Final Fantasy VII 1. Chapter 1

All but blood

by Krista Perry

repost by mel…

not my story but something ive found that for years ive wanter the auther to continue but she wont so a think I'll have you guys see it and if any one knows her rely this and all the feed back let's get this creative girl to finish rhis wonderfull story!!!

Intro………….

I wake up abruptly, jolted away from the usual Mako-induced nightmares by the sound of a door scraping open against a stone floor, and the familiar squeal of hinges badly in need of oiling. Someone is entering the laboratory, and, just like every other damn time that door opens, my body tenses as a surge of dread-inspired adrenaline pulses through me. It's a conditioned response, much as I hate to admit it, and I wonder if that sound will always make me jumpy, even after I get out of here. But whenever that door opens, pain in one form or another usually follows. And while I've always been one who can handle a little pain... hell, even a lot of pain... there are still limits to a man's tolerance. I've been there and beyond, and it ain't fun.

Through the swirling green mist of Mako that keeps me suspended, hanging weightless in the middle of this damned specimen cylinder, I see my fears confirmed. It's Hojo. And, oh joy, he's brought along two of his lab flunkies. Which can only mean that he's planning on running more of his sadistic tests.

Damn. It's been three whole days since he was last down here, and I was hoping...

But of course, I should have know the brief reprieve wouldn't last. I've learned, after nearly five years of being this madman's prisoner, that Hojo would sooner saw off his own limbs than allow one of his experiments to go personally unattended by him for too long.

I can't help but notice that these two flunkies are different from the usual pair that come down here. These two new guys look like they are in their mid 20's or so -- not much older than me. They also look a lot stronger than the two middle-aged guys that were working with Hojo before, and that makes me wonder if I really busted that guy's jaw the last time they took me out of this damned tube. I thought I felt something give when I lashed out, but, at the time, I was so drugged out on the tranquilizers that Hojo had pumped into me that I couldn't be sure. Even so, it gave me no small amount of satisfaction to know that I managed to briefly slip their bonds and whup their asses, in spite of my mind and body being slowed down by a drug-induced haze.

"Hey, Hojo," I say, my voice muted by both my glass prison and the thick green Mako mist that fills my lungs with each breath. He glances in my direction; his eyes, reptilian in their coldness, peering at me over the top of his round, dark-lensed glasses. "So what happened to the other two guys?" I ask, trying to sneer. "They finally recognize you for the cold-hearted sick son-of-a-bitch you are, and take off?"

He doesn't answer me, of course. He's got the ability to ignore anything -- from insults, to the tortured screams of his victims -- down to an art. But the two new guys, who are busy preparing the examination table, they glance at me uneasily, and I can see from the fear in their faces that I might have done more damage to their predecessors in my last impulsive escape attempt than I thought.

Then, for the first time, I notice that they are unarmed. Damn. If they aren't armed, it can only mean that I'm not the one they've come for this time. A glance at Hojo confirms my suspicions. His attention is not focused on me, but on the cylinder next to mine.

I look over at my friend. My fellow prisoner and constant companion for the past five years, and my sole remaining link to sanity in the face of this endless torture. Like me, he hangs suspended within a writhing morass of Mako. And, as I see him, I feel my heart sink down into the pit of my stomach.

He looks... terrible. Worse than before I fell asleep. His whole body is wracked with tremors, and his spiky blond hair is damp with sweat. From his slumped posture, his head hanging limply against his chest, I can't tell if he's even conscious or not; if he's even aware that Hojo has come for him again.

"Cloud," I say, by way of warning.

At the sound of his name, he slowly lifts his head looks up at me. His heavy-lidded blue eyes, glowing faintly with Mako, are glazed with pain.

"Zuh... Zack..." he responds hoarsely.

Whenever I start feeling sorry for myself and think I've got it bad, all I have to do is look at Cloud. Hojo's experiments have messed him up far worse than they have me.

"How ya' feelin', kid?" I ask softly. Kid. He hates it when I call him that, and it's hardly appropriate anyway, since he's... what, 19 or 20? Anyway, he's now older than I was when we first found ourselves trapped here five years ago, but sometimes it just comes out.

But apparently he's too sick to even get angry over my verbal slip. A weak half smile curls his lip. "I... feel like... shit, thanks," he says, and then his smile fades, and his pain-filled gaze grows distant, drifting from me as he lifts one trembling hand to his forehead. "I... can hear them again," he whispers, and his voice takes on a haunted, almost child-like sing-song tone that sends shivers up my spine. "_All the time.._."

"Cloud..." I try to warn him again.

But he doesn't seem to notice the urgency behind my whisper. "_All... around me... The... voices, they..._"

"They what?" Hojo interrupts, with sudden acute interest, and Cloud blinks, startled, the words dying in his throat as he notices for the first time that our demented keeper is standing right before his cylinder.

Hojo leans toward the cylinder until his nose is almost touching the glass, his hands clasped behind his back as he stares at Cloud intently. "What are the voices saying? Tell me."

But Cloud is silent, his eyes filling with panic as they dart back and forth between Hojo, and the two flunkies, one of whom is hooking up the usual canister of tranquilizer gas into the Mako feed. Cloud's shaking hand drops to his side, and the sudden raw fear that flashes across his face as he realizes what is about to happen makes my insides twist with guilt.

"Well?" Hojo presses. "You have a choice. You can tell me now, or..." He pauses significantly. "...I can just use my usual methods of extracting information from that muddled head of yours."

That filthy bastard. Hot anger boils up within me, and I reach out and smash my fist against the transparent wall of my prison. Even suspended in mid-air, without any leverage, I still manage to hit the wall hard enough to make the nearest flunkie jump, startled. "Leave him alone," I snarl. "Can't you see he's sick? If you gotta torture someone today, why not take me?"

And then, looking over at Cloud, I realize my mistake too late. He tenses at my words, and, without looking at me, the fearful expression on his face hardens suddenly to one of angry determination.

Great. Just great. Because I tried to come to his rescue, he's decided to make it difficult for Hojo, and not give the slimy, greasy-haired bastard the satisfaction of a willing answer. And while I agree with the practice -- at least when I'm the one giving Hojo grief -- for Cloud, it only means he's set himself up for yet another soul-shattering session of Hojo's "usual methods."

I wish I understood even half of what Hojo's experiments were for, and what it is that they are even doing to us, but there's a reason I became a soldier, rather than a scientist. All I know is that it involves Mako... and that monster, Jenova... that _thing_ that Sephiroth was so obsessed with, right before he completely flipped out and ran me through with that wicked long sword of his.

When I first regained consciousness after the incident at Mt. Nibel, only to find that Cloud and I were both Hojo's prisoners in the basement of the Shinra Mansion, I was afraid that we were going to suffer the same fate as those poor creatures in the pods at the Mt. Nibel Reactor, since Sephiroth had told me that they were once human. But it's been five years, and we're both still human... on the outside, at least. I don't know about the inside. And I don't know why it is that Cloud reacts so badly to Hojo's experiments, while I seem to remain relatively unscathed. All I know is, whatever it is that Hojo is doing to Cloud... whatever those Jenova injections are doing... it's messing him up bad.

I wonder if Sephiroth was hearing voices, before he went completely crazy?

I'm sorry, Cloud, I'm sorry. We were planning on getting through this together, with our bodies and minds intact, remember? But Hojo is killing you -- killing your sanity -- bit by bit, with his crazy treatments, filling your body with Mako, injecting you with cells from that Jenova monster, and if you fight back now, it will only make it worse. Please. You don't need to try and play the hero just to prove that you're as strong as me.

But of course, I can't say any of this out loud, because then Cloud would never forgive me. He wants to be strong so badly, and any reminder that he's not kills him worse than anything else, I think.

As I feared, Hojo also sees the bitter stubbornness fall across Cloud's pale features, and he sighs with overblown resignation. "Fine, have it your way," he says, clearly not caring one way or the other; though, to be honest, I know that he prefers it when Cloud doesn't cooperate willingly.

Hojo turns to one of the flunkies, a tall man who, though obviously still young and boyish in the face, is already losing his hair. "Simmons, make a note," he snaps, and the balding flunkie scrambles for the pockets of his lab coat to retrieve a pencil and a small leather-bound spiral notebook. "Specimen B displaying signs of communication with Jenova; however, further tests must be run to make sure symptoms are not merely the result of advanced Mako poisoning."

Hojo pauses, peering at Cloud thoughtfully over his glasses. Cloud glares back, his fists clenched at his sides, obviously determined not to be unnerved by Hojo's inspection, though his sickly pallor does much to undermine the weight of his anger.

"Tissue and fluid samples," Hojo continues coldly, "from all previously treated vitals, most importantly the brain stem, will be needed to investigate the extent of the Jenova cell permeation, and the effect on Specimen B's DNA. Also, we will need to run tests to measure how the Mako treatments have increased Specimen B's resilience to massive physical trauma." And then, cool as can be, he then proceeds to rattle off a whole list of equipment and supplies that he'll need for this new battery of tests, most of which sound very sharp and painful.

Glancing over at Cloud, I can see a hint of terror creeping into his eyes again, underneath the anger.

Damn. It's far too late for me to take back my over- protective words that spurred him into his display of defiance, but that doesn't mean I can't try to help him through this. "Hey, Cloud" I say, trying to sound encouraging, though I'm afraid I sound more desperate. "Hang in there. I know you can handle whatever these assholes try to do to you."

He looks at me gratefully, but I can tell from the despairing look in his Mako-blue eyes that he doesn't have the same faith in himself that I do.

"Isn't that sweet," Hojo quips, looking at me with one eyebrow cocked. "But then I suppose you'd better hope he does well, because you're next."

"Good," I reply, staring right back at him as I smack my fist into the palm of my hand. "That will give me another chance to rip your lungs out."

Hojo frowns, then turns away from me sharply. "Hadley," he commands, pinning the other flunkie, the one hooking up the canister of tranquilizer gas, with a fierce look. "Subdue the specimen and get it out of there."

The flunkie named Hadley pauses visibly. Hojo glowers at him. "Well? What are you waiting for?"

"J-just..." Hadley stutters, glancing nervously at Cloud. "He... isn't going to get loose, is he?"

"Not if you do your job right, idiot," Hojo snaps. Then, a wicked grin crawls across his face as he turns to look at Cloud. "Anyway, it was the other one that got loose. _This_ one," he drawls, taking obvious pleasure in what he is about to say as he looks directly into Cloud's pain-shrouded eyes, "is the _weak_ one. I've never had any problems with _this_ particular specimen."

Cloud is trembling, but whether from sickness or fury, I can't tell. "Bite me, Hojo," he hisses through clenched teeth, just as Hadley turns on the tranquilizer gas feed. Frantically, Cloud instinctively holds his breath, even though he knows it's no use, as the grayish gas snakes through the green glow of Mako and touches his skin. That small contact is all it takes. He gasps, his eyes going wide as he convulses slightly.

I can't help but wince in empathy, my jaw clenched tight, as I am all too familiar with what he's going through. Hojo's materia-supported tranquilizer gas works immediately, seeping through the skin and searing like cold fire, numbing the body and dulling the mind so that it's virtually impossible to offer up any resistance until well after they have you safely strapped down to their table of torture.

As usual, Cloud struggles briefly, thrashing in the Mako mists as the tranquilizer gas fills his cylinder, turning the bright Mako a sickly grayish green, but all too soon, the gas works its enervating magic. His struggles become sluggish and finally cease as his eyes slowly roll to the back of his head, and he once again drifts, limp and unmoving, in the mist's thrall. And now, with the pure Mako tainted and unable to fully support him, Cloud sinks to the floor, crumpling bonelessly against the thick glass wall of his cage with a weak groan.

Only after Hojo drains the grayish green mist from the cylinder through one of the outtake tubes does he punch in the unlocking code, allowing the door to Cloud's cylinder to slide open with a hiss. The sight of his unresponsive body and the frighteningly blank expression on his face seems to have restored Hadley's courage, for he wastes no time in dragging Cloud's limp form unceremoniously out of the chamber and hauling him over to the examination table, where, with Simmons' help, they begin clamping down the numerous metal restraints. The tranquilizer gas may be powerful, but its effects are short-lived. Hojo will want Cloud alert enough to be capable of answering his questions, after all. Unfortunately, it also means he will be alert for the removal of the tissue samples, and the other less-than-humane tests.

I don't know which is worse. Hojo experimenting on me, or watching Hojo experiment on Cloud.

Watching, definitely. I've got my martial arts training, after all, for when I'm the one under the knife. One of the first things Master Zangan taught me as a kid was how to focus my mind and block out all distractions, including pain. A handy talent to have when a scalpel is carving you up without the benefit of anesthetic.

But Cloud doesn't have that training. He feels everything, and I can see the agony on his face, and in his eyes.

Like now. Already, the effects of the tranquilizer gas are wearing off, and Cloud is starting to stir within his bonds. His eyes are open, and within their glowing blue depths, I can see a gaping fear swallowing up all pretenses of bravery as Hojo leans over him with the gleaming edge of a scalpel held up for Cloud to see.

"Now then," Hojo says huskily. "I believe you have something to tell me about what those voices in your head were saying?"

I turn away, then, unable to watch further. Closing my eyes, I struggle to focus my mind, to block out the sights and sounds around me, guilt tearing up my insides as I close myself off from Cloud's imminent suffering.

But I can't focus on the guilt I feel for my own cowardice; my inability to endure the agony of my best friend.

Instead, I focus on a plan of escape. I've tried to escape so many times before now, and I have always failed. But I can't give up. I can't give up, if only for Cloud's sake.

It's all my fault that he is here in the first place.

Cloud didn't even want to return to Nibelheim, after all...


	2. bewilderment

Chapter 1  
by Krista Perry

Reposted by Melanie d

In hopes Krista will write more

"Hey, kid, you doing okay?"

A storm raged outside, wild and merciless. Rain streamed down the truck's back windows, so that it was nearly impossible to see anything of the surrounding forest except a dark green blur. The rain pelted so hard against the shell of the truck, it sounded like we were encased inside a steel drum that was being beaten relentlessly. We were perfectly dry inside, but the air was stale and musty, smelling unpleasantly like four men who had been on the road too long without a shower. The vehicle bounced and jostled over the muddy, rutted road, making it a little difficult for me to keep my footing as I stood next to my friend, who sat slouched on a wooden crate with his head between his knees.

Cloud lifted his head slightly, and favored me with a watery-eyed glare. The poor kid looked positively green. "Don't call me that," he muttered, casting a brief, anxious glance over to where Sephiroth sat on a crate near the front of the truck. "Anyway," he said, looking down again, "I'm fine."

Oh, whoops. I'd forgotten how much he hated being called "kid." And here I'd gone and called him that in front of Sephiroth, whom he practically idolized. Some friend I was.

Still, I was worried at how sick he was looking. "Are you sure? I could ask the driver to stop for a bit..."

"I said I'm fine." And then, quieter, he said, "But, thanks."

A more transparent lie had never been told. But I could also see Cloud's usual innate stubbornness and pride surfacing in his sickly features. Knowing him, he would probably swallow his own tongue before he would allow himself to puke in front of Sephiroth.

"Okay, if you're sure..."

He nodded briefly without looking up. With a sigh, I wandered over to my crate and sat down. Sephiroth glanced over at me and raised a questioning eyebrow. I just shrugged, feeling a bit helpless.

Poor Cloud. I'd specifically requested to bring him along for this trip because I was hoping to cheer him up. I even brought Marlow along as the last member of the team, because I knew he was the quiet type, and had never been among the crowd that had harassed Cloud at cadet school. True to form, Marlow was dozing at the back of the truck, ignoring us completely.

I had been surprised that Cloud hadn't been as excited about this mission as I hoped he'd be. Hell, he'd been down-right reluctant to come along, until I finally coaxed him into it. Now I could see why he wasn't all that excited. I'd never had motion sickness myself, but it didn't look fun.

Oh well, I thought, feeling somewhat bummed out. So far, my big plan to get Cloud's mind off his troubles at Shinra was a huge bust. On top of that, I'd been hoping to have someone to talk to on the trip. I mean, I brought Marlow along because I knew he would keep to himself until it was time to follow orders. And Sephiroth was a cool guy and all, but he was never really the chatty type.

Suddenly feeling bored out of my skull, I reached into my pocket and pulled out the new materia that I'd been issued right before we left, and rolled it around in the palm of my hand. It glowed faint green in the gloom.

"What kind is it?" Sephiroth asked suddenly.

I looked up at him, surprised. Was he actually starting a conversation? "Huh? Oh, it's a Lightning Materia. I just got it." I grinned, and clenched my hand around it in a fist. "I can't wait to try it out."

The corner of Sephiroth's mouth turned up in a half-smile. "Just like a kid," he said.

I shrugged, grinning. Unlike Cloud, I didn't mind being called a kid, even though I was nineteen. Hell, in the presence of the great Sephiroth, I felt like a kid. There was just something about the guy that made you feel... smaller. But I had long ago determined not to let it bother me. "So," I said, stuffing my materia back into my pocket. If Sephiroth was in a rare talkative mood, I was determined to take advantage of it. "What do you think about these monster reports we're supposed to be investigating? You think there's anything to it?"

"I wouldn't be surprised," Sephiroth answered calmly. "If the Mt. Nibel Reactor is malfunctioning, leaking raw Mako into the environment, it could easily result in rapid, unnatural animal and plant mutations."

I frowned, thinking about the Mako treatment I'd been given when I entered SOLDIER a couple of years back. It was just a little mist, but breathing it was painful as hell, like trying to breathe acid fumes. And I remembered how startled I was afterwards, to look into a mirror and see the strange, faint glow of Mako coming from my own eyes.

As if reading my mind, Sephiroth said, "The amount of Mako exposure necessary to cause such severe mutation is far greater than the minuscule amount to which we were exposed. Also, the Mako we were given was specially treated and purified. So don't worry, Zack," he said, and there was mild amusement on his face. "We may be more resilient than normal, but you and I are both fully human."

"Well, good," I said, grinning again to cover the relief I felt at being so reassured. "Because I'd really hate to tell my girlfriend that she was dating a monster."

Sephiroth opened his mouth to reply, but whatever he was about to say was lost as something suddenly slammed into the truck with bone-jarring force. The truck lurched and skidded almost a complete 360 degrees, sending the four of us flying against the right side of the truck, before it came to a stop. Thinking back on it, it's amazing that the truck didn't roll.

In the abrupt silence that followed, Sephiroth, Cloud, Marlow and I quickly untangled ourselves from the jumble we had landed in, and did a quick once-over for injuries. Sephiroth and I were both fine. Cloud was pale, and looking greener than ever, but otherwise seemed unharmed. Marlow, though, was bleeding from a small gash in his forehead.

"Shit," Marlow said, reaching up and pressing his gloved hand against the wound. "What the hell was that?"

"That," said Sephiroth, reaching over to where our weapons had slid in the collision, "is one of our monsters, if I'm not mistaken." He retrieved Masamune, and I followed suit, grabbing my Buster Sword. I took a quick moment to reach into my pocket for my new Lightning Materia, and slipped it into one of the empty slots on the huge blade.

Whatever was out there, it was big. It was stomping around, causing a huge racket with its impact tremors. We could hear it breathing, snuffing around the back of the truck. I turned to Cloud, who was looking a bit wild-eyed with panic. "Check on the driver, see if he's okay," I said. "Sephiroth and I will handle this."

He seemed grateful to have something useful to do, and he nodded, swallowing hard, as if trying to force back his nausea. "Okay," he said, with probably more vigor than he was feeling.

And then Sephiroth opened the back doors of the truck. The wind lashed stinging rain into our faces, but that didn't stop us from seeing what was lurking out there.

It was big -- at least the size of a house -- and green, with great leathery wings and long, sharp claws, each one the size of my Buster Sword. It looked at us, its eyes drawn by the motion of the truck doors opening, then bared all sixty million of its jagged teeth and snarled in a way that said we were lunch.

"Holy shit," Marlow said from behind me, and I silently agreed with him -- but in a good way. Nothing like fighting a Mako-created dragon in the driving rain to get the adrenaline pumping.

"Lemme take him," I said to Sephiroth.

He glanced over me, and raised an eyebrow. "All right, go ahead."

That was all the permission I needed. I leaped forward, and brought my Buster Sword down full force on the creature's scaley hide...

...at which point, it made a noise similar to "clang," and slid off harmlessly. The dragon roared furiously, stomping its feet, then lashed out with razor claws that I only barely managed to dodge.

Uh-oh. Okay, so physical attacks didn't work. It was time to try out my new Lightning Materia. I quickly cast the spell, and watched as massive bolts of electricity arced across the creature's body, then waited to see how it affected the beast.

Nothing happened.

Well, not precisely _nothing_. I _had_ managed to get it really pissed off. It turned towards me with its mouth open, and I could see a gleaming red light glowing deep within its gullet. I managed an "Oh crap," right before dodging the massive stream of flame that erupted from the dragon's mouth.

Feeling sheepish and slightly singed, I hurried back over to Sephiroth. "Um, on second thought," I said, "maybe you should take this one."

Sephiroth only shook his head and smiled slightly.

Then, moving so fast that I could barely see him at all, he leaped forward with Masamune. The long, thin blade sang through the air, slashing in an arc at the dragon's neck. And then, just as swiftly, Sephiroth was at my side again, and calmly sliding Masamune back into its sheath.

I blinked, and looked at the snarling dragon. "Um..." I said, wondering how to tell my superior officer that he missed, and that maybe he shouldn't be putting his sword away when we were all about to be eaten, or fried to a crisp, when the dragon made a terrible choking noise. Flames erupted violently from its mouth. It took a shuddering step forward...

... and then its head slid right off its neck. It landed on the ground with a great, resonating _thud_, followed quickly by the rest of its body.

I blinked again. I could feel the stupefaction on my face as I looked over at Sephiroth.

He just gave me that almost nonexistant half smile of his, and turned back to the truck. "Come on," he said. "We need to take care of everyone and fix the truck. This little altercation is going to put us behind schedule."

I looked over at the truck. Cloud was standing out in the rain, with the wounded and barely conscious driver draped carefully over one shoulder. He was staring with wide eyes, his jaw hanging agape as Sephiroth walked up to him.

Sephiroth held out his hand and cast a third-level Cure on the driver, who immediately stirred. "What the..." the driver said, and then fell silent as he caught sight of Sephiroth, and the dead dragon beyond. Cloud, still looking a bit shell-shocked, managed to help the fully-recovered man back onto his feet.

"Are you feeling all right?" Sephiroth asked.

Cloud started when he realized that Sephiroth was talking to him, and not the driver.

"Me? Um... yes, sir, I... I feel fine. I wasn't hurt or anything, sir."

"Weren't you feeling ill earlier, though?"

Cloud's face reddened slightly. "Yes sir, but... Cure spells don't really help much with motion sickness."

"Ah." Sephiroth nodded, then looked at the driver. "How soon do you think we can be back on the road?"

The driver blinked, then looked over at the damaged vehicle. "Uh... I'm not sure, sir, but I'll get on it right away and give you a time estimate after I assess the damage."

"Excellent." Sephiroth then walked over to cast Cure on Marlow, who was sitting in the back of the truck, looking as amazed at the rest of us as he held a cloth to his bleeding forehead.

I went up to Cloud, grinning hugely. "Didn't I tell you?" I said, still feeling giddy from the adrenaline high. I threw my arm around his shoulder and shook him a little. Probably not the best thing to do considering his recent motion sickness, but he just swallowed hard and took it. "Didn't I tell you how _cool_ it was going to be, seeing Sephiroth in action?"

Cloud nodded, glancing over at the decapitated dragon. "That was incredible," he whispered, almost reverently.

"That's just the beginning," I said, stepping back and clapping him on the shoulder. "The reports said that the Nibel Mountains are practically swarming with monsters. I'd say we'll definitely have the chance to see more of the same, and we might even be able to polish up our own techniques in the meantime. Doesn't that sound great?"

Cloud smiled a little, showing the first sign of enthusiasm that I'd seen in him in days. "Yeah, it does, actually."

I grinned. "Just you wait, Cloud. You are going to be so glad I talked you into coming on this mission."

After all we still had Nibelheim ahead of us. I was sure once we finally reached his home town and he got to see his family and friends again, he would cheer up even more. I knew he had to be just dying to see that Tifa girl he was always talking about.

Yes, once we reached Nibelheim, things would be even better...

Cloud is screaming.

That one hoarse, despairing scream, and my memories shatter, falling from my mind in jagged pieces. The scream is followed by another, and another until it seems like one unending scream of anguish.

Even with my eyes clenched shut, even as I struggle to regain my focus; to once again remove my consciousness from this living nightmare, I can hear everything. His screams, from just a few meters in front of my cylinder prison, where he lies strapped to Hojo's experimentation table, rake across my senses, rasping painfully through each nerve in my body. And yet I don't dare open my eyes, for fear of what I'll see... for fear of what Hojo might be doing to him now.

Hojo must be finished with the delicate work of removing the samples of Jenova-tainted tissue and fluid from Cloud's innards. Otherwise, Cloud wouldn't be screaming now, or thrashing so frantically in his metal restraints. Hojo has a Master Time Materia at his disposal, after all, and he wouldn't allow his Stop spell to wear off unless he was ready to move on to... less precise forms of torture. Procedures that didn't require his completely alert-and-feeling specimen to remain absolutely still. All part of his research to see how fast Mako- and Jenova-enhanced bodies can recover from "massive physical trauma."

I haven't heard any bones snap yet. But then again, the sound might have been drowned out by the screams.

And then, the screaming trails off abruptly, dying out like a falling star, and I can hear Cloud's ragged, sobbing voice as he whimpers with the sudden relief. He's half crying, half catching his breath.

"Well now." I can hear Hojo's voice; can almost see him leaning over Cloud with that terrible, cold, twisted smile of his, even with my eyes closed. "Are you going to persist in your stubbornness, or are you going to tell me about the voices you are hearing? If you tell me now, I might consider canceling these last few tests."

Cloud sniffs, then inhales shakily. "G-go to hell, you b-bastard."

"Well, if that's how you're going to be," Hojo says indifferently. And I hear the sudden piercing whine of a small rotary saw blade.

Oh, shit, not that. Not that. Hojo, you son-of-a-bitch...

And Cloud is being so brave. He's not saying a word, and I know he's going to try not to scream again.

But sometimes, you just can't help it.

My eyes are clenched shut, every muscle in my body is tensed to the max, but I desperately try to focus and find my calm center before...

Too late. The whirring saw blade makes a sudden wet cutting noise, and Cloud's first involuntary cry of agony stabs through me, and I can feel myself shaking.

I used to force myself to watch, out of guilt. I allowed the sight of Hojo's torturous experiments on Cloud to sear into my brain, and used it as fuel for my anger, and my desire for escape and revenge.

But that was five years ago, when I was full of my usual confidence; before I knew how bad it would be. Before I knew that escape would be harder than I thought. Before I knew we would be trapped here in this basement laboratory for five freaking years. Now it takes all my self control not to go stark raving mad, and allow my own screams to mingle with Cloud's.

No. Escape first. Go crazy later. That's my motto these days. My litany of sanity.

Escape first...

Someone is retching in the corner of the room. And, from the sound of Hojo's disgusted reprimands, it sounds like one of his flunkies can't handle the work of torturing Cloud. Poor Hojo. Good help is so hard to find.

So... the only problem is, how to escape? Five years, and you'd think a SOLDIER 1st Class would have figured something out by now. But Hojo has been inhumanly vigilant and cautious in the supervision of his two prized specimens.

And at the moment, Cloud's sobbing screams are making any coherent thought difficult, filling me with overwhelming grief and rage...

Damn it, what are they _doing_ to him?

I have to focus. I have to block it out... I have to think...

Augh... a bone snapped. Definitely heard it. Oh shit, another one. Are they breaking his arms? His legs? The screams are like razors in my head.

Cloud...

My usual methods aren't working. This is bad, I've never had such a hard time focusing before. Come on, idiot, think! What was it Master Zangan taught about meditation?

Think...

Sometimes... sometimes a good memory can help remove yourself from suffering...

A good memory...

I reach into the depths of my mind, desperately searching for something... anything that might distract me from this horror...

Searching...

Cloud's screams... It sounds like he's dying; like they're killing him, though, after all this, death might be a relief...

I clutch my head, pressing my hands against my ears. Please, I know I have good memories somewhere, of a life beyond this endless nightmare, but I can't _think_...

Searching...

Focus...

...and then, amidst the screams... the scent of wildflowers...

A memory... oh please, a good memory...

Focus...

... wildflowers...

I found her in the church.

She was kneeling by her miracle flowers. How she managed to get those things to grow in the poisoned earth of Midgar, I could never figure out. It was just one of those things she did.

Like when she looked up as I stepped through the massive wooden doors of the church, and smiled at me; those eyes of hers, as green as fresh spring leaves, shining with a delight that just made me melt inside. I'd known a lot of girls before, but nobody had ever had the effect on me that she did. I felt a goofy grin spreading on my own face in response surrounded the flower bed.

"Hi," I said, trying to sound devilishly roguish, but I think I came off sounding more like an over-eager schoolboy. Probably because, now that I was sitting so close, I could smell her hair. Fresh, and clean, with a hint of jasmine, and the sweet fragrance of the wildflowers that she somehow managed to coax from the barren ground. Her long golden-brown tresses framing that flawless face... I wondered if her smooth, white skin was as soft as it looked...

...and I immediately stopped wondering, before the heat I felt rising to my face developed into a full-fledged blush. I couldn't quite seem to stop grinning like a fool, though. Man, if the guys could have seen me now, they'd be laughing their heads off. The mighty SOLDIER 1st Class, felled by the smile of a woman.

But, damn, she was beautiful. And sweet, and smart, and strong, and... just perfect.

She raised an eyebrow at me, still smiling, though her eyes glinted mischievously, as if she could read my thoughts. I wouldn't be surprised if she could. "You're late," she said.

My hand slipped behind my head, and I felt my grin turn sheepish. "Yeah, sorry about that. I got held up in a meeting. They're reviewing SOLDIER applications later today, and I guess they thought they needed some of my input first. I put that delusion to rest pretty quickly, though," I added jokingly, and she laughed.

Oh, man, I loved to hear her laugh.

"Well, if that's the case, you're forgiven," she said, in a way that clearly showed she was never mad at me in the first place.

And then I remembered the package. I sat up and reached into my pocket and retrieved a wide, flat white box. "Oh, um..." I said intelligently, as I held it out to her. "I got you something on the way here."

"Zack," she said, taking the box carefully in her delicate hands. "You didn't have to." The reproach in her voice was not quite enough to hide the pleased look on her face.

"Well, I was walking through the shops in Sector 5, and it kinda caught my eye." I watched, with barely contained eagerness, as she opened the box to reveal a length of carefully folded pink silk ribbon.

"Oh, Zack." She pulled it out and smoothed it between her fingers. With her head lowered, she looked up at me through her long, thick lashes.

My head felt light with euphoria. She liked it! The goofy grin was back, with reinforcements. "It's for your hair," I explained, rather unnecessarily. "I thought it would go with your dress. I was considering getting you flowers instead, but, well..." I winked at her. "You seem to have a corner on the flower market here in Midgar."

I was hoping to make her laugh again, but instead, she looked up at me, with a strange, gentle expression, her green eyes shimmering in such a way that it was a good thing I was already sitting down, because I could feel my knees liquify.

"Thank you, Zack," she murmured softly. "It's beautiful." And then, to my surprise, she reached out with one hand to touch my face, then leaned forward to kiss me quickly on the cheek.

I blinked in surprise. Wow. Well, so much for not blushing. But at least I wasn't alone, because as she pulled away, I could see that her face was flushed as well.

We sat in silence, both of us contemplating the flowers. I leaned forward, so that my folded arms were resting on my bent knees. "You know," I said after a long moment, once I was sure my face was back to its regular hue. "I was thinking of maybe borrowing a company car and going for a drive... outside of Midgar. Maybe getting away from all this pollution and darkness... get some fresh air and sunlight." I glanced over at her. "I was thinking... maybe you'd like come along." I wanted to see her in real sunlight, with the wind in her hair. I wanted to see her amidst rolling green hills; see her face framed by brilliant blue sky. That was where she belonged. Not this miserable, filthy to her smile as I walked to her side and sat down next to her on the soft grass that city.

She looked at me, her eyes alight. "I haven't been outside of Midgar since... since..." She shrugged, laughing a little. "I can't remember."

Not surprising. Most people who live in the ever-darkened slums beneath the plate of the upper city don't stay because they want to.

"It's a date, then," I announced with a grin. Then, something occurred to me. "Hey," I said. "If you don't mind waiting until the end of the month, I have a bit of leave time coming to me. If you'd like, we could make a whole day of it. I could pick you up first thing in the morning, and we could drive out to Kalm, and enjoy the scenery along the way."

"That sounds wonderful!" she agreed enthusiastically. "A whole day outside of Midgar. I could make us a picnic lunch!"

Actually, I was thinking about taking her out to lunch at one of the restaurants in Kalm, but I liked her idea much better. A picnic with Aeris in some shady meadow, far from civilization, seemed like paradise to me. I was about to agree with her wholeheartedly, when she suddenly paused, and pursed her lips in a frown. "Oh, wait," she said, and I felt a sinking sensation in my stomach.

"What's wrong?" I asked. I was surprised at the sudden, pensive look on her face. "You still want to go, don't you?"

"It's not that," she said, biting her lower lip. "It's just... I just remembered. My mother. She wants to meet you."

"Your... mother?" I blinked. "Wants to meet me?"

"Yes," she said, her voice faintly pleading, "and I've been putting off telling you, because I didn't want to pressure you, and it wasn't really necessary with us meeting like this nearly every day, but if I leave Midgar... If you take me out for a whole day..."

Ah. Of course. Midgar was a dangerous city, and, while Aeris was more than capable of taking care of herself, it stood to reason that her mother would want to know what kind of man her daughter was seeing, especially before she allowed her to be placed wholly in his care for an entire day's excursion outside the city limits.

I straightened, and flashed her my most gallant smile. "Aeris... I would be delighted to meet your mother."

Now she blinked. "You would?" she asked.

"Of course. It would be my pleasure to meet the woman who has raised a daughter of such beauty, intelligence and charm."

Her cheeks flushed pink again. "Zack..."

I grinned. It was fun seeing her get flustered like that, though I meant every word. "Really, it's no problem," I said. "When do you think would be a good time to meet her?"

She paused thoughtfully. "Well... how about if you come over to my house for dinner? I'll need to give Mom some warning, though. Is three nights from now all right with you? Say, seven o' clock?"

I quickly ran a mental check of my schedule for the next few days, and, thankfully, found that evening clear. "I've got a training session with some cadets at five," I said, "but I think I can get cleaned up and over to your house by seven." I looked down at my usual SOLDIER outfit, and grimaced. "This probably isn't appropriate dinner attire, though," I said.

"No," Aeris agreed, with a half smile. Then she closed her eyes, as if pained. "Which also reminds me..." She looked at me apologetically. "I should let you know, my mother really, really... dislikes Shinra."

Uh-oh. "Well," I countered, "you 'dislike' Shinra too, but you like me anyway, right?"

She sighed. "That's different. I know you." Which was true enough. Ever since we'd first met, it seemed she had the ability to look straight into my soul with those luminescent eyes of hers. If it were anyone else who could do that, I would probably be freaked out. But with Aeris, when she looked into me like that, it felt... I don't know. Good.

"My mom, though," she continued. "She has had some bad experiences with Shinra in the past. I have a feeling it might be hard to convince her of your, um, good intentions."

I nodded agreeably. "Then I shall endeavor to make the very best impression," I said. "Hm, I think I've even got a suit stashed somewhere in my closet." I paused, frowning. "I don't like wearing it much, though. I think it makes me look too much like a Turk."

"And that's a bad thing?" Aeris said, her eyes teasing.

I blinked. "What's that supposed to mean?" I said, feigning hurt feelings. "You think a Turk looks better than me?"

"I've seen the Turks," she said nonchalantly. "Whatever else they may be, they're sharp dressers. A couple of them are cute, maybe..." She paused just long enough that her tease coaxed a pseudo-pout from beneath my half smile. "Not nearly as cute as you, though," she soothed. "I, for one, would love to see you in a suit. Even if it makes you look like a Turk."

"You mean, 'especially if it makes me look like a Turk,'" I said, and she laughed. "Very well," I said with a heavy sigh. "The suit it is."

She smiled. "Thank you, Zack."

I shrugged and grinned. "Just trying to keep up my reputation as the nicest guy on the Planet."

Somewhere, far outside the confines of my mind, the screaming finally stops.

And... I'm still sane, I think...

to be continued I hope you liked it keep giving me feed back so that I can show the writer of this story that people realy like it so that shell write the ending once and for all!

Please no flames…….


	3. soilder me ?

Chapter 2  
by Krista Perry

First off I would love to thank the reviewers the more I get then hopefully if I find a way to get the reviews to her she will write more I know she's held up with her child and all but im sure she could find some time to finish she ended it at chapter 4 so we will work are way up to it then ill hunt her down and giver her are replies to her wonderful story,, and on publishing fan fiction I think you can if okd by the original maker square enixs , final fantasy creator, cause they do fan fictions published books about star war's, robotech, ever quest , they have to do final fantasy fan fiction books right!!!

Cloud has stopped screaming. And still, I keep my eyes tightly closed. I know what I'll see if I open them. I've seen it before, too many times. The memory, the gruesome mental picture floating in my head... of skin bled white, table and walls dripping scarlet, broken, bruised limbs, and blankly staring Mako-blue eyes...

That sight once branded into my brain is more than enough. I don't want to see it again, not with my real eyes. Not when I still can feel my own sanity skittering wildly along the razor edge of the abyss, desperately trying to find purchase before plunging into the depths.

Even within my sealed cylinder prison, I think I can smell the blood. And the sudden absence of Cloud's screams of agony leaves a ringing silence that fills the laboratory; silence so electric, I can almost feel it dancing across the surface of my bare skin.

And in the silence, I listen carefully. I always listen. I always keep my eyes closed, and listen when the screaming stops, because maybe, in whatever post-torture discussion that follows between Hojo and his subordinates, I might discover more about the true purpose of Hojo's crazy, inhumane experiments.

I have my suspicions. Over five years, I've gotten some pretty damn good clues, even though Hojo tries to keep all his cards close to his chest; even though he's got a poker face better than any gambler I ever played against.

But this is no game. The stakes are too high, and my suspicions are too crazy. Too horrible. Too terrifying to be real. And I hope that I'm not yet so far gone as to not be able to distinguish what is real... and what might just be the paranoid delusions of a mind kept too long a captive, in circumstances that would disintegrate the strongest man's soul.

Then the silence is finally broken by a shuddering, deep breath.

"Is... is he..." The trembling voice belongs to one of Hojo's flunkies. Simmons, the balding one, if I remember right. He keeps swallowing hard. Probably trying not to throw up, is my guess. "Is he still... alive?" he finally manages.

"Of course he is, idiot." Hojo's voice is icy calm. No surprise here. Only that cold-blooded bastard could stand in the middle of a gore-splattered room and remain unaffected. He snorts derisively. "And you call yourself a scientist. If he were dead, the glow of Mako would have left his eyes."

"Oh... right. Sorry, sir, I..."

"But look," Hojo continues abruptly, ignoring his flunky's apology. "I do believe that's the brightest I've ever seen them glow. You can barely see his pupils." He clucks his tongue clinically. "As I thought. The Mako and the Jenova cells are reacting to the massive physical trauma. His body won't let him die. It's already working to heal him -- and look, the shallow parallel cuts across his cheeks from the beginning of the procedure are already closed up." Hojo's voice is growing more and more excited -- the way it always does when he considers an experiment a success. "See? Wipe the blood away, and there's nothing. Not even a scar."

A gasp. "That's... amazing, sir."

"It is exactly as I predicted. At this rate, Specimen B will be completely recovered within 72 hours, without the aid of a Cure spell. The blood loss, the broken bones and internal trauma -- everything will be restored without a trace of injury. He'll be as good as new." He pauses. "Better than new."

So Cloud will live, in spite of being methodically sliced and diced to the point of death. I'm not really surprised. Hojo isn't so careless in his sadism as to kill off one of his prized specimens.

I'm not really sure how to feel. Relieved, maybe. Cloud is my best friend, after all. But Hojo's words leave me chilled to the core, and I can't help but wonder if survival in this instance is really a better thing than death.

And suddenly I hear the familiar scratch of a pen on paper. Hojo's usual post-experiment ritual of scribbling pages and pages of notes.

Damn. That means the conversation is over. So much for learning anything new this time around.

Simmons clears his throat nervously.

"What is it?" Hojo snaps. "Can't you see I'm busy? Do something useful. Put Specimen B back into his container, and clean up this mess."

The flunky swallows. "Uh... by myself, sir?"

"Do you see me talking to anyone else?"

"N-no sir."

"Then get to it. Oh, and by the way, if you happen to see that pasty-faced, weak-bellied Hadley before I do, tell him that he's fired. Anyone who doesn't have the stomach for a simple medical procedure shouldn't claim to be a scientist."

Ah. Hadley must have been the flunky that I heard puking about halfway through. He must not have stuck around for the rest of the "simple medical procedure."

Another swallow from balding Simmons. "Yes sir. But... I've been meaning to ask..."

Even with my eyes closed, I can almost feel Hojo glaring over his dark-lensed glasses. He doesn't like to be interrupted when he's writing his post-experiment notes. "Spit it out."

"Well..." Simmons says quickly, "Specimen B has both Jenova and Mako working as symbionts within his body, and I was just wondering... How can you tell which part of his healing is the result of Mako, and which part is the result of Jenova, especially if both specimens are--?"

"They work in tandem," Hojo interrupts, his tone careless and annoyed. "The Mako is the energy. The power source. Jenova is the will that directs and focuses the Mako in the body and accelerates the healing. If you haven't figured that out, you are hopeless. Now stop wasting my time and get to work."

My breath catches in my throat, and my fists clench, knuckle-white.

_The will that directs_..?

I knew it. Shit. I knew it...

I hear the quick click of boot heels on the stone floor, walking over to the cylinder next to mine. The hiss of the cylinder door sliding open. Footsteps back to the table. The scrape and snap of metal restraints being released. The flunky's grunt as he hefts the deadweight of Cloud's limp body.

And all the while, Hojo is scribbling his secrets on that notepad of his.

"I'll be down in the library," Hojo says suddenly. "When you're done here, come get me, and we'll begin the tests on Specimen A."

"Yes sir," Simmons replies with a gasp, and I hear a loud thump as he clumsily deposits Cloud's broken, bleeding body in the cylinder next to mine. A moment later the chamber door slides shut, and I can hear the hiss of Mako gas once again filling Cloud's prison.

So Hojo meant it -- I'm next. But not even the thought of my own imminent torture is enough to keep the little pieces of the puzzle -- the ones that have been dancing in my brain for years now -- from clicking into place.

Sephiroth believed that he was the product of Professor Gast's genetic experiments using Jenova's cellular material...

_Don't you get it, Zack?_

As if summoned, the ghost of Sephiroth from five years ago emerges from the depths of my memory. I was standing in this very room, this laboratory, watching in growing alarm as my commanding officer paced the long hall to the library; a wild, unbalanced gleam lighting his Mako-green eyes. "An Ancient named Jenova was found in the geological stratum of 2000 years ago. The Jenova Project. The Jenova Project wanted to produce people with the powers of the Ancients - no... the Cetra." He looked up at me then, his gaze piercing. "And I am the one that was produced..."

That's right. Sephiroth was part of the Jenova Project, and he had Jenova cells within him -- was possibly bred with them, if my suspicions are correct.

And if Hojo was telling the truth...

_Jenova is the will that directs it. _

Shinra allowed the Jenova Project experiments in their attempts to create a perfect soldier from the cells of this monstrous Ancient, and Sephiroth was the result. But there is something else going on here. Something that Hojo knows, that he's not telling anyone else, not even his Shinra employers. This injection of Jenova cells... it's more than just some bizarre sort of genetic manipulation to create a perfect soldier.

The voices Cloud is hearing. It's not Mako poisoning at all. And Hojo knows it.

It's her. Jenova. That weird monstrous creature that we found in the Mt. Nibel Mako Reactor. The one that drove Sephiroth off the deep end.

I don't want to be right, but I fear that I am. Too many things over the past five years point to this conclusion. When Hojo talks about Cloud "displaying signs of communication with Jenova," he's not talking about the traditional theories of telepathy.

Jenova is already inside him. It's part of his own body. It's guiding his healing processes after the "massive physical trauma" inflicted by Hojo.

And it's talking to him.

No wonder Sephiroth went nuts. He wasn't just "hearing voices." He really was not alone inside his own head. Jenova was there, a literal, physical part of him, like a cancer, whispering her will to him.

And now, Cloud...

But not me. For some reason, not me. Which either means that I'm immune to the Jenova injections... or that Hojo isn't really giving them to me. I don't think I would be immune. But I can't figure out why Hojo would claim to be using Jenova cells on both myself and Cloud, when in truth he is only using them on Cloud.

Then again, just because I don't know the reason, doesn't mean there isn't one. If there is one thing I've learned in five years, it is that there is always method to Hojo's madness.

The only voices I hear in my head these days are the ghosts of my memories. They haunt me with a vivid clarity that can't be... healthy. The memories of my former life are becoming more torment than salvation. A reminder of what I've lost.

Trapped as I am, the only thing I can do is remember.

The minutes tick by with infinite slowness. I hear the sounds of Simmons cleaning the laboratory. All too soon, he's finished, and summoning Hojo from the library.

The soft tap of slow, deliberate footsteps comes from the long hallway, stopping in front of my cylinder.

I open my eyes.

Hojo is smiling. His white lab coat is flecked with the rust brown stains of dried blood.

"Specimen A," he says, looking at me as Simmons begins to hook up the tranquilizer gas feed. "We're ready for you now."

"Hojo." The utter calm of my own voice makes me wonder, briefly, if my hold on my sanity is even more tenuous than I thought. "Who is Jenova?"

He blinks at me in a rare expression of surprise. No doubt because he was expecting me to threaten to rip off his head and spit down his neck again. But his surprise quickly fades, and he ignores me, glancing down over his notes.

"Why have you been injecting Jenova into Cloud, but not me?"

Hojo's head jerks up, and he stares at me, eyes wide for a split second before narrowing once again.

Heh. I thought that would get his attention. And from the look on his face, I hit the nail on the head. Looks like I won that bluff.

"Simmons, hurry it up, will you?" Hojo says, quickly getting his poker face back in place. He's trying to act bored, but I can tell that I've unsettled him. And Simmons can tell as well, because he glances at Hojo nervously, before quickly averting his eyes back to his task.

"If it's just because I'm a control, then I understand," I continue, unperturbed at not being answered. "Every good experiment needs a control, right, Hojo? So you can measure the differences between someone who's been altered with Jenova, and someone who hasn't. Right?"

Hojo isn't looking at me. That's okay, I'm used to his "ignore the specimens" attitude. I know he's listening. And I think he's angry. He seems awfully tense.

"What I can't figure out," I say, "is why you've gone through so much trouble to make Cloud and me believe that your experiments on the both of us are exactly the same. I mean, why should it matter what we think? We're just specimens, after all."

Simmons finally gets the tranquilizer feed hooked up, and in moments, the gray gas is seeping into the chamber. My time is running out.

"But it _does_ matter, doesn't it, Hojo. It matters to _you_."

And something else dawns on me. "I wonder what Cloud would think if I told him that the reason I haven't been getting as sick as him _isn't_ because he's weaker than me, but because you haven't been mucking with my insides in the same way." And I almost smile as I see the muscles in Hojo's jaw twitch violently, right before he lifts his gaze from his notes to look directly into my face.

"It doesn't matter what he thinks now," he says tightly. "And while your pathetic attempts to help him are admirable, I'm afraid you're far too late for that."

I open my mouth to reply to his cryptic remark, but an involuntary gasp escapes my throat instead, followed quickly by a strangled curse as the tranquilizer gas touches my bare skin. Instantly, the familiar cold fire burns through me, engulfing me in an enervating numbness. As I thrash against it instinctively, struggling to fight off its effects... I see Cloud, in the cylinder next to mine, drifting silent and limp within a green haze of Mako mist.

He looks dead. So pale, with ugly purple and black bruises that stand out like ink splotches on his skin. His spiky blond hair is matted with blood. But his eyes are partially open, and in that brief moment, I catch a glimpse of bright glowing blue under heavy eyelids, staring sightlessly.

The sight infuriates me. Futilely, I fight against the gray fog that is trying to dull my thoughts even as it drains the strength from my limbs. "Dammit, what are you doing to him?" I demand, glaring at Hojo, though blackness is quickly swallowing my vision. He is looking at me again, though his face is unreadable. The tranquilizers are pulling me down, the drugged sleep plucking away at the defenses of my fading consciousness, but I force myself to meet his eyes.

"What is... Jenova... doing... to him..?" I ask.

But Hojo doesn't answer. He just stares at me silently, and his cold, black gaze swallows me whole.

"NEXT! FILE IN!"

I winced and made a face as Heideggar bellowed practically right into my ear canal. Quickly, I scooted my chair away from him, getting as far away as the small table would let me. "Jeeze, Heidi," I said, sticking a finger in my ear, as if that would help ease the pain in my abused ear drum. I also knew that he absolutely despised the nickname, and yet couldn't do a thing to stop me from calling him that. "Do you think you could crank it up a few decibels? I don't think they heard you in Wutai."

He ignored my jibe with a scowl as usual, but my comment earned a few stifled chuckles from the cadets who were filing obediently through the double doors of the practice hall.

Being one of the very few members of SOLDIER 1st Class, and General Sephiroth's Second-in-Command to boot, had both its benefits and its drawbacks. A big benefit was that I was probably the only guy in Midgar who could get away with saying something like that to the head of Shinra Military Intelligence -- even if he was little more than a big fat bag of stinkwind. But Heideggar was a fat bag of stinkwind who was in good with President Shinra. And so one of the drawbacks of my position was that, when it came my turn to help review SOLDIER applications, I was forced to endure his repulsive presence for a bit.

Heideggar harumphed importantly, and straightened a few papers and folders on the table in front of him. Some of the cadets, who were nervously muttering to each other, immediately fell silent when he fixed his beady eyes on them. Soon, lined up before us with military precision were 20 young men standing in two rows. All were younger than me, between the ages of fourteen and sixteen, and I recognized many of them from the cadet mess where I would sometimes go to hang out. A few of them, when they saw me sitting next to Heideggar, looked immensely relieved, and I grinned back at them encouragingly, knowing again that it would irritate Heideggar. He didn't believe in being friendly as a rule.

I, on the other hand, liked getting to know the new recruits, and I hoped that, in the process, I could de-mystify the SOLDIER program a bit. Some of these kids came into the military so green that just the thought of seeing the great General Sephiroth in the halls of the Shinra Building was enough to send them into a catatonic fit of fear, hero-worship, or both. So I did my best to help them get over that -- at least to the point where, if they did see Sephiroth in the hallway, they wouldn't panic and make complete fools of themselves in their efforts to get away, salute, and shake his hand all at the same time. I also often went to the gym to help where I could with their training, sometimes even giving impromptu lessons in combat skills, or just sitting down with them and talking tactics.

Consequently, I had a lot of friends among the new recruits -- and the not-so-new recruits, who still remembered and appreciated my help during their first few months in Shinra. As the only SOLDIER 1st Class who would dare be seen with lowly cadets, I had earned a reputation as a big brother of sorts. When this reputation first spread to the upper echelons of the military hierarchy, Heideggar was furious, saying that my chumming with the grunts was undermining the work of the boot camp drill instructors. His objections were silenced, however, when Sephiroth pointed out that my involvement seemed to be improving soldier morale, discipline and productivity, rather than undermining it.

Heh. Not even Heideggar dared argue with Sephiroth.

Looking over the cadets, giving encouraging grins to familiar faces, I realized that there was one kid at the far end of the first row that I didn't recognize. I knew I had never seen him before. With all that spiky blond hair (which looked like it had defied countless attempts to comb it flat), I figured he'd be hard to forget. He also seemed to be in the middle of a growth spurt, if the too-short cuffs on the pant legs and shirts sleeves of his cadet uniform were any indication.

Like the other kids, he looked nervous, and was doing his best to hide it behind the military discipline that had been pounded into him over the past few months. But, as I examined him further, I realized that he also looked angry. As in, severely pissed off. His expression hid it well, but his jaw was tight, and his fists at his sides were clenched so hard that his knuckles were white. Upon closer inspection, I noticed that he was sporting a black eye, which he was trying to hide under a few errant locks of hair dangling over his face. He must have felt me watching him, because he glanced briefly in my direction, without moving his head, before jerking his gaze back to staring straight ahead.

Curious, I glanced down at the files on the table, picked them up, and thumbed through them. Each file had a record of each kid's Entrance scores thus far, comments by the examiners, and a small head-shot photo paper clipped in the corner. I found the kid's file quickly.

CADET: STRIFE, CLOUD  
AGE: 15

I blinked. _Cloud_? What parent would name their kid something like that? Talk about automatically consigning your son to an eternal purgatory of harassment by his peers. Hell, the name alone would account for the black eye.

Skimming over his scores, I saw that he had tested moderately high on nearly all of the physical tests, but that he had bottomed out in the psychological profiling.

I blinked again. Those scores had to be typos. Nobody was _that_ psycho.

Except maybe Scarlett. And quite possibly Heideggar.

While I was distracted with Strife's file, Heideggar began the drill by shouting "ATTENTION!" Immediately, the cadets who weren't already standing at attention snapped upright. Heideggar quickly began barking orders, which the cadets followed instantly and simultaneously. I grant Heidi that, at least -- if there's one thing that he knows how to do well, it's shout at the top of his lungs.

As per my duty, I watched each cadet in turn, and made notes in their file on their performance. I was very pleased to see that all the guys who had taken pointers from me were excellent.

So I turned my attention back to Cadet Strife, more curious than ever, especially since he was the only kid I hadn't worked with. I wondered if, during the drill, he would give me any clues as to why his psychological profile scores were so bad.

But as I watched him, I couldn't see anything that would qualify him for the scathing review he had received. He was good. Focused. The anger I had seen in him initially had given way to determination, which was a good sign if you asked me. It meant that, when it came down to business, he could push personal feelings aside and focus on the matter at hand. He followed each bellowed order with snap precision. The drill went on for a good half hour, and Cadet Strife didn't miss a step.

I was impressed. And a bit disappointed at the same time. It was obvious that he wanted to join SOLDIER badly. His file said he was from Nibelheim, which, if I remembered correctly, was a small mountain town on the West Continent, northwest of my own hometown of Gongaga. Like me, he had come a long way to join SOLDIER. Like me, his file said that he had signed up at age 14, and had worked as a conscript until he had enough experience to try and join the SOLDIER program. And like me, I could see the hunger for it in his face; in his eyes. I recognized it.

But with those psychological profile scores, there was no way in hell he was going to get into the program.

Hm. This was going to require further investigation.


	4. like a razors edge

Chapter 3  
by Krista Perry 

Dr. Rodney Lambert, the head Head-Shrink of the Shinra Psychiatry & Mental Health Department, had one of the plushiest corner offices in the Shinra Building. As I stepped through the doorway and felt my boots sink down a good inch into the thick ivory-colored carpeting, I couldn't help but raise an eyebrow at the spacious waiting room area, furnished with oak, leather, and gold accent. Typical of Lambert's taste for luxury. I remember hearing him once claim that the expensive decor was necessary to make his patients feel comfortable.

Huh. For comfort, I'd take a run-down church in the slums over this any day.

Across the room, guarding the door to the inner office, the receptionist sat behind her marble-topped desk. She was peering intently at her computer screen as her fingers flew over her keyboard, and either didn't notice my entrance, or was ignoring me, because she didn't look up as I approached. To the left, a huge window took up the entire wall, and a glance in that direction treated me to a view of the bleak, polluted sprawl of Midgar far below.

Now, I never claimed to understand psychology, which is supposed to be a very complex science. But if you asked me, the fact that the good Dr. Lambert apparently enjoyed his 52nd floor view of the perpetually dark, smog-filled sky, and the city's huge, black metal plates, which blocked any glimpse of the overpopulated slums beneath... well, I think it spoke volumes about his own state of mind.

I secretly harbored strong suspicions that Shinra's willingness to provide the doctor with his opulent accommodations were due, not to any excellence in his profession, but rather to his talent for always being able to tell President Shinra exactly what he wanted to hear during the old man's therapy sessions. Being the bright young man that I am, I kept these suspicions to myself. It was a well-known fact that one of the quickest ways to get demoted in Shinra was to badmouth Lambert, or any of his tight little clique of underlings.

The receptionist still didn't look up when I reached her desk, so I cleared my throat politely. Frowning, she glanced my way, and I felt a twinge of amusement as her expression quickly changed from irritation to flustered surprise as she recognized me.

"Hello, Miss Davis," I said with a sincere smile that had the effect of raising a blush to her cheeks. She was a cute girl, with short blond hair that nicely framed her pixie face, and long legs that were always well-displayed by the mini-skirts she habitually wore. She wasn't nearly as beautiful as Aeris -- but then, no one could compare to Aeris, in my not-so-humble opinion. Still, she was attractive enough that she had grabbed the attention of a few of my buddies. I knew for a fact that Johnson, who bunked across the hall from me, had a full blown case of the hots for her. He had yet to muster the courage to ask her out, though, and whenever I teased him about it, he would indignantly respond that he was working on some great master plan for approaching her. I had my doubts, since he had been working on said master plan for over six months.

"Lieutenant General Forester," she said, immediately giving me her full, wide-eyed attention, as her suddenly-unoccupied hands fluttered nervously about her desk. "What a surprise."

I laughed ruefully at her use of my official title, which was far too long and presumptuous-sounding for my liking. "Please," I said. "Didn't I ask you to call me Zack?"

Her hovering right hand finally found a pen, and twirling it between her fingers seemed to ease her discomfort. "You did," she replied, returning my smile. "But I will only if you call me Sharon. None of this formal 'Miss Davis' stuff."

I grinned. "Fair enough. Sharon it is then."

She beamed, and leaned forward on her desk. "Well then, what brings you here, Zack?"

"Just looking for Dr. Lambert," I said, shrugging. "Is he around?"

She nodded her head towards the closed door of his inner office. "He's in an appointment," she said. "But he should be out in a minute or so." She flashed a more confident smile, showing off her straight, gleaming white teeth. "You're welcome to wait for him if you want."

I blinked. The glint in her eye was somewhat less than professional, and clued me in that she would be more than happy to have me sit down and wait for Dr. Lambert, even if his appointment took the rest of the day.

Well, it was important that I talk to Dr. Lambert, and since I knew that I was pretty good at keeping things on the Harmless Flirting level, I sat down on a cushy leather chair and settled myself in for a brief wait. Sharon and I chatted for a bit, mostly about the latest local news, like whether or not that new terrorist group, Avalanche, was actually going to follow through on some of its threats to sabotage Shinra. I ended up reassuring her that Shinra was perfectly safe, and that there was no way Avalanche would be able to get through SOLDIER even if they tried to follow through on their threats.

However, as our conversation continued, and the "minute or so" stretched into ten minutes, then twenty, with no sign of Dr. Lambert, I couldn't help but notice that Sharon's body language was changing from flirtatious to slightly seductive in spite of the relatively safe subject material we were covering. Before I knew it, she was leaning forward so far on her desk, her hands clasped coquettishly in front of her, that, with her strategically low-cut blouse, it became rather dangerous to look in that vicinity.

Don't get me wrong -- before I met Aeris, I would have taken full opportunity to admire the view. Some guys who don't know any better would say that I was whipped. But hey, I'm not stupid, and I wasn't about to blow a good thing -- hell, the best thing that had ever happened to me. And in my mind, that meant being faithful to Aeris, even if she wasn't around to appreciate my restraint.

So I was just thinking that it was time to bail before I got myself into trouble, and was about to politely excuse myself, when the door to the inner office opened and Lambert emerged.

I was surprised to see the usually immaculate man looking a bit disheveled. His tie was loose, and his white dress shirt was wrinkled; the corner untucked and sticking out from under his dark suit coat.

Lambert blinked in surprise when he saw me sitting in his waiting room. I raised an enquiring eyebrow, but before I could even offer a greeting, he was immediately followed out the door by a rather mussed-looking woman in a sleek red dress, who was busy tucking escaped strands of bleached blonde hair into the tight bun on the back of her head.

I think it was to my credit that I neither facially nor vocally expressed my sudden horror as I realized who the woman was.

Scarlet, head of the Shinra Weapons Department. A sadistic psycho bitch if there ever was one, and the only woman I had ever met who could give me a case of the screaming heebie-jeebies. Her high-pitched, cackling laugh alone gave me nightmares. There was no doubt in my mind that the woman needed serious therapy, but, looking back and forth between Lambert and Scarlet, it was evident that they had been using the doctor's couch for something other than counseling.

The sight of the two of them together effectively rendered me speechless. Lambert seemed just as flustered by my unexpected presence, and seemed to be struggling to come up with an appropriate explanation for this blatant breech of decorum, when Scarlet glanced up from primping and saw me.

I swallowed hard as a predatory smile lit her face, and suddenly wished that I could somehow vanish into the ultra-thick carpet.

"Why, Zack," she purred, giving me a sultry look. "How absolutely delightful to see you again. You left so quickly from the last presidential banquet that I didn't even get a chance to visit with you." That earned her a scowl from Lambert, who was trying to regain his dignity while hastily tucking in his shirt, but she pretended to be oblivious.

Jeeze, talk about out of the frying pan and into the fire. I found myself rising from my chair, not out of respect, but out of a sudden impulse to flee... again. It was no accident that she hadn't managed to corner me at that last banquet. "Visit," my ass. She had blatantly stared at me all through the dinner, as if she somehow planned on having me for dessert.

Still, in spite of all this, I somehow managed a smile that almost felt sincere. "Please, ma'am," I said, without a trace of sarcasm. "Call me Lieutenant General Forester."

Next to me, Sharon made a noise that sounded suspiciously like a stifled laugh. Scarlet glared at her, then frowned at me. I just gave her a smile that was all boyish innocence.

Lambert, whatever else he may have been, was smart enough to recognize a potentially explosive situation when he saw it, and he quickly stepped forward. "Good to see you again, Lieutenant General," he said, oozing diplomacy as he crossed the distance between us. I played along, all too willing to ignore Scarlet and get down to business, and shook his outstretched hand firmly. "So, what brings you to my office?"

"Just some questions about one of the SOLDIER applicants," I said. "But if you're busy..."

"No, no," he said hastily. "Ms. Scarlet was just leaving. Weren't you, dear?"

The ice in the glare that Scarlet gave Lambert was enough to freeze a man's soul. To his credit, the doctor merely paled. I was just glad that the doctor was between her and me.

Then she suddenly smiled, though the effect was hardly warming. "That's fine," she said, "I have another meeting in few minutes anyway. Same time next week, then, doctor?"

"Um... yes. Same time."

And with that, she strode quickly out the door without a backward glance. I couldn't help but be relieved that she was gone.

Lambert immediately turned to Sharon, and lifted a warning finger. "Not one word of this to anyone, right?"

Sharon rolled her eyes. "As usual."

He then turned back to me and gave me a stern look that didn't quite manage to cover his anxiousness. "I trust you will be... discreet about this." His tone was more of a statement than a question.

But I wasn't about to pass this one up. "So," I said, grinning. "Office scrumping sessions. Cool. Is this some type of radical new therapy?"

For a moment, as the tips of his ears turned pink, I thought he was going to get angry. But then -- probably after realizing that I was not one of his underlings that he could just chew out any time he wanted -- he decided to have a sense of humor about it, and chuckled ruefully. "It's not as bad as you think," he said. "She's really not all that scary once you get to know her."

My grin turned wry. "I hope you won't take offense if I maintain a bit of healthy skepticism on that count."

"Not at all, as long as you keep this discovery to yourself."

"I won't breathe a word." Besides, I added silently. Scarlet and Dr. Lambert? I don't think anyone would believe me.

"Good, good. Well then, down to business I assume." He glanced over at Sharon, who was doing her best to look like she wasn't eavesdropping. "Shall we go into my office?"

"Um..." I thought of what had just taken place in that office just minutes before. "No need. This won't take long."

"That's right," said Lambert. "You said you wanted to get some information on a SOLDIER applicant?"

I nodded. "I was hoping you could tell me something about Cadet Strife."

To my surprise, I saw a startled expression cross Sharon's face at the mention of his name. Hm, so she knew something. But I would have to save that for later. Right then, I had to focus on Dr. Lambert. "I saw that you were personally in charge of creating his psychological profile for his application, and I couldn't help but notice that his scores were some of the lowest I've ever seen."

The blank look on Lambert's face told me that the name wasn't ringing a bell. "Sorry," he said. "There are so many kids who come through here... who are you talking about?"

"Cadet Cloud Strife," I clarified. I was sure the strange first name would spark some recognition, but when it didn't, I sighed, and said, "You know, the kid with all the spiky blond hair."

That did it. Realization flared in Lambert's eyes, and his lip curled slightly in distaste. "Oh, him."

I raised an eyebrow, not really surprised by his reaction. "That bad, huh?"

Lambert shook his head. "You have no idea. That little punk has absolutely no respect for authority."

"Really." I was very curious now. "What did he do?"

"Well, he was sullen, uncooperative and hostile from the start. He outright refused to answer many of my questions, and when he did answer, he had a very belligerent attitude." Lambert was the very picture of righteous indignation. "Near the end of the interview, he even became aggressive, and threatened to do me bodily harm."

I blinked. "He threatened to attack you during the interview?"

Lambert nodded, his face flushing angrily at the memory. "Damn brat. For a moment there, I thought he was going to climb right over my desk to get at me."

"But he didn't."

"No." Lambert clenched his fists and lifted his chin. "I told him that his severe behavioral problems would guarantee that he would never make it into SOLDIER."

My eyes widened. "You told him that?"

"I most certainly did. And let me tell you, that took the wind out of his sails. He glared at me with a look that could kill, then stomped out of here without another word."

"I see." At least, I thought I did. If I was reading between the lines correctly, there was a hell of a lot that Lambert wasn't telling me. "Wow," I said, "that must have been quite some experience. I'm glad you weren't hurt."

"Well," Lambert said, "even if he had come at me, a short, skinny kid like that couldn't do much damage. I probably could have handled him without a problem."

"Oh, no doubt," I replied, trying hard not to roll my eyes. "I'm just glad it didn't come to that."

I was in such fine brown-nosing form, I felt like gagging. Shit like this made me really glad that I worked directly under Sephiroth, so that I rarely had to deal with these corporate Shinra assholes. It was my firm opinion that Sephiroth's leadership of the military was the Shinra Company's sole saving grace.

As for Lambert's boast, Srtife had aced every single one of the physical aptitude exams for SOLDIER, while Lambert was developing a bit of an obvious paunch around the middle. I had no doubt that, if Cadet Strife had really wanted to, he could have easily smeared Lambert all over that plush little office of his.

I did my best to hide these rather traitorous thoughts under a thoughtful look. "Hey, that interview, you have it recorded on video disk, don't you?"

Lambert deflated slightly, and eyed me with sudden suspicion. "Of course. It's standard procedure to record SOLDIER applicant interviews."

"I don't suppose I could have a look at it?"

"Absolutely not," Lambert said, horrified. "Those files are highly classified!"

Somehow, I managed to keep a straight face. If they're so classified, I wanted to say, then how come you're so willing to blab about the interview in front of your secretary, with just my casual inquiry? I suspected that he was doing it partly for her benefit, which only confirmed my suspicion that she knew something about Cadet Strife's interview. Still, I held my tongue, even though both he and I knew that, as a lieutenant general, I could easily get clearance to all the files on SOLDIER applicants, regardless of his protests.

But I had no desire to stir up trouble with Lambert. Sure, I might be Sephiroth's 2nd in Command, but Lambert was tight with President Shinra himself, and had the old man's sympathetic ear at least twice a week by appointment. I knew that if it came to a choice between Lambert and me, Lambert would probably win by default.

"All right, that's fine," I said with a shrug. "I was just curious about it, that's all. I'm not questioning your professional judgement. It's just that Cadet Strife seemed like such a good SOLDIER candidate in every other aspect. I just wanted to make sure that the psychological scores in his file weren't typos or something."

Lambert snorted. "Rest assured, they are most definitely not typos. Cadet Strife will never be a SOLDIER."

"Well then, that answers my question." I smiled. "Thanks for your time, Dr. Lambert."

"No problem, Lieutenant General," Lambert replied, his smile just as contrived as my own.

And then I turned and walked out the door before the last shreds of my will crumbled, and I gave in to my strong impulse to punch his face in.

Sharon didn't look in the least bit surprised when I entered the office again a half an hour later.

"I thought you'd be back," she said, smiling. "Though I have the sinking suspicion that you didn't return just to continue our interrupted conversation."

"Sorry." I smiled sheepishly, but I was relieved to see that all trace of the flirtatious seduction from our previous conversation had left her expression. She was a smart girl, and seemed to have figured out that I wasn't interested, yet was self-assured enough to not let it bother her. "I'm just here on business again. I saw Lambert enter a meeting upstairs, and I needed to ask you some questions without him around."

She nodded. "I figured as much. About Cadet Strife, right?"

"That's right. From your reaction when I mentioned it to Lambert, I'm guessing you were here for the whole thing."

"I'm here for all of the SOLDIER interviews," she said, with a knowing smile. "It's one of the reasons I took this job. I certainly didn't take it because I like working for Dr. Lambert."

I laughed. "Ah, I see. It all makes sense now."

She laughed as well, but quickly grew serious. "But you're right," she said. "I remember Cadet Strife's interview very well. It was about a week ago."

I sat down again on one of the leather chairs. "So what can you tell me about him?"

"How much do you want to know?" she asked.

I shrugged. "Whatever you can tell me that will give me a clue as to why all my instincts are saying that Lambert didn't deal Strife a fair hand."

She seemed to relax at that. "Well then, have I got an earful for you."

I gave her a surprised look. "So, do you think Lambert had it in for Strife?"

She shook her head. "Maybe not at first. Strife was like all the other applicants when he came in. Really nervous about the interview while he waited for his turn. But one thing that I noticed that was kind of odd... The other guys who were waiting, they talked and joked among themselves to alleviate some of the tension, but Strife sat off by himself, and didn't really interact with any of the others."

"Anti-social?" I asked.

"More like... just really shy, I think." She gave me an inquisitive look. "I don't know, is there a difference?"

"You got me," I said with a shrug. "I'm not a psychiatrist."

"Well," she said, biting her lower lip thoughtfully. "All I know is that, when I tried to talk to him... he seemed surprised. Like he didn't expect me to talk to him, with all the other guys in the room."

I raised an eyebrow. "Why did you talk to him, instead of all the other guys in the room?"

That brought an unashamed grin to her face. "That's easy. He was the cutest guy there, for one thing. Those blue eyes, and all that unruly blond hair... and the way he blushed when he noticed that I was looking at him..."

"Okay," I said, chuckling. "So he was cute, and you talked to him. What next?"

She looked contemplative for a moment. "He was very... quiet. No, that's not the right word. Soft-spoken."

"Shy," I said.

"I guess." She cocked her head at me. "Is it a bad thing for SOLDIERS to be shy?"

"If it was a bad thing," I said wryly, "then half the SOLDIERS I know would have to resign. There's a world of difference between being shy around women, and being hesitant in a battle situation."

She looked at me pointedly. "You're not shy around women," she said.

"Ah-heh..." My hand slipped behind my head in abashment. "Well, I've got a girlfriend," I said, knowing that while I was avoiding her insinuation, I was also answering her unspoken question.

"Ah, I knew it," she said, sighing dramatically. "It figures. All the good men are taken."

I was sort of pleased at the back-handed compliment, but I still tried valiantly to look offended on behalf of my gender. "Not all," I said. "Besides, it seems to me that you liked Strife well enough."

"True," she said, "but that's a moot point now, isn't it?" Her eyes were suddenly sad. "I mean, Dr. Lambert's made sure that Strife isn't going to get into SOLDIER... and Strife seemed so devastated when he walked out of that office. The look on his face... like all the hope he'd ever had was crushed out of him." She sighed. "I figured he'd be packed and halfway back home by now. At least... I know I would be, if I were him."

Well, _that_ was interesting. So it was true -- Strife really knew, a whole week ago, that he would never make it in SOLDIER.

"Actually," I said, "he hasn't left. At least, not yet, anyway. He stuck around long enough to finish the rest of the SOLDIER testing. I saw him just this afternoon, in the final drill test."

Sharon's eyes widened. "But... why? Why go through the rest of the testing process if he knew he wasn't going to make it anyway?"

"That's what I'm trying to figure out myself," I said. "So what exactly happened in his interview? Did you hear anything?"

She scowled. "I heard plenty. For the first fifteen minutes, everything was really quiet, but then Dr. Lambert started yelling at Strife, saying that he had a bad attitude, and that he needed to show more respect to his superiors. He kept going on and on like that for about ten minutes, until finally I heard Strife shout back."

I leaned forward. "What did he say?"

Sharon smiled ruefully. "Oh, pretty much everything I've ever wanted to say to the old windbag, but was just too afraid to. That he was a no-talent hypocrite, a stain on the occupation of psychiatry... well, maybe not those exact words -- those are _my_ words -- but the meaning was essentially the same. Basically, Strife called Dr. Lambert an idiot, saying that he didn't know what he was talking about, and Dr. Lambert got so mad that he practically screamed at the top of his lungs that Strife would never be a SOLDIER as long as he had anything to say about it. Then everything was quiet for a while... and then Strife came out of the office looking like the world had just ended." Sharon blew out her breath between pursed lips. "And that was it. Well, except that Dr. Lambert canceled all of the interviews for the rest of the day, and sent everybody home."

I looked at her, weighing the implication of her words for a long moment.

"I see," I said at last, and sighed. "So in other words, Cadet Strife is a horribly disturbed individual, unworthy of the SOLDIER program, simply because he's the only one who has the guts to call Dr. Lambert an asshole to his face. Um... pardon my language."

She waved it off. "No, I think that sums it up perfectly. And that _is_ the exact word he used, come to think of it."

"Right." I rubbed a hand over my face. "Okay. Anything else you can think of that might help?"

"Not off the top of my head." She looked at me earnestly. "So... do you think there's any way to overturn Dr. Lambert's score?"

"I don't know," I said, as I got to my feet. It was time to leave, before the asshole himself returned from his meeting. "But if I can do something, I will. I'm not going to let Shinra trample all over some guy just because he happens to have a mind of his own."

"Well, good luck." Sharon gave me a weary half smile.

"Thanks," I said. "I have the feeling I'll need it."

By the time I made it down to the cadet floor, the final scores for the SOLDIER program had been posted. Dozens of boys swarmed around the glowing bulletin board, each trying to catch a glimpse of their name emblazoned in neon light. There were cheers and back-slaps all around.

A few of the boys I had helped train caught sight of me and, before I knew it, I had been dragged into the midst of the mob. Some of the guys thumped on my back with their fists and chanted my name, while others took up the ready battle cry of "Par-TY! Par-TY!" as they tromped purposefully down the halls in search of the nearest keg to celebrate their successful entrance into SOLDIER.

Their enthusiasm was contagious. I couldn't help but remember a few years back when I was first accepted into the SOLDIER program. It was definitely one of the highlights of my life. Nothing quite like the heady rush of recognition, after a seeming lifetime of hard work to reach that moment of payoff. I knew, as I watched the boys around me, that I could very easily let myself get caught up into the festivities as I had so many times before, vicariously reliving that glorious moment through the new guys. But I couldn't. Not at the moment, anyway.

Cadet Strife was conspicuously absent from the crowd.

But then, so was his name from the bulletin board.

I'm not quite sure how I did it, but I somehow managed to extricate myself from the flood of boys clogging the main cadet foyer, and made my way to the barracks hall. I passed several open doors that revealed long, narrow rooms, with rows of ten beds lined up on either side of the room, with small steel-gray lockers in between each bed.

Ah, memories. Being a cadet meant that you had virtually no privacy whatsoever. One of the best things about being accepted into SOLDIER meant that the number of my roommates was narrowed down from nineteen to one. And when I became a SOLDIER 1st Class, I got a room all to myself.

Which is exactly what I was thinking about when I found Cadet Strife, in Barrack G6.

I actually heard him before I saw him. The door to G6 was closed, and as I reached for the doorknob, the sound of a broken, muffled curse reached my ears. This was immediately followed by a loud, long smashing noise that I knew could only mean that someone's locker was no longer in one piece.

I paused. My hand was still on the doorknob as more cursing followed within, only to trail off into heavy silence.

And for the first time, as I stood there on the other side of the door eavesdropping on Cadet Strife's frustration and despair... I wondered what the hell I was doing.

Here I was, traipsing in like some big brother to the rescue. But rescue from what? This kid didn't know me. What could I possibly say to him?

Sorry you didn't make the cut, kid. Thems the breaks, huh? But I'm here to give you a cheerful pep talk about "living life to the fullest" and "rolling with the punches" that will not only not make you feel any better, but will probably make you want to kick my ass just to get me to shut up.

With that thought, reality settled in on me, hard. I didn't know this kid. I didn't know anything about him, other than what I had deduced from his file scores, and watching him perform the final drill. Oh, and that Lambert hated him. Other than that, what did I know? Sure, he had told Lambert where to stick it, and even though that was something I had only daydreamed of doing, it didn't necessarily mean the kid was stable. In fact, if anything, it indicated a distinct lack of self-preservation instinct. I suddenly wished that I had overruled Lambert, and had watched the recorded interview in spite of his protests, so that I could know more about what I was dealing with.

And, come to think of it, why did I want to even bother dealing with this anyway? It wasn't like Strife was the first kid ever to be rejected from the SOLDIER program. There were lots of kids who had been turned away because they couldn't cut it physically, and I'm sure they felt just as devastated. Where did I get off, sticking my nose into this kid's business, when all he probably wanted at this moment was to haul out of here with a bit of dignity?

At that moment, the doorknob was jerked out of my grasp as the door swung inward, and I suddenly found myself looking down into Cadet Strife's angry face. "What the hell do you wa..?" He trailed off abruptly as he recognized me. Surprise and confusion warred with the anger already in his expression, and he immediately stepped back, coming instinctively to attention. "Sir," he said, "sorry, sir, I... I didn't know it was you."

Stunned, I could only blink. "How did you even know I was here?"

"I saw your shadow under the door, sir," he said, still standing at attention. "I thought you were..." He trailed off again, and I could see a stubborn pride flare in his eyes. One eye was still bruised and swollen from when I first saw him earlier this afternoon. "...someone else," he finished flatly.

"Who?" I asked. "The same person who gave you the black eye?"

That earned me a sullen, resentful glare. "Are you asking as my superior officer, sir? Or as the local 'big brother' who has come to offer his condolences for me not making it into SOLDIER?"

"Um..." I stared. He had me there. I wasn't really sure myself.

And he knew it. "Then, with all due respect, sir," he said, falling at ease and walking over to his bed, "it's none of your damn business."

"Okay," I said agreeably, though I was mentally kicking myself. He was right, it was none of my business. But for some reason -- curiosity or my masochistic streak, I'm not sure which -- I followed him into the room anyway. At which point I noticed that his bed was the very nearest to the door.

Understanding hit me like a load of bricks. That alone was a sure sign that he was at the very bottom of the cadet pecking order. Another blatant clue was that his bedding had been stripped, and was lying in a wad of tight knots at the foot of his bed.

I also saw the reason for his noisy destruction of his metal locker. The door had been welded shut, and he'd had to bust it open to get at his personal belongings. An open duffle bag lay on his bare bed, and as I watched, he began shoving his clothes from the ruined locker and into the bag.

"So you're leaving, then," I said.

He snorted. "Brilliant observation. I can see how you made it to SOLDIER 1st Class."

I ignored the barb. I would undoubtedly be bitter too, in his situation. "Where are you going?"

He stopped packing momentarily, and looked at me. "What's it to you?"

"Just curious," I said honestly. "Are you going back home?"

The pain that flashed through his gaze at the mention of home made me wish I hadn't asked. But the pain was quickly replaced by the flat, heatless anger. "I can't go back home," he said, in a tone that said he wouldn't say anything further on the subject. All right then.

"So where?" I pressed.

He slammed a wad of clothes -- also tied in knots, I noticed with a wince -- into the duffle bag. "Does it matter?" Without waiting for an answer, he turned on me, his eyes sparking with misery beneath his fury. "Look," he snapped, "why are you bugging me, anyway? Shouldn't you be off celebrating with the guys who made it? Or did you stop by just to rub it in?"

This was going nowhere. "Come on, gimme a break," I said, holding out my hands in a pleading gesture. "So you don't want a pity party, I understand that."

That took him aback. He eyed me warily. "Then why are you here?"

I shrugged and grinned. "Actually... I haven't figured that out yet."

Again, the anger crept back into his gaze. "If you're here because they set you up to play some sort of prank..."

"I'm not," I protested. He looked skeptical, and I sighed. "Look, okay, you want to know the truth?"

"Should I even care?"

Another good point. His anger was overwhelming his curiosity. And it was increasingly obvious that there was no way my natural charm was going to help me out on this one. I could tell, when he looked at me, that as a SOLDIER 1st Class I represented everything he'd worked for... and everything he would never have. Why should he care, especially if he was planning on leaving all this behind? As the living, breathing symbol of the cause of his misery, even if I knew what to say, there was probably nothing I could do to help.

"I just wanted to ask you a question," I said, feeling suddenly weary. "And you don't have to answer if you don't want to. Just let me ask the question, you can answer or not, and then I'll get out of your way, okay?"

A flicker of curiosity lit his eyes, but he didn't pause in packing. "Fine. Ask." And then leave. The unspoken sentiment was so plain in his body language, he didn't have to say it out loud.

I took a deep breath. "After your interview with Dr. Lambert..." And I trailed off as he tensed so suddenly at the mention of the psychiatrist's name, that for a brief moment I thought he was going to interrupt, or yell, or smash something. But he didn't say anything. He just stood there, looking down at his bed with his fists clenched at his sides, a wad of knotted clothing hanging from one hand.

"What about it?" he asked finally, and his voice was so quiet, I almost didn't hear him.

"Well..." My usual wit had completely failed me at that point. "You stayed. You finished the SOLDIER testing, even knowing..." I shrugged, feeling the bafflement plain on my face. "Why?"

He looked at me for a moment, expressionlessly. "You should know why," he said.

"If I did, I wouldn't be asking."

His face twisted in an expression of frustration and grief and anger. "Because," he said, "Dr. Lambert is a complete moron, and it shouldn't matter what he thinks of me! I thought it _wouldn't_ matter! I thought that if I stayed, if I finished the testing and did my best, that the opinion of _one idiot_ wouldn't keep me from getting into SOLDIER. But I guess that's not the way it works, huh?"

I shook my head, but not because I was disagreeing with him. The picture was slowly coming into focus, and it wasn't pretty. Still, there was a missing piece that I had to have. What had Strife done to get Lambert so angry in the first place?

"He said that you didn't respect his authority," I said.

"I respected his authority," Strife snapped. "Right up until the moment that he tried to get me to..." He stopped abruptly, and his face turned red with anger and humiliation.

I blinked. "To what?" I asked.

But Strife was silent, looking down at the floor, so tense that he was almost trembling.

A sudden horrible suspicion formed in my gut. "Until he tried to get you to do what?" I asked again.

He looked up and glared, but I saw a hint of telling fear glimmering in his eyes as he turned away and began packing again. "None of your damn business," he said. "I answered your question. Now leave me the hell alone."

I blinked as realization hit.

Holy shit. First Scarlet, and now this. A hell of a lot more about Lambert than I ever wanted to know.

The general rule at Shinra was that what you did on your own time was nobody's business, and we all tried to keep that rule. A sort of "live and let live" philosophy. But in my opinion, this crossed the boundary. This took place during an official SOLDIER interview, and was tantamount to blackmail.

I would have gone straight to President Shinra with this, if I thought it would do any good. But I suspected that he probably already knew, since he and Lambert were such good buddies. Persistent rumor had it that the Pres himself had several extracurricular activities along similar lines, unbeknownst to his wife and son. Some of my friends had said that they'd even seen the Pres frequenting the rather kinky slum establishment of the Honey Bee Inn, in the Sector 5 Wall Market...

I decided to stop thinking about that, before my imagination took me places that I did _not_ want to go. Still...

"Look," I said. "This is serious. If Lambert did anything--"

"He didn't." Strife turned on me furiously. "Do you really think I'd let him?"

In spite of the sick feeling in my stomach, I couldn't help but turn up one corner of my mouth in a wry half smile. "No, I think you'd kick his ass first."

My answer surprised him, to say the least. He stared at me for a moment. "Damn straight," he said at last. And then he went back to packing.

I didn't know what to say then. What had been done to Strife was so unbelievably cruel and unfair, I had a hard time grasping it.

And yet, I couldn't help but admire his strength. The fact that he'd hung on till the end, in spite of Lambert. In spite of somehow ending up at the bottom of the ruthless cadet pecking order.

Okay, so maybe my help wasn't wanted, and with good reason. But I couldn't just let it go. There had to be something I could do to fix this miscarriage of justice. I had to at least give him the option to do something about it, rather than just leave him like this.

"Hey," I said. "If you don't have any place to go, why don't you stay here?"

He looked at me as if I'd lost my mind. "What?"

"Not _here_," I said, gesturing at the cadet barracks. "I mean..." I paused. The plan was forming in my mind even as I spoke. "Look. You want to be a SOLDIER, right?"

He didn't answer, but then he didn't have to. The desire was there, still lurking in his eyes, in spite of everything he'd been through. I saw it. Recognized it.

So I continued. "Well, I was just thinking," I said. "What Lambert did was illegal on so many levels, it's not even funny. Still, it won't be easy going up against him, because he's got lots of friends in high places." I shrugged. "But then, so do I. So even though it might take wading through a ton of red tape, and a bit of slick maneuvering, it still might be possible."

Cadet Strife stared at me, thunderstruck. I could see that his mind was whirling, trying to comprehend what I had just said. "Wh... what?" he whispered.

"The thing is," I continued, "it won't happen instantly. If there's one thing I've learned from dealing with these bureaucratic Shinra shitheads, it's that they know how to turn a simple five minute conversation into a six month legal process when something comes up that doesn't immediately interest them, or put money in their pockets." I gave him a pointed look. "So I guess the bottom line is, if you still want a shot at becoming a SOLDIER, that means you'd have to stick around for a bit. At least as a private in the enlisted army for a while, while I try and get Lambert's score overturned."

Strife's eyes were wide, and for a moment, I thought I saw a flicker of hope in his expression. "Why... why would you do that for me?"

I chuckled. "Well, for one thing, nobody, and I mean nobody, has ever put Lambert in his place before."

But maybe that was the wrong thing to say, I realized, as suspicion once again crept into his countenance. Fear, experience, or both, made him refuse to believe in the hope I was offering to him, and he started to slowly shake his head.

"No... this is some sort of sick joke, isn't it," he said. "The guys put you up to this, didn't they." And then, he looked horror-struck with a terrible realization, and his fists clenched. "Or Lambert. Is it Lambert? Did he put you up to this to get back at me?"

"Are you crazy?! Me, work for Lambert, that pasty-faced son-of-a-bitch?" My vehement denial took him by surprise, and he stepped back, his leg bumping into his mutilated locker. At that, I also felt a sharp stab of aggravation and anger towards the pinheads who thought that tormenting the quiet guy was the preferred means of entertainment in cadet school. "Look, Strife," I said seriously, trying to reign in some of my frustration. "I wouldn't do a favor for Lambert if my life depended on it, and as for the 'guys,' I don't even know who you're talking about. As a matter of fact, if I ever find out who roped your clothes and welded your locker shut, I'm going to give them latrine duty for six weeks. This stupid pecking order may be the way Shinra runs things in management, but that's not the way SOLDIERS do things, and it sure as hell isn't the way Sephiroth runs his army."

Strife blinked at me, stunned. And for the first time I could see that he knew I meant business. I leaned forward and looked him in the eye. "You've got more guts and determination than half of my comrades," I said. "If anyone deserves to be in SOLDIER, it's you, kid."

More stunned silence. The look on his face made me wonder if anyone had ever done or said anything nice to him in his life. He didn't seem to know how to cope with it.

"You're serious," he finally said. "Are... are you serious?"

I grinned. "Yeah. So whaddya say? I can't guarantee that it's a sure thing, but I will promise that I'll do my damndest to get Lambert's score overturned. Are you willing to give it a shot?"

He looked down at the duffle bag lying on the stripped bed. After a long moment, he said, "As a private... where would I have to stay?"

I could hear the questions he was too proud to voice. If I stay, do I have to put up with this again? As a private, would I have to endure the same persecution that I did here, on the off chance that you can overturn Lambert's score?

But I could also see that it didn't matter how I answered. I could see that, even if I said that there was a good chance he would fight off bullies every day for the next six months, he was willing to endure it. He would suffer anything to prove himself. Anything to reach the coveted position of a SOLDIER under Sephiroth's command, even if the hope of fulfilling that dream was slim; the chance one in a million.

Seeing that in his face is what finally clinched it for me, I think. I officially liked the kid.

"Privates sleep in the barracks a couple of floors up. It's not much different from this," I admitted.

But Strife just shook his head. "That's okay." He looked up at me. "Sir... it's not that I don't appreciate all this, but... do you mind if I take some time to think about it?"

I could see that he still didn't trust me. Not that I blamed him, after everything that he'd gone through. "I don't mind at all," I said. "I realize it's a lot to consider. Take all the time you want. But if you decide to go with my plan, just let me know. I can help you get enlisted in the army as a private, and settled in properly. Oh, and if you need to find me, talk to the receptionist on the 17th floor, she's the one who keeps track of where I am."

"Thanks..."

And with that, there was nothing really more to say. I was about to leave Cadet Strife alone with his thoughts, when I paused and turned back to him. "Okay, you know when I said that I only had one question? I lied. I've got one more question for you."

He eyed me with suspicion, but without surprise, as if waiting for me to give him the expected last-minute catch to my offer. "What?"

I couldn't help the grin that crept into my expression. "Is it true that you called Dr. Lambert an asshole to his face?"

And for the first time, Cloud Strife's mouth quirked with the ghost of a smile.

"Yes, sir," he said.

I laughed loudly, and clapped him on the back. "Man, Strife, you are my _hero_," I said

As I turned to walk out the door and caught the distinctly perplexed look on Strife's face, I couldn't help but grin.

Hojo's lab is dark when I open my eyes, the only light in the room coming from the eerie green glow of the Mako that fills my cylindrical prison. The sight almost startles me. The cobblestone walls, the shelves upon shelves of books, the various specimen containers lining the walls, the experimentation table in the center of the room...

For a moment, I forgot where I was. Where I've been. I know I've been lost in memory. These days, the line between my memories and my present seems to be increasingly blurry. It's getting hard to tell when I'm awake and when I'm not.

It was a memory of Cloud. The first time I ever met him, when he was just a 15 year old kid, with dreams of becoming a SOLDIER.

I never should have offered to help him. Where did it get him? Not into SOLDIER, but instead, locked away for five years as a lab specimen. The prisoner of Hojo's crazy experiments and hidden agenda.

Only it's not so hidden now. I figured some of it out, didn't I.

That's right. I remember... right before Hojo drugged me for the experiment... the experiment that I can't remember. I told him that I knew he had only been using Jenova in his experiments on Cloud, but not on me. And he didn't like that at all. Heh.

Like I usually do when I... wake up... or stop remembering, I'm never sure which... I look over to see how Cloud is doing.

To my relief, he seems to be sleeping. At least, his eyes are closed now, instead of open and empty, glowing brilliant, unearthly Mako blue.

But... I'm surprised how much he has healed from Hojo's torture session, which was only... a day ago? Two days ago? It's useless, trying to measure time in here. The only way to keep track of such things is to pay attention to what Hojo and the others say about it to each other.

Still, Cloud's bruises are gone. All signs of broken bones, lacerations, gone.

Hell, even the blood that matted his spiky blond hair has disappeared. Which makes me wonder if the Jenova in him managed to suck it back into his body somehow...

"Cloud," I say. My muffled voice still reverberates in the silent basement lab. I need to make sure he's okay. And I've been alone with my own thoughts too long. I desperately need someone to talk to. "Cloud... wake up."

No response.

"Come on, Cloud. Wake up. It's me, Zack."

Still nothing. Cloud is normally a light sleeper. Maybe he's drugged. But Hojo has never left us drugged in between experiments...

"Wake up, Cloud."

Nothing.

"Dammit, wake up," I say, and hear the strains of panic in my own voice. "Come on, Cloud, this isn't funny. Open your eyes!" I reach out and pound my fist on the inner wall of my cylinder. "Wake up, dammit!"

And his eyes slowly open. My surge of relief is short-lived, however, as I see the same, vacant, glowing stare as before.

"Cloud..."

"Zack..." he whispers hoarsely.

He can hear me. I lean forward anxiously, and press both hands against my container. "Cloud, are you okay?" A stupid question, I know. "Can you tell me what's wrong?"

"I... can't move."

I blink in confusion. He looks completely healed to me... "Are you injured? Do you hurt somewhere?"

"No..."

A sudden terrible thought strikes me. "Can you feel your legs or feet?" If Hojo somehow paralyzed him in this last experiment...

"I can... feel them," Cloud says. His voice is so soft, so muffled, I can barely hear him. It's as if forming each word is a great effort. "I just... can't move them."

It's only then that I realize that Cloud hasn't even moved his head to look at me. He's still staring straight ahead with that disturbing blank expression.

"Can... can you look at me, Cloud? Can you move your head?"

"No..." Anguish and fear fill that one-word whisper.

Shit. "Don't give up, Cloud." I'm trying to sound so encouraging, but I can't mask the worry in my own voice. "Try. Please, try."

"I'm... trying..." he says. "But the voices..."

"Ignore the voices, Cloud." It's her. Jenova. She's doing this to him. "Don't listen! Try to focus on moving. Just turn your head towards me, and try to look at me, okay?"

Cloud's lips are the only part of him that's moving. And I can't help but wonder if it's because she's letting him speak. Speak, but nothing else. His weak voice threads its way to me, and the words he struggles to form chill me to the bone.

"I... feel like I'm being sucked into a void," he whispers. "Like I'm... being pushed back into a corner... seeing out my own eyes... hearing... feeling..." Tears start to leak out of the corners of his glowing, unblinking eyes. "But everything seems so far away... and I can't move... Zack, I can't move..."

I press my forehead against the glass, despair eating its way through my heart. "Try and fight it, Cloud. Promise me you won't give up. No matter what, okay?"

"... Okay..."

"You promise?"

"... I... promise..."

"Good." I close my eyes. "And in the meantime, I'll figure out a way to get us out of here. And then I'll find someone who can help you. I promise. I'll find a way to undo what Hojo's done to you."

_It won't be easy going up against him, because he's got lots of friends in high places. So even though it might take wading through a ton of red tape, and a bit of slick maneuvering, it still might be possible... _

That's right. Just a bit of slick maneuvering is all.

I hear 15-year-old Cloud's voice in the back of my mind.

_Why... why would you do that for me? _

The glass is cool against my forehead. "Because we're friends."

_You're serious._ The boy blinks at me uncertainly. _Are... are you serious?_

"Of course I'm serious. Friends forever."

"... forever..." Cloud whispers. Tears slowly track their way from his staring eyes, down his pale skin, glittering green in the Mako mist. "... friends..."

That's right, Cloud. And I will keep my promise. I will get you out of here, and help you, no matter what. I will keep my promise.

Even if it kills me.


End file.

Final Fantasy VII, Fantasy, Suspense