his private quarters. It was then that her outfit, now revealed by the waning daylight, caught his attention. The torn blue duster sweater was gone. In its place was a familiar choice of attire he'd never imagined to see her wear. The navy uniform trailed down to a matching skirt around her upper thighs. Its shoulders were silver, each bearing the SeeD insignia. A set of black shoes and dress socks reaching up to her calves completed the standard female Balamb cadet uniform. That it cut such a dazzling figure on her was almost enough to derail Squall's train of thought.

"Why are you dressed like that?"

"Like it?" she teased with a smile. "Since I needed to ask Cid for a new room key anyway, I figured I might as well ask for some new clothes while I'm at it. Can't be walking around here in rags every day, can I? And besides… I was hoping you might take what I'm about to ask you more seriously if I came to you like this."

"And what's that?"

"Cadet Heartilly, requesting professional combat training, sir!"

Her voice was brazen as she snapped into her best attempt at the SeeD salute. The sudden outburst caught Squall off guard. A moment later, the intent behind her words brought him to incredulity.

"You're joking," he flatly dismissed her.

"I'm completely serious."

"No, you're not."

"Look at this, and tell me I'm not!"

Rinoa fell out of the salute. The hand she'd raised dipped into her uniform's pocket, and reemerged holding a small silver sphere. Squall intuitively knew what it was even before she extended it to him.

"Where did you get that?!" he snapped.

"It's the one that Norg guy had," she explained. "I want you to teach me how to use it."

"Forget it. You need to hand that over to the headmaster or the commandant right away. It's too dangerous for a civilian to be holding onto."

"Didn't seem like you had a problem giving me yours."

"I wasn't thinking straight when I did that."

It was half-true; the threat of the missile strike had caused him to act with more impatience than was the norm. More than that however, it had been the only gesture he could think of to keep her from following him and Quistis into the Garden's depths.

"Well, it looked to me like it was the only thing that saved you two this morning!" she fired back. "I'm not asking for much here! I mean, come on! It's the least you could do to make up for dragging me into something like that. And scaring the daylights out of me, to boot!"

"The answer is no. Norg is dead. The Garden is safe now. There's no need for you to learn how to fight with that."

"The hell there isn't!"

He flinched at her sudden swell in volume. Her usually benign brown eyes stared back with an intensity he'd rarely seen from her.

"I'm sick and tired of being a burden every time there's danger! I've already told you, I don't want you or anyone else to have to keep worrying about my safety. Like it or not, this is my fight too, and it's time I started pulling my own weight. And if I'm going to do that, then I need to become self-sufficient. I need to learn how to protect myself. Knowing how to use one of these things will help give me a leg up. So please, Squall… teach me how. This isn't an order. It's a favor… for your sake as much as mine."

Her tenacity and self-determination were admirable. Clearly, this was not the same spoiled princess he'd known back in Timber. It was enough for him to take her at her word, though he remained apprehensive all the same.

"Why me?" he asked. "Quistis is the one with teaching experience. If you're so serious about this, then why don't you go to her about it?"

"Because I want to learn from you," she blurted out, her tone now firm yet cordial. "Is that really so much to ask? It's not like you're busy. I heard we're not going to be heading back ashore until the repairs are finished, anyway. So, what do you say?"

Squall sighed. He turned his eyes away from her, bringing up his wristwatch. The display read 18:14; he'd been asleep for barely 4 hours. It was then that he realized he'd eaten nothing for the entire day. Coupled with the exhaustion he still felt from the previous day's mad dash home, and the morning's confrontation with Norg, any training would have to wait until tomorrow, fittingly the first of the month. The question remained, however: did he really wish to spend his free time teaching Rinoa to use a power she had no business wielding? And perhaps more importantly, would she accept any other answer?

She's got the SeeD spirit, that's for sure.

"Tomorrow morning," he grumbled. "Meet me at the training center entrance at 0800 sharp, and we'll see just how serious you really are."

"Yes, sir!"

The sprawling botanical expanse had changed little since Squall's last visit a week before. There were no signs of leftover carnage from the uprising, owed either to a quick cleanup job, or the training center having not been an active front in the battle. The latter wouldn't have surprised him; given the many forms of vicious wildlife housed within, there was no chance Cid's loyalists would have risked bringing him there. Squall had already seen firsthand the complications Ellone's bodyguards had with the malboro. He hoped to be suitably prepared should another creature intrude on his session with Rinoa.

Much to his surprise, and even delight, his fresh trainee had met him at the entrance airlock a full 10 minutes before their agreed upon time. Her punctuality convinced him this was not a decision she'd made lightly. Whether she would have the persistence required was another matter. They'd proceeded inside, and made their way to Squall's clearing of choice for whenever he came to practice his form. After several minutes spent collecting dried-out kindling from the surrounding woods, he returned to find Rinoa seated on the rock formation in the center. He strode up to her side, and dropped the gathered twigs on the barren earth just around.

"What's all that for?" she asked as she dropped down. "Are we starting a campfire?"

"You guessed it," he responded, bundling the sticks together into a single clump.

"Why? You're not gonna make me hunt something and cook it, are you?"

"Are you going to chicken out if I say yes?"

Satisfied with the amount of kindling, he rose from his knees, and took a deep breath. He'd only just attained SeeDship roughly two-and-a-half weeks before. Taking on a student of his own, however informally, was daunting.

"First, let's cover the basics," he began, detaching his sphere from his belt and bringing it up between them. "I'm going to be running through this pretty quickly, so pay attention. In essence, a Guardian Force is its own independently functioning energy field contained within one of these spheres. The gap that opens when you activate it has been measured to let just the right amount of energy seep out, and intermingle with the physiology of whoever's holding it. Any more than that could be volatile. Needless to say, these aren't toys."

"I never thought they were," Rinoa insisted. She stared down at her own sphere clenched in her hand.

"It still needs to be said. Zell found that out the hard way when he tried to disassemble his a couple years back."

"Yeah, I think you two mentioned that back at the hideout in Timber. Knocked out all the electrical circuits in the dorms, right?"

Squall paused for a moment. He couldn't immediately recall if the incident had indeed come up then. That Rinoa knew the outcome was proof enough it must have. In the midst of his reflection however, the realization that Zell could very well be dead came roaring back. A pang of guilt shot through him. How could he speak so casually of him?

"That's… a good memory you have," he brushed the matter aside. "Now, let's see if we can put it to use with what I'm about to tell you. The various schools of spellcraft a SeeD can make use of are divided into 2 categories. The first is generalized spellcraft, which are some of the more basic forms. These involve channeling the sphere's pure, unfiltered essence to form non-elemental conjurations, such as defense spells for blocking physical and magical attacks. Anyone with proper training can call upon these kinds of spells.

"What makes each GF distinct is the second category: elemental spellcraft. The energy within each sphere is tied to its own specific elemental nature. This determines which types you'll have the best success with. There are 7 primary elemental schools in total: fire, water, earth, ice, gravity, lightning, and wind. There's also the school of holy spellcraft, which is extremely rare. I only know of 2 people with spheres of that elemental disposition…"

He trailed off, remembering the crest of Galbadia etched on Selphie's bronze sphere. He still had no explanation for the illegitimate GF's existence, or how it could have been manufactured by any organization besides Odine Industries. The true nature of the energy was a closely guarded secret from all, likely including the headmaster himself. To produce a functioning counterfeit would necessitate insider knowledge from within Esthar. Clearly, it had been achievable, leaving Squall to fruitlessly ruminate as to how and why Selphie had it. More concerning still was the possibility that she'd been a spy in their midst all along.

Was the reason the missiles came because of-

"This is a lot to take in," Rinoa piped up.

"Sorry," he muttered. "The point is, each sphere has a pre-determined affinity towards and against certain kinds of spellcraft. The most important part of GF training is to recognize these strengths and weaknesses, and to focus on mastering the school your own is best suited for. Take me, for example. My sphere's elemental disposition is fire, which leaves me at a disadvantage when it comes to water and ice spells. It doesn't necessarily mean that I can't use those kinds of spells, but that compared to my strong-suit, or any other element, the potency will be much weaker."

"I think I get it," she hummed, staring back down at her own GF. "So, this one's a water sphere, right?"

"Correct. That means fire and lightning are your weak points in the elemental magic cycle."

"But I can still use the other ones, like ice or wind, right?" she looked to him with pleading eyes.

"With enough training, yes. But they'll never be a substitute for your GF's primary element. There's no use being a jack of all trades if you don't have a firm grasp on your own strong-suit. That's what we're going to be focusing on today."

Squall depressed the switches on his sphere with one hand, and trained his other to the kindling at his feet. A flurry of fiery sparks came to life within his outstretched glove. They shot from his palm. Within seconds, the flames began to spread across the dried twigs.

"We're going to have you use your water spellcraft to put this out," he explained. "It's all a matter of concentration. You have to feel the GF's energy around you, hone in on its frequency, and let it wash over your mind. It's not easy to put into words, but you'll know if you're doing it right. Then, just imagine the water flowing out of your hands. You can close your eyes if it helps you to concentrate. That's about all the advice I can give. It's up to you to figure the rest out on your own. Let me know when you've made progress."

"Wait!" Rinoa called out as he turned away from the pyre. "You're not just going to leave me here all by myself, are you?!"

"My job is to watch the treeline for monsters," he explained, not breaking stride. "You said you were serious about this? Prove it. Oh, and before I forget, no lunch until you can at least make a light sprinkle of droplets. So, get practicing."

He didn't turn back to see her expression, but could imagine it perfectly. The conditions he'd laid down for her were the same that had been expected of him when he'd begun training 3 years before. His first task had been to set alight a wooden training dummy by the day's end, or be sent back to his quarters with an empty stomach for the night. It had taken several hours of mental fumbling to identify the energy frequency around him, and channel it into a faint sputter of flames. If Rinoa were as determined as she claimed to be, he expected it would take her as long.

The remainder of the morning passed in relative silence. Squall routinely circled the clearing, his eyes darting all about the surrounding trees for any sign of movement. Only twice did he notice incoming wildlife from the northern edge. The first time had been a funguar, a bulbous and generally docile species of plant creature known to release noxious spores when threatened. Squall's very approach had been sufficient to send it fleeing back into the woods.

The second had been a creature of significantly greater concern: a slithering hedge viper, nearly 10 feet in length. The venomous snake's muted dark green was adorned with spots of yellow and brown, giving it perfect camouflage within the training center's dense forestry. Unsuspecting cadets who'd been bitten by one accounted for more admissions to the infirmary than from any other creature. The serpent fell to Squall's gunblade all the same; its scaly body parted like butter with a pull of the trigger. No matter the threat it had posed, it was far from the deadliest monster in the artificial wilderness. The malboro from before was proof of that.

Every so often, he would scour the thicket for more kindling. Rinoa continued to strain over the fire all the while. By just past 1100, she finally called out to him. Sweat rolled down her face, both from exhaustion and the heat.

"Any luck?" he casually asked.

"Not yet," she admitted between breaths. "I just… I want to know… how long does it usually take to get it right the first time? Am I doing that badly?"

"As badly as most people on their first day," he told her. "It takes some getting used to. The important part is to familiarize yourself with the sensation of the energy frequency. Have you been able to get a hold of it at all?"

"Kinda… at least, I felt something different. But when I do, I just can't seem to hold onto it long enough."

"You can't let your thoughts wander while channeling the energy. You need to remain completely focused, or else the connection is going to fall apart."

"But how?" she threw her arms up. "How am I supposed to keep from thinking about anything while I'm trying to do something like this?"

"I didn't say you have to be thinking about nothing," he clarified; he knew now she would be reaching her breaking point at any moment. "I'm saying you need to keep focused on exactly what it is you're doing, and where you're directing the energy. In that moment, you shouldn't be thinking of anything other than the water flowing out of your hand, and your target. If you can do that, you'll be on your way."

"And it's the same for every sphere?"

"Every one. Whether it's my fire, Quistis' ice, Zell manipulating earth, or Selphie… using her element. The principle is the same across the board."

He could only assume Selphie's GF operated the same way as theirs. It was something he could never know for sure unless he were to attempt wielding it himself, an opportunity he doubted would ever come again.

"What was Seifer's element?" Rinoa suddenly asked.

The question caught him off guard. He'd fully expected her to be curious that he hadn't mentioned Selphie's element by name. He hadn't even considered to think of Seifer's.

"He… he had a fire sphere," he answered after a long pause. "But he never used it. He only completed the certification program because it's a requirement to become a SeeD. I don't think he ever learned how to summon the creature tied to it, either. He always had this stubborn hang-up about relying on its power, like it was a crutch."

For however misguided he'd always thought Seifer to be on the subject, the dedication to his own code of honor was something Squall had admired. That he'd so willingly thrown it all away for Edea's favor, and accepted the dark powers she'd bestowed upon him was utterly repugnant. Squall balled his fist in resentment. He turned his attention back to Rinoa, staring into her eyes intensely.

"Just by being here… for putting in the effort, of your own volition… you're already more worthy of its power than he'll ever be."

It was only after the words left his mouth that he realized just how out of character they were for him. He swiftly averted his eyes, his face now more flush than it had already been, so close to the fire.

"So… don't give up," he quickly summarized. "You've got the right attitude. That's what matters."

He turned back to his student after a moment's silence to find her eyes were no longer focused on him. They were fully shut as she reached out with one hand over smoldering pyre. Her face was the very image of stoicism. Squall kept his own eyes trained to her outstretched limb, waiting to see what, if anything, would materialize. Several seconds later, his unflinching stare gave way to wide-eyed surprise.

A light spray of water spilled from Rinoa's open palm. The volume was sparse, nowhere near sufficient to fully douse the fire. But then, Squall wouldn't have expected so much on her first day. That she'd managed to conjure anything at all was enough for now. The makeshift spigot that was her hand soon sputtered out. She opened her eyes, turned to him, and cracked a slight smile.

"It… it worked!" she beamed. "I guess picturing the fire as Seifer's helped a little. You were right. I just had to let everything else go, and keep focused on the moment. So… do I pass?"

"Again," Squall ordered. "Do it again. We're going to keep at it until you can do it on command. Come on, hurry it up!"

The following weeks aboard the drifting Garden passed by without incident. In lieu of classes remaining on indefinite suspension, all hands continued to be called into service for the repair efforts. Squall himself had been no exception; he'd been assigned to the main atrium via lottery on two separate shifts. Within the first week, most of the damage to the interior had been sufficiently patched, in addition to the outer courtyard and quad.

It hadn't taken long for the maintenance crew to deduce the Garden's controls. The headmaster had given the order to further distance themselves from Balamb for the time being. So long as repairs were still underway, and with the student body still unprepared to re-engage in combat so soon, it was the best course of action in the event of a Galbadian naval battalion arriving to survey the damage. They would find a smoldering crater where the Garden once stood, and assume the missile strike had been successful. Even should they venture into town and learn of the academy's mobilization, they would be without a clear heading.

Predictably, remaining detached from civilization at large had put strain on the cafeteria's food reserves. A strict rationing program had been implemented overnight. Additionally, a small division of SeeDs had taken to fishing off the lower balconies in the early morning hours, with varying levels of success depending on the day. Others had begun rounding up whatever species of edible wildlife they could capture in the training center, often intruding on Squall's instruction of Rinoa. Given the number of students who'd evacuated before the missile strike, as well as those who'd lost their lives in the revolt, there were naturally fewer mouths to feed. As the second week drew to a close however, it became increasingly clear that they would need to leave open waters soon to restock on supplies.

A return to Balamb was presently out of the question, as was heading ashore on the Galbadian continent. With Esthar shut off from the rest of the world, and Trabia too far north, they were left with no choice but to set course for Fisherman's Horizon. It was a quaint settlement at the center of the Horizon Bridge, established by Estharian expatriates just over 50 years earlier. What had previously served as a way-station had been appropriated and built upon, eventually growing to become an independent nation state much like Balamb. Squall had never been to the town before, and knew nothing of its people or customs. Without any other viable options, they would be dependent on their goodwill to give them a berth for at least a few days.

Squall continued to train Rinoa in the ways of Guardian Force control all the while. The girl had proven herself a natural once she'd gotten the gist of harnessing the energy, much to his surprise. By the second day, her water conjuring had progressed from a light shower to a focused stream, whereby she'd finally extinguished one of his campfires. Eager to keep pushing her development further, he'd devised a special challenge for her on the third.

He'd arrived at the training center early to gather 17 large branches from the surrounding woods, and hammered them into the ground in a circle all around the clearing. Once she'd arrived, he set them alight, and tasked her with dousing them all before the day's end. She'd been understandably disheartened; the sheer amount was a massive increase from just one the day before. All the same, she'd set to work without a fuss. When after many hours of fumbling, failed conjurations, and sweat both from the heat and strain, Rinoa had at last accomplished the trial, Squall finally revealed the purpose behind the number.

"Happy birthday."

Her exhaustion had immediately turned to disbelief; she'd stared at him wide-eyed and jaw agape, clearly at a loss for how he could have known.

"Your father mentioned it over dinner the night before the mission," he'd explained. "Since we're getting you used to this, might as well make you work to blow out your candles this year."

For a few moments longer, she'd remained incredulous. And then, a slight smile came over her lips, followed by a chuckle.

"What's so funny?"

"Sorry," she'd stifled the laughter. "It's just so... like you to work someone half to death on their birthday."

Squall frowned; it was still a day like any other as far as he was concerned. To her credit, she hadn't tried to use it as an excuse to weasel her way out of the day's training.

"Thanks, Squall," she'd finally spoken, her eyes suddenly welling up with joy. "For remembering."

"Whatever. We're done for today, so get some rest. Tomorrow, we start branching out."

From that day on, their daily regimen would typically consist of elemental spellcraft review, followed by a focus on defensive magic, which she'd picked up just as quickly. She was still a ways off from being combat-ready by Squall's estimation, but had more than earned the right to keep the sphere for her own. She soon began to ask him about more advanced GF techniques such as summoning. He told her it would likely take at least a year to reach the level of expertise required. Disappointed, she'd then pivoted to the other schools of magic, to which he again reminded her it was much too early; she'd still yet to master her sphere's primary element. Eventually, he'd humored her with a single afternoon session dedicated to the workings of his various wind elemental techniques. Try as she might, the foreign concept of channeling the energy into her legs to amplify her movement was too much, and she quickly accepted a return to the style of spellcraft she was comfortable with.

Quistis would drop in to observe every so often, and usually offer guidance of her own. Performing in front of an audience, particularly his own former instructor, was a nerve-wracking experience for Squall. Never did she intrude upon or otherwise undermine the lessons however, and would often provide as much praise to him as Rinoa. Appreciative as he was for the encouragement, he could have done without the constant mischievous smile plastered on her face; she was clearly loving every second.

Tuesday, March 16th had begun innocently enough. Squall and Rinoa had eaten their rationed breakfast in the cafeteria, proceeded to the training center, and commenced with their morning routine. Quistis made her appearance close to noon, to observe and assist with keeping an eye out for approaching monsters; fortunately, the amount of hunting in the last week had significantly reduced the wildlife population. As Squall readied another fireball to test the resilience of Rinoa's reflection spell, the intercom's 4-tone chime broke his concentration. It echoed down from the speakers set high into the domed ceiling. Moments later, the headmaster's voice exploded into prominence.

"Attention, all students and staff. We are making our final approach to Fisherman's Horizon. Once we have docked, I ask that you please do not leave the Garden under any circumstances until you are permitted. We do not wish to paint ourselves as an invading army. We will be sending ashore a team of diplomats to discuss our terms with the ruling government. Until then, I repeat, do not leave the Garden under any circumstances. Thank you."

"So, what's going to happen now?" Rinoa spoke up, letting her shield fizzle away.

"No idea," Squall muttered. "We hope they'll let us stay moored here until we stock up on what we need, finish up repairs, and then leave."

"And if they don't let us?"

"Then we find somewhere else," Quistis answered as she strolled over. "We're not in danger of starving yet. This was just the closest and most out of the way place from Galbadia we had to go. I get the feeling they're not going to be too happy to see us, though."

"Because we're military?" Squall assumed.

"You don't know the half of it. The people who run this town are die-hard…"

She trailed off as the intercom's chime rang again.

"Attention, everyone!" the headmaster's voice ripped through the training center; he sounded audibly more anxious than before. "We are en route for a collision with the outer walls! Brace for impact, now!"

The gargantuan concave solar array was as immense as it was blindingly brilliant in the midday sun. Panel after raised blue panel stood within the depressed enclosure, spanning easily 400 yards in diameter. It sloped downward from its raised circumference to meet a lone two-story house on the central platform at the bottom. The home belonged to the mayor of Fisherman's Horizon. Twelve steep sets of stairs led down to it from all around the synthetic basin. All were presently brimming with gathered townsfolk. Atop the platform, a collective of senior officers sat at their tables, loaded down with paperwork, all awaiting their next victim to be brought forward for interrogation. A pair of guards charged with keeping the mayor and his wife confined to their home stood guard on either side of the door.

With the aide of his visor and sniper scope, Army Specialist Evans scoured the commotion. The mob of civilians stood tightly packed together around the central platform, and all along the staircases. Dozens of Galbadian infantrymen on the ground kept their rifles trained to the captives. He and his sniper regiment stationed high above did the same. So it had been since the platoon's arrival that morning.

They'd been given orders to round up the town's entire population for questioning. Their comrades back in Timber, who they'd parted ways with before starting over the Horizon Bridge, had been instructed to do the same. Evans' detachment had been sent on their way with significantly less firepower in reserve. For a settlement so staunchly pacifist, it would be more than sufficient.

"How long're we gonna stick around here, anyway?"

The specialist took his eye from the scope, and looked to his assigned sniping partner. He'd never worked with the soldier before; he was a straggler who'd lost most of his squad in a freak catastrophe, and been picked up along their route down the Great Plains of Galbadia. Regardless, after a laser-precise round of bottle shooting one night, the young Private First Class Morris had secured a position on the short-staffed sniper regiment with flying colors.

"Pretty sure it's gonna be an indefinite placement," Evans replied, re-fixing his eye. "That's what I picked up from the commander, at least. We left our boys at Timber a few days back, the second Dollet siege should already be underway by now, and I'm pretty sure Balamb's gonna be next on the list after that."

"So, we're jus' gonna keep goin' 'till there ain't a town not flyin' our flag?"

"Our flag? You think we can really still call it that anymore? But, hey, at least that peace-loving hippie of a mayor saved us the trouble of having to burn this place down."

"Can't argue with that," Morris sighed. "But I don't get what the point o' all this is. Why do we gotta round up everybody an' put 'em through the wringer like this?"

"Because we're looking for someone. Some girl named 'Ellone', I think."

"Ellone?!"

The amount of surprise in Morris' voice caught Evans off guard. He glanced to him with one eye.

"Something wrong?" he inquired.

"Nah, nothin', it's jus'… this is all fer the sake o' findin' one person? What makes this girl so special?"

"You're askin' the wrong guy. But that's what the witch wants apparently, and she's ready to comb over the entire world to find her. We'll probably be stuck here until they do. And if they don't, I bet they'll be sending us down the tracks to Esthar next."

Evans couldn't understand it himself. But then, it was not his place to question Galbadia's new ruler, no matter the treachery with which she'd usurped the president. He was but one of hundreds of thousands of easily replaceable foot-soldiers, sworn to serve his nation, despite his own misgivings with the mission. He knew for a fact that his sentiments were shared by virtually every other member of his entourage; there couldn't have been a soldier in the entire army without any reservations about them.

The incessant mewling and whimpering of the terrified citizens reached his ears on the breeze. All the while, they were shuttled up onto the platform for their information audit. As he continued to restlessly survey the proceedings, a sudden yelp from further along the raised circumference drew his attention. Craning his neck, he noticed a fellow pair of snipers with their eyes drawn away from the commotion in the center. They instead stared directly over his position. With a glance around the ring through his scope, he noticed such was the case for every other team on the opposite side of the solar array. He turned around from the basin's lip to see for himself.

"What the-?!"

A towering synthetic structure resembling a conch shell loomed just beyond the exterior sea wall to the north. Its vibrant blue, silver, and gold coloring shimmered in the sun, growing more prominent as it drifted closer. The deafening crash came seconds later. It burst through the barrier with ease. Steel screeched as the girders were torn asunder, sending a tremendous explosion of debris tumbling into the water below. The ground shook from the tremor, sending Evans toppling over.

"Holy shit!" Morris swore as he fought to keep himself steady. "That thing can move?!"

Evans opened his mouth, only to be prematurely silenced by hundreds of shrieks. He quickly righted himself and his sniper rifle. The corralled masses below had descended into chaos, pushing and shoving every which way. Those on the outer rim of the mob turned tail, and began racing up the steps to the top of the basin. Gunshots erupted amid the confusion, only serving to further agitate and alarm.

The people broke from their tightly packed ranks, many scattering beneath the solar panels for cover. All around, the other snipers had promptly set to work on those making the rush back up the encircling staircases. With a deep breath, Evans brought up his rifle's scope, and prepared to do the same.

"What're you doin'?!" his young partner demanded.

"What's it look like?" he scoffed. "Open season."

He maneuvered the targeting reticule over the head of the pack charging up the nearest staircase. The sensation of a cold steel barrel pressed to his cheek froze his trigger-finger in mid-motion.

"Good to know. I was gettin' real tired o' this shtick, anyway."