Aeris

I'm trembling slightly. Too little sleep. Standing before the bathroom mirror, peering into my own eyes, searching apprehensively for any signs of change. They look the same—an earthly green, the now familiar red rims signs of my body's continuous rejection the Mako treatments. I can't see any trace of the unnatural glow I'm looking for. It was only an hour ago that I last checked. It's compulsive, but I guess, unsurprising. I have nothing but my own agitation for company. That, and the bouts of nausea and hallucinations that rise and fall within me in startling waves.

Days after Hojo's return I'd never spent so much time outside my luxurious cage. The invasive onslaught had been immediate and unrelenting. They took more measurements than I'd realised it was possible to take. His assistants collected another round of blood samples and cheek swabs. The tissue biopsy had been a particularly nasty surprise, but no worse than the smack across the jaw from a riffle I received for fighting my assailants. When I was finally returned to my prison the solitude awaiting me had taken on an entirely different character, and I'd cherished it.

Some weeks later my obedience had needed to be 'secured' through threats directed at Elmyra. Just as Tseng had warned. Hojo had ordered a new variety of experiments which sometimes required my active participation—endurance tests, magical aptitude, resistance trials.

—"Your lack of physical capability is anticipated...if still disappointingly deficient, but you demonstrate an intriguing synergy with materia, much like your mother. It is to be expected; the knowledge of the ancients must resonate with the blood of the ancients... It warrants further study."—

I'd kept my silence. My thoughts belong to me. No physical pain could ever have shook me the way having my free will wrested from me did. It's forced me to retreat even further into myself.

I continue to push at the boundaries of my shrinking reality wherever I can, but my fears for Elmyra have greatly reduced my recklessness. I already understood the dizzying loneliness of isolation. Dissociation was worse.

Months of 'further study' developed into forcing me to breaking point. Hour after hour spent calling on materia or hooked up to a treadmill like a lab rat, supplemented with drugs designed to induce stress. All so that Hojo could observe and record what he termed, 'blood knowledge'—magic conjured without the use of materia.

It feels like... expanding—outside my body, if that makes any sense?

The first time it happened, the relief of it had been intoxicating. The planet enfolded me in its warmth, its connection, everything that I'd needed, everything I'd lacked, returning strength and vitality to my body. Unfortunately it had also led Hojo to double down. The forced, cyclical nature of it, the repetition, of pain, of exhaustion, of indignity, began to inspire within me an unfamiliar intensity. I had been closed in upon myself, cornered, afraid, tired, and frustrated for too long.

I can breathe, is all I remember thinking, surprised and free for just a moment, as the world around me flooded white.

I'd caused a fair amount of damage to the lab that day, and the experiment was put on hold. That was when the Mako shots began. They disturb me, more than I think I'm able to convey. A molestation of the planet shot straight inside to crawl under my skin, to explode and thrum in an uproar of terrible intimacy. I cannot begin to imagine the purpose this serves for his research. As far as I can tell Hojo's method is madness.

I think, maybe, I'm going mad.

The Mako transports me. At times the disorienting fever dreams feel more real than the necessary fortress I've built behind my eyes. I can't help feeling that the incremental way Hojo has been advancing his experimentation is intentional, that he is always testing the water, seeing how much he can get away with, and how quickly.

I startle reflexively as the sharp hiss of the door emanates from the living room. It's been a few days since they last came for me. I don't move, continuing to watch my own absent eyes in the mirror. I'm not really here, but somewhere else, as I wait.

Mako submersion. I can't believe it.

"You'll kill me," I hear myself say.

"Hmm, she speaks," Hojo responds with absent condescension, fiddling with the settings of the containment chamber. "Nonsense, I've been training your body's resistance for some time now. You'll survive."

The way he says it somehow emphasises the lack of any assurance beyond the mere preservation of my life. He looks over at me, as if fully noticing my presence for the first time.

"I really must thank you." He smiles as he adjusts his glasses higher onto his nose. "Did you know that Tseng wanted to use your willing cooperation as leverage against my... preferred methods. Your collaboration has always been worthless to me."

I don't look back at him, my gaze is now fixed on what feels like my coffin.

"Do you know how Ancients react to Mako?" he continues, indifferent to me. He might as well be talking to himself. Perhaps he is. "You're a conduit, an antenna—a direct line to the planet...the data I collect from you in this state will be a treasure trove once interpreted. The board would like you to lead them to the promised land, so they're very happy with the direction I'm taking things... but, you and I both know that there is no such thing as the Promised Land. it's a legend... an old wives tale... utterly ridiculous."

I turn slightly and blink at him, Hojo and Shinra have separate goals? The thought is strangely ominous.

"You're surprised? It will have to be our little secret. I'm afraid it's very difficult to persuade them to let go of the idea. They think such a place must be boundlessly rich in Mako. So you see, it would make them even richer hmm."

"Then, what do you want?" My voice is small and dispassionate. It's the first time I've asked him anything. It's a ludicrous question. Somehow, I don't care.

"Oh, everything," he casually exclaims with a smile. "There are secrets in your blood, in your brain, in every piece of your body. Secrets that are not yours to know, but they will be mine."

The first time I see the sky it is not with my eyes but inside.

Infinite tiny pricks of luminescence whirl in freefall, each chorusing an immense personality all of its own. A towering abyss—a bottomless heaven—up and down spin and unite in dizzying conception. Such beautiful symmetry.

I retch, shivering bodily. The lights hurt my eyes. The hard floor pushes up at me. My lungs are burning, my head ringing. The world is still spinning, but not like before. Now it is hideous and harsh. I hear a voice, and am just about able to make out the meaning of the words before everything goes blank.

"An hour is the limit for the time being, stabilise her and take her back to her room."

The transition is the worst part. The shock of reality crashing back in a flood of anguished recognition, forever adjusting. But the transitions have become less frequent now. I spend weeks—months? I've no real way of knowing how long—at a time, somewhere else. It's hard to hold onto myself, drifting in and out of my own existence, the life blood of the planet flowing all around me. I understand everything in perfect equilibrium until I'm woken up—Then all I can remember are endless riddles simultaneously whispered and screamed—too much to absorb. It would almost be easier if they just left me in there. Perhaps one day they will. Despite everything, I fear that the most.

I don't want to die.

I can't stand it, being used in this way, this violation. I feel culpable—culpable for enabling whatever it is that Hojo is achieving. But I'm powerless—powerless to stop him.

I don't want to die.

I understand now, I think, why they secured the shutters on my windows. They don't know me.

I don't want to die.

I'm surprised to find myself shivering, my breath shaking, as if it were suddenly too cold in the apartment. In a contrary way, I welcome it, as sleepy emotions manifest with abrupt intensity.

I want to live.

I want to...

I want.

"I need to find a way to preserve you."

The professor regards me with a look of perplexed reflection. I stare back at him, my expression guarded. He's thinking out loud again, talking past me.

"My research will likely endure beyond your limited lifespan. My first thought was to breed you," I feel myself tense with revulsion, "but there is no worthy candidate, no way that wouldn't simply further dilute the very substance of what it is that needs to be studied."

I don't relax, I'm misfortunate enough to know him better than that. His manner is different... as if he were somehow unsure of himself, but his eyes are lit up, eager.

"... I have decided to attempt... a more radical course of action..." He turns his back to me, "I've long known that her cells have an effect of longevity. At least in certain subjects."

'Her'?

"Perhaps it's too soon... Jenova is particularly aggressive when exposed to Ancient biomaterial. But I've been careful. I've isolated the components most responsible for longevity... and I am on the hundredth generation..." he continues, convincing himself, "each time the cells mutate yours, they lose some of their virulence. This latest generation appears benign when exposed to a fresh sample of your blood."

He turns and approaches me, I resist the impulse to take a step back, just.

"I've been careful," he repeats, eyes widening with excitement. "I've developed a purging agent—an extra precaution." He shakes his head. "Thoroughly tested, though, obviously not on your kind... Which is why... this is still a risk."

Who—What—is 'Jenova'? Hojo nods to his assistants and they begin moving towards me. What is going on?

Despite my confusion my instincts send me a clear and simple message—Run.

I'm jerked backwards. One of them must have grabbed me from behind. I whirl and duck breaking free for a moment before I'm seized again. I continue to struggle, not needing to know why. But there's a sharp sting in my neck and everything begins to slow. It's hard enough to concentrate on breathing, let alone break free from the scientists strapping me down, attaching monitors to my temples and chest.

The face of Hojo leans into my field of vision. Slick strands of black hair dangle over me as I faintly perceive another sting on the inside of my arm, just above my elbow. He's sweating, brow furrowed as he steps out again.

Everything goes black.

There's something here with me, in the dark. I don't see, but feel it, watching me.

.

.

.

Who's there? I back away, but space doesn't seem to matter. I can't see, but I feel that it's bigger now. Growing.

.

.

.

I'm running, going nowhere. It surrounds me, thick and suffocating.

.

.

.

I didn't know—didn't know such a thing existed—twisted transcendence—an incomprehensible malevolence. I begin to choke. Why? Please stop.

It's hearing, but not listening, intelligent, but impartial. It just wants to grow, and grow, and grow, and grow.

I inhale, but there's no air.

.

.

.

I see a light. A blurry pinprick. Slowly, it expands to reveal a neat grid of white squares awash with unhealthy yellow illumination. It takes me a prolonged moment to realise that I'm looking at the ceiling of the lab.

I peer around, my body feeling weak—too weak to react, as I notice Professor Hojo. He looks angry. He turns and yells at one of his assistants, the sound loud but muffled, I can't make out his words, but my hearing begins to focus when the other assistant replies.

"...the purging agent, Professor."

I look down at my body. There's a forest of dark blue veins branching up my arm from the inside of my elbow.

"I can see that," Hojo spits. "Monitor her, closely, over night. If she dies..." he doesn't finish the threat, his tone is sufficient.

Our eyes meet. For some reason, in that moment, I see him with a calm sense of clarity. He's shaken, but not the way I am. He's shaken because he hates to fail, he hates that what he's just tried to achieve was a failure.

Jenova.

Such a thing should never have fallen into this man's possession.

I've been keeping it hidden—Mother's materia, buried next to my flowers like just another seed. Occasionally, when I feel it's safe, I unearth it. It winks faintly up at me from the palm of my hand, quietly alive. I clutch it to my chest, closing my eyes, trying to draw strength from the glow of gratitude it inspires. Sometimes all the noise becomes distracting, the misshapen actions of tortured individuals cruel. I may feel powerless. But it's not true. I am connected. I have a place. I can feel it. If I concentrate too hard it almost slips away—the thin thread of Holy.

My hair hangs over my shoulder in a loose plait, I've just finished showering and it would probably be late evening if I could see the sky. I touch the inside of my left arm, absent minded. The marks are gone. But sometimes I still feel it there. A phantom memory, an omen. Once they'd been sufficiently convinced I was stabilised, I was returned to the apartment. It's been nearly a week since then.

The door hisses open behind me. I turn, quickly tucking the holy materia into the band around the middle of my dress—

Tseng?

I've not seen him in years. Not once. He pauses in the door, looking at me. There's so much I want to ask him, tell him. But I don't know what to say. I don't even know why he's here, or whether he would care.

"If you'll follow me, I have something to give you," he says after a pause.

I don't feel the need to hesitate, I follow, curious, my heart pounding with confused wariness. He removes his hand from the door frame as I pass through it—He's wearing gloves?

As we make our way down the corridor I notice the traces of blood.

"You're bleeding...?"

"It's not my blood," he replies, without so much as a backwards glance.

"Then..." those shoes... his trousers cover the tops, but they're the wrong size, not the right style, or shade of black. "Whose?" I ask, my anticipation mounting as we descend the stairs lower into the building.

I've never been taken lower before.

"Your father was once a professor here at Shinra," he begins, ignoring me. My heart skips, disoriented. "He was head of the science department before he left and Hojo took over. I believe he distanced himself after he met your mother."

What?

Confused and slightly sick, I ask, "why are you telling me this?" He ignores me.

"His name is Gast Faremis."

We've exited onto the forty ninth floor, and I belatedly scan the corridors as I quicken my strides to keep up with him. What if someone sees us?

But there's no one here.

He pauses before an adjacent door which opens automatically, probably on a sensor. My confusion compounds. It's just a locker room full of uniforms and equipment for Shinra's standard troops.

"Get changed, you'll need a disguise to exit the building, and don't touch anything more than is necessary," he explains, gesturing for me to enter. Despite my uncertainty I comply.

The door slides closed, leaving me alone. I don't waste a moment. Inhaling abruptly as I remember to do so, I search carefully through the uniforms for one that might fit. Ages 12-14? That seems so young. My mind is lit up with questions, my hands unsteady as I change. Is he freeing me? Why now? Where will I go?

My father was a Shinra Scientist?

I pat down my new outfit, It's an odd fit, but it will do. I realise with a pang that I've probably lost my ribbon, the one Zack gave me. I won't be returning to my room. At least, mercifully, I have my mother's materia. The regret is drowned out by the prospect of escape for now, I'll need to mourn it later. As the door opens Tseng turns to face me holding a case and folder.

"I've arranged to put you on a trainee detail to Junion, your train to the departure gate leaves in two hours from the sector one station." He produces a card from the folder and hands it to me, "this is your first ID." I turn the card over and the blurry face of a girl looks up at me. It could pass as me I think? Especially from such a poor quality picture.

"Once at Junion you'll need to swap identities, I've outlined more detailed instructions—here." He hands me the folder. "Take the cargo ship to Costa del Sol, I've arranged an exclusive trip to the town of Nibelheim from the tourism office there on the subsequent day. You'll be the only two going, it's not a popular destination. You should be able to meet with Professor Gast there."

Wait. What? It's too much. 'meet with Professor Gast' 'only two going'. My thoughts spin grasping at the more immediately comprehensible implication. "You found Zack?"

He looks at me, his expression blank. There's something wrong. His gaze tracks to one side, avoiding my eyes.

"I couldn't save him," he states, and though his tone is neutral, it's somehow personal.

I'm speechless for a long moment. It's been years, and yet...

"You knew him," I hear myself say, it's not a question. Ignoring me, he begins to walk toward the elevator. I follow continuing quietly, "then who...?"

"His name is Cloud. An acquaintance of Zack's. He is also departing for Nibelheim from Junion, it's his hometown and he has agreed to accompany you." He's your cover story, him and Zack, I realise. I wonder if he knows it.

"You are on your own from here on. Take the elevator out of the building. I cannot be seen to have been involved, and I won't be. If you get caught you're on your own."

The lift opens, and I pause in the entrance. "You want me to say it was Zack." My eyes fall to the floor, those shoes... I have a sinking feeling that I recognise them now. Suddenly I think I know whose trail of blood I've been following.

"He was coming for you when they gunned him down. I'm only finishing what he started."

Liar, I think. Maybe I'm being unfair, but Tseng is maddeningly secretive. And I'm... I don't know what I am. My emotions are churned up beyond recognition. Should I thank him? Part of me wants to throw my arms around him with gratitude, for giving me the chance to escape—to escape this. Another part of me wants to slap him for putting me through it.

"I said I had something to give you." He hands me the case. Somewhat apprehensive, I peak inside and see a package wrapped in brown paper. "From Elmyra—She doesn't know anything, and she can't. Go straight to the train station," he warns. I close the case, and slowly, I nod. My heart aches. The last thing I want is to put her in more danger.

The lift begins to close and all I can do is stare—our eyes don't break contact until the doors do it for us.

There are probably only a handful of people in the world that really know me.

Perhaps there was nothing that needed to be said.