The clone of Sephiroth slowly opened his eyes, momentarily blinded by the light which he had never encountered before. He blinked his green snakelike eyes as they adjusted to the light and coughed out what fluid remained in his lungs. A tube hooked into his arm relaxed and slid itself out of the injection site, working in tandem with its twin embedded in his chest, and a data cable feeding him memories of another man. He dropped to the floor, and coughed out more fluid. The clone looked up at his visitor and took his first breaths, acclimatizing himself to his surroundings.<br/><br/>As he stood up, the chamber's glass door opened and he strode out, his steps unsteady but sure of themselves, calm in demeanor. As the chamber hissed back into place, a locker opened on the opposite wall, revealing its contents. Inside was<span style="font-style: italic">the</span>weapon. Masamune. Along with it on the sole shelf were clothes that he quickly changed into, saving the shirt for later. He had just woken up and wanted to<span style="font-style: italic">feel</span>things. He gripped the sword, not knowing why, only knowing that it felt right, and turned, cold air caressing him like ice winds upon a hot summer's day. He did not recognize the other man, but this was to be expected; he had never seen the men who stored him in the chamber he had just left. The man-a boy, rather, going by his age-was standing stock still, the tip of his sword following him about the room like an angry snake. The clone cracked his neck, calm, but not knowing why he was calm.<br/><br/>And then he spoke, his voice deep and smooth, akin to a snake in charisma. "Who are you?" He said, but with an undertone of confusion. "For that matter," He added, grip tightening on the hilt, "Who am I?"