Final Fantasy VII 1. Chapter One

            Her slim, tanned hands wrapped around the shaft of the naginata, the carefully polished wood slotting easily into the calluses on her palms.  She hefted it, gave it an experimental whirl; the thin blade projecting from one end of the staff was long than she would have liked, but the weighted knob on the opposite end balanced it nicely.

            The padded floor of the practice room was slick under her bare feet.  She shifted her weight and leaned her head back, testing its purchase under the guise of adjusting her wild blond ponytail.  She knew there was no real need for such caution, but it did not to do acquire bad habits.  An equally surreptitious survey of the room revealed nothing out of the ordinary.  As satisfied with the situation as she could be, she planted the butt of the naginata on the floor before her, arranged herself in a crisply relaxed parade rest stance, and waited.

            "You may begin, Scarlet."

            The amplified voice drifting down from the gallery released her from her practiced stasis.  Hoisting the weapon above her head, she bounded forward, landing on the balls of her feet with languid precision.  Dipping the bladed end in salute, she flowed into the ancient familiarity of the First kata.

            Movement bled into movement as she glided around the room, arms cutting the air with artful delicacy.  She had practiced the sixteen katas, progressing to the next only after having mastered the one before, for years before being allowed to handle a real weapon.  The forms and gestures were not second nature to her; they _were _her nature.

            Parry.  Thrust.  Slash.  Block.  Slash.  An artful spin to impress the unseen audience.  Leap.  Stomp.  Chop.  Parry.

            She scrutinized the walls through slitted eyes as she performed, watching for slots to reveal themselves.  She highly doubted she had been called upon merely to demonstrate the forms; were this a real exercise, the first skeet should appear right 

about--_now._

            The ceramic disc shattered against the flat of the blade, showering her with powdery fragments.  She heard the second launch and was able to thrust the naginata to full extension, smashing it almost before it left the chute.  Two this time, from opposite directions; she was able to crush them almost simultaneously with a showy whirl of the staff.

            So it went: dodging, spinning, feinting, striking, she resumed her circuit of the room, the flying skeets now her dance partners.  They shot past in various numbers, directions, and frequency, but she was well acquainted with this tune, and was able to shatter more than she let slip past her.  The discs themselves were unimportant.  All that mattered was the next arch of her foot, the next twist of her waist, the next flex of her bicep.  Even the naginata did not matter; it was merely a convenient extension of her will.

            Brightening lights alerted her to the next phase of the exercise; tucking the weapon into the crook of her arm she vaulted upwards, snatching one of the bars that crisscrossed the ceiling and hoisting herself aloft.

            Legend had it that the original training room had simply been unfinished, the pipes and the electrical wires left exposed; but the instructors found them so useful they insisted the design be duplicated in all subsequent facilities.  The aerial truss was certainly not designed for ease of use; the thin bars bit uncomfortably into her flesh as she vaulted herself onto her knees.  Getting one foot braced, she began to rise when a skeet whizzed towards her head.

            Moving without thought, she arched backwards, her shoulder blades brushing the soles of her feet; the butt of the naginata came up to catch the projectile mostly out of luck.  _Nasty, _she thought with a thread of surprise.  Swiveling cautiously, she rolled onto her belly, rose into a crouch, and sprang for the broadest of the central bars.

            The onslaught did not cease.  Leaping from bar to bar, sliding down and scrambling up the bundled cables, she wove her slim form through a fusillade of discs.  For the first time in ages, she was hard-pressed simply to keep from being struck; most of the shattered skeets were happy accidents, more the result of her failing to get the weapon out of the way than any conscious move to attack them.  She hadn't known the training rooms were even capable of producing such a barrage.

            It was exhilarating.

            She reached firmly inside of herself for inner stillness, finding the eye of her personal storm.  Something she found there enabled her to move from defense to offense; she was once again a warrior, not a target.  The naginata whirled and flashed anew; her palms burned with the friction of the staff.

            Parry.  Thrust.  Block.  Slash.

            She didn't realize she had begun to laugh.

            The bars, former enemies, were now her loyal subjects; the cables, her causeways.  She glided along the truss, fifteen feet above the floor, dancing and striking and leaping and smiting.  It was bliss.  It was what she was for.

            She was bitterly disappointed when the lights snapped off, leaving the room a black cavern.  _I was just getting the hang of it!_  Biting off a frustrated snarl, she tucked the staff back under her arm and dropped lightly to the floor below.

            The doors slid open as she straightened; she quickly planted her staff and assumed stance, eyes downcast.  It had been a long time since anyone had directly addressed her after a session.  This was all new; perhaps they were testing an addition to the training program.  Perhaps she was being tested.  Perhaps she had failed.

            Two pairs of footsteps entered the room.  One set shuffled and slid; she knew who that had to be.  The others were firm and assured; a SOLDIER, probably, from the way the heels struck the floor--they never stopped marching.  Both were abruptly muffled as they crossed onto the mats.

            "So, what do you think?"

            The dreamy, slow voice was a faint echo of the one that had commanded her to begin; Dr. Hojo only sounded impressive through a loudspeaker.  She opened her mouth to respond, but was cut off before she could speak.

            "She's good at breaking plates.  And?"

            She scowled fiercely, nearly choking on an angry retort.  The doctor sighed resignedly.  "I think I was hoping for a more professional opinion."

            "Alright, she's _excellent_ at breaking plates--or would be, if she'd stop playing to the crowd.  So are plenty of others; you don't expect me to come running to issue a 'professional' opinion on _them._"

            "But… don't you find her _unusually_ so?  Could one of your men do what she just did?"

            "Anyone can look spectacular in a training room--_anyone, _as they allow the trainee to become _practiced _at the exercise.  When you get right down to it--well, look."

            She looked up, blinded by the glare of the hallway lights.  She registered the swirl of black and brought the naginata up, preparing to check the blow so as not to break another of the President's toy army men--

            --and was shocked when he grabbed the shaft and nearly wrenched it out of her hands.

            It _hurt.  _

            Following through on his initial lunge, he spun inside her guard and rammed his shoulder into her chest.  She staggered, breath knocked out of her, and nearly dropped to one knee; but she managed to shift her weight and through the staff between his ankles.  He stepped over it deftly, but had to release his grip; she darted away, choked up on the shaft, and swung a punishing chop at his midsection.

            There was no satisfying _thunk_ when the blade stopped.  He stood facing her, the haft pressed neatly between his palms.

            She gritted her teeth and leaned harder; there was _no _way he could hold it much longer.  The green gleam of his eyes confirmed him as a SOLDIER, but even they weren't that good.  Her shoulders bunched, straining to finish the arc of her swing and wipe that damn smirk off his face.

            But he simply stood, regarding her with faint amusement.  She tried to yank the staff back, and he folded his hands around it, assuming a nearly prayerful attitude.  She dug in her heels, preparing to pull her hardest--

            --and he let go.  The sudden lack of resistance was too much; she tumbling backwards, landing roughly on her elbows.

            He paced forward, bending slightly to examine her more closely.  She seethed with rage.  "Mmm_hmm_," he said knowingly, turning around to face the doctor.  She started to rise, but he raised a perfunctory hand.  She froze instinctively.

            "When you get right down to it, _that _is was happens to training room starlets," he said indolently.

            "Mmm, point," Hojo conceded, nodding slowly.  "But that was partially why I--"

            _You damn _punk, she thought viciously, her hands trembling with the need to wrap around his neck.  _Coming in here and going for me unawares and making me look like crap--_  Her wrist twinged, its throbbing ache evidence that there had been more at work for him than surprise.  She shoved the thought aside as she eyed the long, light hair that spilled down his back.  _Let's see how _you _like it--_

            Lunging forward, she seized a hank of it, wrapping it around her fist and hauling for all she was worth.  He snarled, staggering backwards.

            "Scarlet, _stop _it!" Dr. Hojo rapped, but she was beyond listening.  Continuing to pull him backwards, she stuck a foot out to trip him.  He stumbled, but managed to plant his feet somehow--now _her _leg was trapped, and he had an arm around her waist--and he slammed her to the ground, the impact brutally hard even through the padding.  She gasped, trying to get her legs under her, when his boot hammered down on the back of her neck.

            The sensation was too enormous for pain.  She gagged, pulse pounding in her eyeballs, and scrabbled desperately for purchase, liquid grace stolen by the frenzied need to escape the terrible pressure.  She writhed frantically, and nearly managed to dislodge him; he simply leaned forward, crushing her all the more cruelly into the mat.

            "Is _this _what you bright me for?" he hissed at the doctor.  "So your new pet could test its mettle against me?"

            "Nonsense, she's three days older than you," Hojo snapped.  "And I most certainly did _not_.  You're both behaving like idiots; let her up."

            She wheezed, struggling to suck breath through teeth she could not unclench.  Gray hazes filled the edges of her vision.

            "And let her have another go at me?  I think not."

            "She won't do it again if she knows what's good for her--as you'll do as I say if you know what's good for _you."_

            She ceased resisting, save for involuntary twitches; it was becoming a burden merely to think.  Perhaps he was standing on one of the large veins in her neck; the entire situation had taken on a dreamy unreality.

            "Why?  So she can try garroting me?"

            "Because you'll _do as you're told."_

            _Garroting with his own hair, _she thought fuzzily.  _That's a good idea.  It's so long I could use my forearm as the fulcrum--_ and immediately the pressure was eased.  She inhaled a deep, greedy lungful of air, and wrackingly coughed it out.  Spots danced before her eyes, and her heartbeat roared in her ears like cannon fire.

            "I hope you realize you'll be held responsible if she's suffered damage from this."

            "You ought to keep her on a leash if you can't trust her to behave."

            "That's precisely what I intend to do," the doctor said waspishly.  "Scarlet, are--"

            "Fine," she gasped, chest heaving.  She meant to stand, but settled for rising to her hands and knees; her limbs trembled with oxygen debt.  "I'm fine," she repeated.  The SOLDIER snorted derisively.  

            "Good.  Then you can apologize to Sephiroth for your outburst."

            Her head snapped up.  My _outburst?_ Her lips pressed into a thin line as she glared at the man.  He stood causally, regarding her with that same smug look, not a hair out of place.  Rage and shame scoured her.  The fact that this strange freak could stroll into her training room, _humiliate _her in front of the doctor, and then stand there and smirk at her was unbearable.  "I'm sorry I lost," she grated.  "It won't happen again."

            Hojo's face drew down into an angry scowl, but before he could rebuke her, Sephiroth began to laugh.  Surprisingly, there was no mockery in it; just simple amusement, as if he understood exactly where her remark had come from.  That presumption angered her anew; and yet it was nothing like the offended bluster she had expected to provoke.  Ridiculously, she found herself wanting to grin back.  _Jackass.  That's the light-headedness talking._

            He grinned for her. "I shall have to look forward to the next time, then."

            "Your funeral."

            The doctor looked back and forth between them suspiciously, uncertain of the direction this encounter had taken; but it was obvious that neither of the two were about to attack again, so he capitalized on it.  "You are both abominable, and I _never_ want to hear of something like this happening again," he said reprovingly.  "Started by _either _of you.  Is that clear?"

            Without waiting for an answer, he barreled on.  "But I'm glad to see you've both managed to restrain your stupidity.  I had _hoped _to introduce the two of you like civilized individuals; but I should have realized that it was impossible, and now we're out of time."  He glanced between them again, wearing a faint grimace of distaste.  "Before we go, Sephiroth, have you any advice to offer Scarlet?"

            "Advice?"  Raising his pale eyebrows, he again smirked at her; but this time it was a knowing one.  "Shoot straight, watch your back, and _never _cut a deal with a scientist."

            Hojo snorted in disgust and shook his head.  "Get _out_, Sephiroth."  Without further acknowledgement the SOLDIER turned and strode into the hall, beginning to whistle a jaunty tune as he went.  Hojo watched him go for a moment, then shook himself again and turned to Scarlet.  "You clean up here and return to your room.  Use the autodoc, have yourself scanned."

            "I said I'm _fine."_

            "And you'll have yourself scanned nonetheless.  I'll want to see you again this afternoon.  _Do _it, Scarlet."  Stooped as he was, he had to glare up at her; that did not diminish the threat his gaze carried.  She quickly dropped her eyes.

            "Fine.  Yes, sir," she mumbled sullenly.

            "Good.  Carry on, then."  

She waited until his shuffling footsteps receded from her hearing before she rose and glanced about, looking for the naginata.  For once, caring for a weapon did not seem nearly as important as wondering what the _hell _had just happened.


	2. Chapter Two

                "So you're saying that your great experiment, the one that so many of our hopes hang on, is a failure?  That he's unstable?"

            Hojo folded his hands behind his back and slowly began to pace the office's rich carpeting.  He deliberately kept his eyes down; the yawning windows behind the President's half-circle desk had been deliberately designed to induce a gnawing agoraphobia in the observer.  _Look upon my works, ye mighty, and tremble, _he thought sardonically.  The Shinra corporate tower had been conceived and designed as an overwhelmingly vulgar display of power; it was only fitting that its master's lair should exemplify the luxury and menace that were the heart of the former Shinra Electric Company.  _He too sees every sparrow fall… or at least recordings of it after the fact._

"Not _unstable, _per se," he finally said aloud.  "But you wanted a general, a leader of men, and an individual who has had their very brain modified for obedience cannot be that--no spark, no fire, if they're just waiting to be told what to do.  His mentality has been altered slightly, yes, and he's been conditioned since birth, but he is still very much his own creature.  The problem is that he's starting to realize that, and I doubt anything short of lobotomizing him into uselessness will change that."

            "This other one--she is very much _my _creature, as you say.  But she _has _had obedience designed into her.  Where will 'that spark, that fire' that I require come from?"

            "Quite frankly, not from her.  She can observe a given situation and react to it effectively, of course, but she requires and overarching directive.  It was actually quite simple; females are better evolved for acting as part of a group anyway.  Just a slight manipulation of the pathways that were already there, and--"

            "I'm sure whatever you did was quite brilliant.  What good does an automaton do me?"

            "Hardly an automaton--President Shinra, twenty years ago we created human _life _out of _whole cloth _at your behest.  And she is a half-brilliant strategist in her own right--much sneakier than he's wont to be ever since he assimilated the _Book of the Rings _and all that bushido nonsense."

            "Ah.  I'd wondered why he's taken to addressing me as oyabun."

            Hojo couldn't suppress a wince.  "That's exactly the kind of self-direction that worries me--the seeds of it, anyway.  But that will _never _be a problem with her.  She needs to be told what to do; but, once told, she will do it unto death and beyond."

            "Not as well as he could."

            "She is every bit as intelligent as he is, though her education has had a somewhat less military bent; we've made a rather fine engineer out of her.  She is as finely trained in weapons as he.  He could probably beat her at arm-wrestling, but that's simply the differences between male and female forms; she's more than a match for any SOLDIER--any dozen, most likely.  She simply needs to be pointed in the right direction; whereas he can and may well veer off in any number of them."

            "You sound almost as if you plan on him doing something unfortunate."

            "Let us say that I am hedging my bets.  No, I don't expect any serious trouble from him; but I would no more leave you in ignorance of the possibility of it than I would of a fluctuation in a mako reactor's fission coils."

            Terrible, brooding silence.  Then:  "She can't lead us to the Promised Land."

            "…No.  But for that matter, we won't know if _he _can until the time comes; the JENOVA creature's DNA produced some very strange recombinants, and there is simply no way to test it.  And even if we were utterly certain of his capability, the Promised Land is still… a long way off.  You have more earthly battles to consider in the immediate future."

            "How kind of you to prioritize my goals for me.  Still, there is _no _chance of her being able to."

            "No.  She is the original, the test run of the modified JENOVA strain we eventually used to create him.  At that point, we simply removed everything that was not immediately compatible with human physiognomy; and when she proved viable, we progressed to the later version.  She has all of the brains, all of the brawn, but none of the--other characteristics."

            "He hasn't exactly sprouted tentacles."  Thick fingers drummed on an unimaginably expensive, naturally grown cherry wood desktop.  "What exactly is it you're proposing?"

            "Merely that we begin to consider her as… as a backup, rather than an interesting offshoot.  She can never replace him, but if we provided her with an adequate support system, I think she could obviate the need for him, at least in terrestrial conflicts.  And I propose that we do it soon.  I understand that things are growing interesting in Wutai, and if she is to be of any use to you in that capacity…"

            "I am not concerned with your understanding of politics, and I sometimes doubt your understanding of your own discipline.  To find him flawed--very well, _potentially flawed, _at this late date, is hard to conscience."

            "The world has never seen the like of either of them before, President Shinra, but he is by far the stranger.  I do not think it fair to hold a _potential_ miscalculation, brought about by your own directives, against me."

            "What is it you want to do with your--what would she be, your beta test?  Even discarding the mako treatments, it still takes two years to make a SOLDIER out of a man.  How can she compare?"

            "As a bolt of lightning to a fluorescent lamp.  She needs to be brought up to speed, not recreated in the proper image.  And she will have the greatest possible teacher, if I can somehow lure or fool him into it.  I would like to conduct… a stress test.  He's still a puppy, to utilize the SOLDIERs' parlance, and she has never participated in any sort of operation.  The Cosmo situation…"

            "Is in abeyance."

            "But still a situation.  We don't know exactly _what _happened to the reactor."

            "There's no obvious evidence of anything beyond a simple malfunction.  The natives may have just sensed a good excuse to pick a fight."

            "If there's no important information to be uncovered, there's no harm in sending the two of them to fail to uncover it.  If there is, we will gain by it… and they will gain from each other's association.  She certainly will, at any rate."

            "Unless they manage to get themselves killed by the guardians."

            "I think that _highly _unlikely… and if it happens, we will gain the knowledge that those two fools are flawed before we place any major reliance on either of them.  But, honestly, I see this simply as a good excuse to let them go and see what they do."

            "So Sephiroth can jump the fence and Scarlet can freeze in confusion?"

            "I think that Sephiroth has too long enjoyed his status as 'the fair haired child;' if he perceives it as threatened, he may take steps to preserve it."

            "Or reject it entirely."

            "Again I reiterate, better he do it now than in a foreign land with the entire military might of Shinra at his back.  It will also provide Scarlet with an opportunity to fly or fall; we will definitely know one way or the other with her once it's done.  Or perhaps they'll work together flawlessly; I've always envisioned them working in tandem… her as his lieutenant or some such."  Hojo cleared his throat.  "And as for the guardians…"

            "You want one."

            "In their own way, they're almost more promising than the Cetra.  The fair ones may have codified the metasystem, but the guardians have such a deeply _primal _connection to it…"

            "Will the next project be a mishmash of Cetra, JENOVA, and guardian DNA that you will once again swear to me is the _only _viable way to the Promised Land?"

            "Quite possibly."

            "What do you need?"

            "Some time to train them.  Whatever supplies they'll need.  Your best military man."

            "Oh, is _that_ all?  And I thought Sephiroth was my best military man."

            "Your next best, then.  They need to train for this _together.  _Sephiroth will respond to it, and Scarlet needs to start catching up on lost time if she's to be of any use to you in the immediate future.  Plus, it will give them a nicely traumatic experience that they'll hopefully bond over."

            "Arrange it with my assistant."

            His ruined, twisted spine made bowing agony for Hojo; yet he managed it perfectly for the entire backwards shuffle out of the President's office.


End file.

Final Fantasy VII, Adventure, Drama