Final Fantasy VII 1. Prologue

Disclaimer: I do not own Final Fantasy VII or any of its characters. This disclaimer applies to all chapters of this piece, so .read on, and don't sue me, you'll get nothing. Also, this story is rated a somewhat mild R for language, violence, and eventual mild sexuality. consider youself warned.

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_Fire, and desolation, death spreading in flames across the bitterly cold expanses and up towards the mountains… Lives fading in the darkness, ephemeral screams silenced as life faded from the night. Smoke blossomed into the cold air, but nothing could relieve the burning in his lungs… In his eyes… As he watched everything he knew crumble before him. _

_Wiping his eyes and leaping over a wave of flames, he stumbled to his knees, listening as the screams burned into his already burnt ears. Lurching upright, he looked around wildly, now aware that there were soft sobs of horror escaping from his lips. _

(This is terrible… So terrible…)

_How could this have happened?_

_"Hey! You're still sane, right?" A loud voice hailed him from afar, and he whirled around, never more grateful in his life to see another person. There the man was, that muscular, wiry old martial artist with the sharp eyes and the powerful legs, kneeling over the body of one of the townspeople._

(A body… we came here to protect these people… And now…)

_The man leapt over another tower of flames and landed near to where the man stood, panting, ash streaking across his now pale features._

_"…What the hell's going on?" The man asked, his voice angry and high. _

_"…I don't know… I have no clue…" The SOLDIER whispered, his voice broken and empty. "…I can't believe…"_

_"Hey, check that house over there! Someone might still be alive! I'll check over here," And the man shoved away, before another word could escape from the SOLDIER's mouth. Turning, he moved through the flames, feeling as his lungs began to burn and his eyes began to cloud and water. Where they tears? He did not think so, but the desperation in his mind was beginning to destroy him. Bursting through the flames, he pushed aside a burning, rickety wooden door and went forth into the burning house. What he saw… No, there was no one left alive in this house… There was rotting flesh, peeling away from too-white bones, an empty skull protruding from the ruins where a kitchen table had been upended… The body was pinned under the table…_

(What monster… What kind of monster would do this…?)

_God… Good God…_

_He turned, leaping out of the tiny ruin of a house before the rest of home collapsed, stumbling and clutching his sword in his hand. This was not his house… Not his home… But to imagine something happening like this, this nightmare, this absolute terror …_

(…Why did you do this?)

_He saw one of the troopers sprawled across the ground, struggling to rise to his feet. His chest rose and fell in sickly gasps, and his face was burnt from the lacing flames flickering around his fading form. Rushing forth to help him, the SOLDIER reached out, his hand grasping for the scrawny form as he laid sprawled across the hard ground…_

_…But his eyes were drawn, inexplicably, elsewhere. It took a moment to focus, through the ashes, the flame, the painful screams… _

_He watched as the last remaining vestiges of life faded from the townspeople, as their sanity left them and they surged forth towards their destroyer out of the darkness. And the demon did not hesitate… His sword flashed out, sinister, sharp, and reflecting the ashen light of the moon above, before it lanced through the air. And before the blood drops hit the ground the man whirled on booted feet, his sword flashed, and another body hit the hard ground beneath. _

_The man paused, once the last one had fallen… And he stood, the slightest hint of a demonic grin on his pale, ashen features. His hand was folded tightly around the hilt of his sword, and even from here, the SOLDIER could see the muscles in his arm twitch with the raw, satanic power that seemed to be literally flowing through him. He stood there for a moment, entire body wreathed in flame, his dark garments rippling with the slight lift of the breezes around him…_

_Before finally, the rose his head slightly…_

_And for an expanse of seconds that the SOLDIER would remember forever, and see in his nightmares, their eyes met…_

_His gentle hazel eyes, usually so kind and full of emotion…_

_Themonster, and his eyes, glowing like embers through the ashen darkness of the night, something evil and sinister shifting behind the glaring color… Those eyes were an ice cold, glacial blue, the empty, soulless gaze of the most utterly perfect, chilling warrior that the Planet had ever seen. His ascension was complete. _

_Cloud Strife's face split in an empty, blank smile as the corners of his lips rose, ever so slightly. His revenge, too, was complete…Now that he stood above the remnants of a town he had burned to the ground... His own_ home...

_And he turned… _

_(I'm going to meet my mother…)_

_…as the Planet screamed in raw, terrible agony. _


	2. Chapter One

**ChapterOne: Watching the Minutes Go By**

The blurry haze vanished just long enough from his vision for him to perceive the wan smile of the man across from him. It took a while of simply staring at that expression for his upper thought processes to kick in, but when they did, he returned the wan smile with a slight tilt of the head and a frown, as if questioning the expression on the other's face. Separated by two slim glass casings, the two men looked at one another for a moment. Any casual observer would have completely missed the unspoken communication between the two, but to the two young men, it was as effective as any spoken words could have been.

The dark-haired man, with the tired hazel eyes and the somewhat desperate smile, tilted his head slightly in a mirror to the other man's movements, raising one of his eyebrows, as if in question.

_Are you okay?_

The other, a man with near-empty eyes and skin so pale it seemed translucent, slowly looked towards the outside of his cell. Hazel eyes followed his gaze, and both pairs of eyes soon rested upon the hunchbacked, withered form standing beyond their glass prisons, scribbling away in a notebook and quietly muttering, ravings incoherent to all but himself.

The dark-haired man scowled bitterly, and the pale man lowered his eyes.

They were "silent" again for a few moments, before the dark-haired man cast another questioning glance in the pale man's direction.

_More experiments?_

The pale man seemed to consider it for a long time, before he shook his head slightly.

_No. Not today._

As the hazel-eyed man watched, his pale companion closed his eyes and fell into another one of his dazes again. They were becoming disturbingly frequent these days, often spanning for several hours at a time. He came out of his dazes with a haunting, increasingly empty gaze in his eyes every time. For now, though, the dark-haired man leaned back into his cell, allowing his half-closed eyes to rest upon the pale form in the chamber next to him. All that mattered was that his friend still lived… That he still breathed, and that starvation, torture, and exhaustion would not claim him. Though he did not know it, the pale man with the silver hair watched the dark-haired man with the same attentiveness.

* * *

He did this from time to time. The dark-haired man watched the other through the thick glass, as the pale man studied one of the sweltering, ugly purple bruises on his arm. Such an ugly mark, against such perfect, flawless skin… And so brutally unforgiving… After a while, the pale man became aware of the other's eyes, and he turned. 

They looked at one another.

No silent communications passed between the two this time, but beneath the cold, uncaring façade, beneath the chilling green gaze, the dark-haired man saw that his companion was suffering. His way of saying it was always so subtle, most people would have missed it. The dark-haired man did not.

His empty, expressionless gaze was his way of saying 'I hurt… I suffer.'

* * *

Sometimes he woke up, and the other was gone. The cell next to him looked so frightening when it was empty… He looked wildly around the basement laboratory beyond his glass prison, and saw nothing. No signs of torture or experimentation, no signs of his companion, or the scientist, or the strange, wraith-like man in the red cloak who occasionally crept into the laboratory. That particular man was a relic of times long past, nothing more than a servant to the scientist and his fiendishly wicked ways. The red-cloaked man wore chains, and he only appeared at sporadic intervals. He had seen the dark-haired man many times, but never the pale one. 

There was some reason for that.

The dark-haired man watched the wraith come nearer to his cage, so near that he seemed to violate some kind of unspoken boundary. It looked as if he was reaching towards the control panel, as if to release the dark-haired one from his cage… But the red-cloaked wraith suddenly fainted, collapsing onto the ground and ending up in an insubstantial heap.

When the scientist returned, accompanied by two shifty looking MP's, he kicked at the helpless pile on the floor.

"…Sleep-walking again. Put him back in his coffin, and lock the door this time… Then put the key in the safe upstairs. Understand? I won't have him messing around with my specimens."

The MP's followed the orders mindlessly, without question. They lifted the red-cloaked form between them and hauled him towards the door.

He disappeared.

The dark-haired man started to pound on the front of his glass case, and the scientist leered at him. It was the last time he ever saw the strange man with the red-cloak.

* * *

A long expanse of time must have went by, because his hair was much longer, his face felt thinner, and his pale companion looked even paler. There were more bruises on his frame this time, and while they healed swiftly it was apparent that they were painful and raw. The pale man did not move often, anymore, and he spent more and more time in a deep, unrelenting haze. 

Sometimes, he still glanced over towards the dark-haired man. Their eyes would meet, and an entire novel of information would pass between the two. This time, the dark-haired man put his fingers to the glass, a sorrowful expression on his face.

_I would help you, if I could._

The other man's pale features did not change.

His eyes, though… The mako glaze in them had intensified.

"Specimen Z shows no reaction… No response… Nothing." The scientist's frustrating mumblings broke through the terrified haze, and he blinked up at the man, unbelieving. Sprawled upon the operation table, his muscular form stinging painfully and his eyes clouded over with a strange, white mist, he desperately attempted to straighten out his own thoughts .

"…Unlike Specimen C, who was hypersensitive," The scientist paused, holding the tape recorder with one spindly hand and looking up at the ceiling, obviously in deep thought. "…Specimen Z is most certainly _immune…_ His natural immune system cannot be suppressed long enough to insert the foreign cells without destroying them… Although his resilience, his strong constitution and his high threshold for pain would make him the _perfect_ candidate… Certain genetic discrepancies seem to be working against us…"

They had injected something silvery in him, and it had seared his limbs for countless hours…

But now it was calming down, and while he was weak and shaky, the pain had faded.

"…Of course, Specimen J-01 is almost completely genetically fused with the sample from Jenova… If his body were to suddenly _reject_ the Jenova cells, the results could be… disastrous… hmmm…But creating such a situation in anexperiment could be useful…"

The dark-haired man saw those glowing, empty eyes from behind the glass prison, and knew they would be filled with pain once more.

* * *

They both slept most of the time. 

Countless hours rolled by.

Sometimes, they could speak.

Not really being able to hear one another, it soon grew easy to read lips, and to simply imagine the tone that the other used. The pale man always sounded cold and flat, so it wasn't really a stretch of the imagination to know what he sounded like. The man with the dark hair and gentle hazel eyes spoke with expression, but he was too tired these days to bother lifting his voice above a flat monotone.

"…Are you okay?" The dark-haired man asked, softly, and the other watched his lips with narrow, half-shut eyes that glowed with the luminous sheen of the lifestream.

"…Yes. I'm fine…"

"What did he do?"

"…I don't know… I'm not really sure whether it was an experiment or not… He didn't say anything…"

"No tape recorder?"

The pale one shook his head.

"…He didn't write anything?"

"…It's not experimenting anymore… It's just torture… He's mad… Because in the scheme of things…" The pale man must have been pausing between words, to take breaths, and his voice must have been much softer and weaker than before. "…He is no longer important…"

"Then why doesn't he just let us _go?_" The dark-haired man asked, desperately.

"…Because he still needs someone smaller than him… Someone he can control…" The pale-eyed man shut his eyes, and the limpness of his features indicated that he was now sleeping.

…Or unconscious.

* * *

Shit, he was bleeding all over. The dark-haired man watched his friend closely, biting his lip and shivering, waiting as the minutes and hours ticked by. The other was bleeding from a wound on his side, a puncture caused by that damn scalpel. The wound gushed warm, red blood steadily, and it was smeared up against the glass in some places… So much blood, so much pain, and his pale friend seemed hardly conscious. Why wasn't the wound healing? Was it because he was weaker? 

The dark-haired man glanced towards the scientist, who stood scribbling something in a notebook, bent low over his workings. He muttered to himself, and for the first time, Specimen Z noticed… The scientist seemed wrinkled, older, there were streaks of gray in his hair where it had been all black before, and his glasses were now thicker… He seemed pastier, more withered and hunched than before…

"GOD DAMN YOU TO HELL!" Before he knew it, the dark-haired captive was slamming his fists mindlessly against the smooth, cylindrical wall of his glass prison, screaming at the top of his lungs. "GOD DAMN YOU FUCKING BASTARD!!!!! I HATE YOU!!!! I HATE YOU!!!!"

He pounded, and pounded, and screamed, and pounded, as the scientist simply turned and watched him. A small tic of amusement spread over the man's face, and he went back to his work.

Specimen Z continued to rage, screaming at the top of his lungs, now crying hysterically. The man standing on the other side of the room paid no heed.

The pale specter in the cell next to him continued to bleed, but his eyes opened, and he studied his friend with growing unease. Finally, he rose weakly to a sitting position, and began tapping against the glass with a weak desperation.

"…Za… Zack… Please… Don't…. He'll…"

It was too late, and the dark-haired man was too enraged to hear. The scientist smirked as he took notes, a new idea coming to mind.

* * *

_I'm so sorry… So, so sorry…_

Among all the hysteria, the raw, unrelenting agony flooding each of his limbs, he repeated it over and over again. He knew his outburst was the cause of this, why they were now both floating, suspended, in a tube of glowing mako. The immersion burned into his skin like liquid fire, paralyzing all forms of conscious thought in his mind… Except that mantra… Over, and over…

_I'm so sorry…_

He did not dare open his eyes, could not open his mouth, tried to distance himself but could not… Suspended in the glowing green, struggling against the haunting specter of his own insanity, fighting to keep his head above the water… God (if he existed), was there no way of blocking out the burning pain, of simply pushing it aside? Would he ever get used to it?

Somehow, he didn't think so. When he tried thinking of something else, his mind came up with a blank. It had been so long, he realized, that the outside world was nothing but a distant, meaningless dream. He thought of the Promised Land from time to time, that old fable his girlfriend had told him, but even that did not console him enough to lessen the endless torture. His body remained suspended.

His mind remained caught in a continual, frozen scream of agony.

He ran his fingers along his face, found that it was unshaven. He must have been young, so long ago, when he had first came into this place… Back then he couldn't even remember being able to grow a beard. Now he was well on his way, as a thick stubble had sprouted all over his chin and his cheeks. What was he now? Did he even know how old he was? He could not remember his birthday, certainly, but time was meaningless where they were. If he could only recall the date that he had fallen into this mess… That this had all began…

Must have been a winter month, because he remembered the cold.

Must have been some time ago… At least a year, he decided, at least a year.

He hoped it was only a year, because something told him that any longer, and the world would move on without them.

It probably already had. He reached up, touched his hair, and smirked. The long locks were now at his shoulders, and he could see a slight hint of a reflection off the surface of the glass before him. His face was definitely older now, and the mako glaze in his hazel eyes was more pronounced. That happened to SOLDIER's when they were near death – the mako glaze would become almost painfully bright, as their bodies rushed to heal in a desperate bid to survive the onslaught. His body was starving, that was plain enough. His face was gaunt, his arms looked thinner than he remembered, and he did not think he had the strength to remain standing on his legs for any length of time. He had not walked, or ran, for as long as they had been in this hellish prison. The musculature on his legs, as a result, had faded away, but so had the rest… No need for the muscles, no need for strength anymore… Even the mako struggled to keep him conditioned.

The other man looked like a pale shadow of his former self. He did not have even the slightest hint of stubble on his smooth features, probably never would, and nor did he look older…

Far more than just one year had passed. In the time they had spent here, the dark-haired man knew he had gone from a teen to an adult, but the other man had not aged at all… Looking at him, as he laid in the glass chamber across, it was apparent he had changed, yes, but he looked almost _younger_ than he had before. His body seemed so gaunt and wasted, it had given him a slim, boyish, almost androgynous look, as his wasted muscles stretched across protruding bone and his long hair grew to frame either side of his face with thinning, silken locks. Because of starvation, his hair – one of the most striking things about his appearance – was falling out. The dark-haired man didn't really think that his pale friend cared, but it was sad to see his once thick hair and how his scalp could clearly be seen through the thin remnants.

How amazing they both must have been… Once real, live, vital humans… Now sad remnants of what humans were supposed to be.

* * *

"…He's not here anymore." 

The pale-man mouthed.

His dark-haired friend looked at him for a long time, before he frowned.

It was true: they had not seen the scientist for quite some time, but they had seen his lackeys. Was it possible that the scientist had left? That bigger and better things were now his concern?

If so, then did it mean that they were left here forever, meaninglessly, to simply die when the time came?

The man with the red-cloak had disappeared a long time ago, back when the dark-haired man's hair had been much shorter, and his body had been more substantial. He had been locked up somewhere, and there was a good chance that the poor, sad apparition of a man was dead now. They were going to meet the same fate as he.

* * *

He stared at his own fist in shock.

What he had just done was unbelievable, but even more unbelievable was the fact that it had worked. The man assigned to feeding them laid crumpled along the ground, his jaw completely shattered and his mouth hanging half open, gurgling blood out of his throat. The tray rested nearby, and the sparse victuals were strewn about the floor beneath.

Slowly, he tottered to his feet. Just like he expected, his legs no longer worked properly, but they were strong enough to stand and remain standing on for long enough to get his bearings together, to realize what he had done. He had just came damn near to killing one of their captors, and there was no immediate repercussion. The old scientist had been missing for quite some time, obviously moved on to bigger and better things, and here he was… Finally free… Unable to even comprehend it. If the world still existed outside of this tiny basement, outside of his glass prison… Was it his time to rejoin it?

For a good five minutes he stood, holding his breath, knowing it was stupidity to simply stand here and yet unable to do anything about it. His blood rushed to his head, he nearly fainted…

"...Shit…"

Finally, he took his most progressive move forward in years. Instead of being forced to crawl on hands and knees, he stepped forth, placing one foot outside of the glass chamber. The leg threatened to give out, but he fought against the inherent weakness and moved the next leg… And the next… And then, he was standing outside of the glass chamber and looking around stupidly. As he stood, he heard the pattering, panicked footsteps of the MP's on the basement stairs… They were coming.

It was a surreal moment. He turned, about to run towards the door and escape into hiding before they could catch sight of him. But his eyes flashed back towards the other glass chamber, and he saw the other staring at him, simply staring, not saying anything. His eyes were empty.

But like always, they spoke of the same message…

'I'm hurt… I suffer… And no one notices… Or even cares…'

_He'd hate me ifhe knew I had him figured out…_

The dark-haired man grinned, and pressed a few buttons on the front of the glass chamber. It swung open, and his pale friend looked up at him in utter amazement. It did not take long, though, for the pale man to stumble to his feet, limping heavily on his left leg. Some time ago, they had inflicted what was intended to be a crippling wound on that leg, severing several key muscles and tendons required for movement. From the looks of things, that wound still had a long way to go before it healed… The pale-man limped heavily on it, even grimacing in pain when he took his first few steps. But the look he gave the other man was strictly business.

"…Your sword."

"Right."

All these years it had been in sight, hanging on the wall nearby. Many times, the dark-haired man had helplessly stared at his weapon, the mighty buster sword, and wished to feel the smooth leather of its hilt in his hand once more, to watch the face of the old scientist cloud up in terror as the blade descended upon his wrinkled, ugly old head… The hateful fantasy of destroying the old man, of carving him piece by piece, had kept the dark-haired captive going far longer than any gentler memories of his life before the glass prison.

He moved faster than his pale friend, for once, taking the buster weapon and moving to block the door to the basement. The first MP entered the room with gun in hand, moving too fast for his own good. The buster sword slew him in a single stroke. The next MP hesitated slightly, but the dark-haired man sprang out from behind the door and impaled him, letting his body fall lifelessly upon the hard, cement ground.

Without remorse, he kicked the body aside and turned back towards the pale, silver-haired man, watching as he slowly made his way across the basement and to one of the spare blades, lying uselessly along the floor. It was not his own weapon, but he did find one that was similar… A bit shorter, but of the same slender, streamlined make. He reached down… Closed his fingers around it… And then they opened, as if burned.

"…No… Something is wrong… I can't use this…"

"…Then leave it," The dark-haired man replied, impatiently. "C'mon. More of these fuckheads are coming!"

Sure enough, another line of MP's came rushing down the stairs, obviously alerted by the dying screams of their comrades. Feeling some of his old strength return, the dark-haired SOLDIER lunged forth and brought the Buster Sword down upon two more MP's, who died almost _effortlessly_ beneath his blade. Killing had never seemed so easy, especially other humans… But it had been so long, and there was a dead something inside of him that _longed_ for blood. He wanted to see those responsible die for this, he wanted to see so many people die… For what he and his friend had been through. These MP's could be the start of it… But the scientist would be next.

"C'mon." He waved towards his friend, who still walked with a noticeable limp. Grabbing the other's arm, he pulled it over his shoulder, and helped the other as they made their slow way up the stairs.

"…Is that all?"

"I guess." The dark-haired man replied. "…Didn't think it would be so easy…"

"It's almost like…" The pale one trailed off, and took a deep, painful breath.

"…Like what…?" Specimen Z asked, gently, knowing his friend was in terrible shape. Best not to push whatever feeble thought process he somehow managed to string together… He was just going to wait, patiently, for the other to gather his thoughts.

"…Nothing. Never mind…"

They emerged into one of the mansion bedrooms, forever leaving the basement behind – a place, where, certainly, their collective nightmares would return them to over and over again. The mansion itself seemed to be on the verge of decay. Long ribbons of dust fell from the ceiling as they made their way through, cobwebs stretched across light fixtures, chandeliers, railing, furniture… The dark-haired man sneezed as the dust wafted into his nose, and the other pulled a cobweb away from his face.

Both of them moved faster when they spotted the door, and when they burst through…

Specimen Z ceased to be a failed science experiment… Now he was Zackary L. Swift of Gongaga once more, SOLDIER first class… Though he no longer wanted anything to do with Shinra, or SOLDIER, or any of it…. He wanted to leave it all behind him, this time for good.

Specimen J-01, limping heavily on a wounded leg, hardly looked like himself… And it took him much longer than Zack to remember who he was and where he was from. He looked around the barren wasteland surrounding them, one hand clutched at his side and the other arm thrown around Zack's shoulders. His pale features finally tensed in a wan, tired recognition of just who, and what he was the moment his eyes found the tall, abandoned Mako Reactor, lingering at the top of the Nibel Mountains.

"Sephiroth. Let's get out of here." Zack muttered, quietly. The other nodded.

All around them, Nibelheim was nothing more than the charred, decayed skeletons of a few old buildings. There was no inn, no shop, no signs of life… It was only a ghost town, and they were now the sole living beings that remained.

"…They didn't even rebuild it… I wonder what happened…" Zack commented, after a few moments. "…Wouldn't Shinra wanna cover it up? Like they always do?"

"No… It's beenrebuilt." Sephiroth said, his voice the softer and weaker of the two. Still, his powers of observation were uncanny. "…All these buildings were burned down recently… Nibelheim was burnt to the ground a second time."

"How long do you think it's been?" Zack asked, after a few moments.

"…I don't know… But you were shorter when we went in there… and Hojo looked younger… It was a long time…"

Zack waited for Sephiroth to say more, but the silver-haired man seemed too exhausted to bother with anything else.

Instead of waiting for Sephiroth's verdict, Zack cast one last glance inside of the mansion…

_I wonder… will it suck me back in?_

…And then turned towards the path that led out of the ghost town and down from the foothills where Nibelheim had once been situated.

"Let's get out of here."

* * *

**end of chapter one**

_A note from the author:_ _hey. first time author here, and I appreciate feedback. Keep in mind its an AU (hence the seph/cloud character switch that took place) but feel free to criticize/comment/question as you see fit. And if you actually liked it, don't worry, there's much more to come. _


	3. Chapter Two

**ChapterTwo: A different time and place**

_God_…

Frowning, Zack Swift of Gongaga came to stand over his friend, studying his features and swiftly deciding that the condition the other was in was a cause for worry. As he moved closer, his boots crunched the stale, dry grasses into the ground, causing the other to blink and stir slightly in the pale twilight. A few moments after the disturbance, a pair of glowing mako eyes slid open and focused on Zack's worried face.

"…Maybe we should have stayed in the town. At least there was shelter there." Sephiroth said, tiredly.

"…Yeah, well, I didn't wanna stay there any longer than I had to." Zack plopped down next to Sephiroth, and together, they lingered on a rocky outcrop, overlooking the valley before. They weren't terribly far from Nibelheim, but the area around the foothills was deserted and empty, devoid of any signs of sentient life. There were no animals, either, and the vegetation manifested itself in a few sparse grasses painfully clinging to life on the dry, barren soil. It was nothing but desolation for miles around, and there was not a light to be seen.

"…Ya think the world ended or somethin', while we were in there?" Zack asked, not able to bear the silence. "…Maybe we're the only ones left?" He threw his arms over his upraised knees, and leaned back, looking at the stars. Sephiroth, in response, let out a low sigh.

"…These lands have never been very populous."

"Yeah. But they didn't look dead, either. How long do you think its been?"

Sephiroth looked back up at Zack, and the younger man watched the shadows in his friends gleaming eyes for a few moments. The color was Lifestream… No other way of describing it, really. Not even someone better at words than Zack could come up with better description. Sephiroth had lifestream eyes.

_Even so, they're still unnatural…_

"I tried counting it." Sephiroth said, surprising Zack. "…I lost track at around five hundred…"

"Five hundred what?"

"…Days."

"How the heck didya count days? I never had any clue what time it was, or what day it was…"

"Hojo. He lives in the same rut… Day after day… He does the same things…. Passes by our cells at the same time… Studies in the library at the same time… It's always the same." Sephiroth scowled, a rare hint of emotion passing over his features. The only emotions he ever showed, really, were anger and contempt towards others… Zack couldn't remember seeing his friend smile, or laugh, or even smirk… Not for a long time, anyway.

"…I used to be able to keep track of it… But I lost count…"

"So… Five-hundred days… That's like… um…" Zack bit his lip, trying to visualize the numbers in his head and failing. Like always, Sephiroth broke in with the answer before Zack could even begin, but he no longer sounded irritated… Like he would have an entire lifetime ago.

Now he seemed oddly patient.

"…One year, one-hundred-thirty-five days… But I lost track a long time ago…" Sephiroth's voice faded out, and he closed his eyes again. Zack could sense his friend's exhaustion, and it worried him.

They were silent for a few minutes, but Zack could not keep his mouth shut for long. That was how it always was, both here and now, and in the past. Nature abhorred a vacuum, and so did Zack.

Right now, they were in a vacuum.

"…His hair turned gray." Zack said, after a short silence. "…There were streaks, at least… He aged while we were in there…"

"The entire world aged."

Zack liked to talk to Sephiroth – the man was brilliant, doubtlessly – but he had an uncanny ability to send a terrible chill down Zack's spine.

_He's good at saying really creepy things…_

The dark-haired man let out a hoarse sigh, after a few moments, and looked down at his friend. Sephiroth was tense, his leg seemed to be splayed at an awkward position, and the slight frown on his features indicated something about him was in disarray. Zack scooted closer through the dark.

"…Hey, Seph… Let me get a look at your leg."

"…Don't touch it."

"C'mon, man. What if it's infected?"

"…The mako will take care of it." Sephiroth opened his eyes, warningly. "…Don't."

"Seph…"

Sephiroth scowled. "…There's no flesh wound… I'm just… Weak."

Hearing Sephiroth say the dreaded word – 'weak' – sent another chill down Zack's spine. If there was one thing that the silver-haired man did not do, it was refer to himself as 'weak'. Everyone else in the world was weak – Hojo, President Shinra, the rest of the SOLDIER's, Rufus… Not Sephiroth. Even now, when it was painfully apparent that Sephiroth was in a bad way, Zack did not even want to think of his companion as being 'weak.'

"…C'mon… Just let me take a look. I mean, it might be swollen or something…"

"Don't worry about it." Sephiroth murmured, shutting his eyes again. Zack watched him for a while longer, before letting out an exasperated sigh and turning his eyes back towards the distant, pale horizon.

The harrowing silence in the night reminded him of the Nibel Reactor, and Zack could not suppress a horrible shudder this time, just thinking about it.

"…Sephiroth."

No response, but he could tell the other man was still awake and listening.

"…What happened?"

A silence. Sephiroth did open his eyes, but he did not answer.

"I've been thinking about it for so long… But I still don't understand any of it."

"Nor do I."

"…C'mon. You've gotta know something I don't…"

"I hardly remember… Any of it."

"Oh." That was understandable, because the fine details were fading in Zack's mind, retreating into a haze of pain, fire, anguish, screaming, and dark. Only one thing remained truly clear: the face. Visualizing it in his mind, he saw that demonic little grin, the soulless mako eyes, the pale brow and the thick shock of yellow hair…

"God… Spike… Why would you…?" Zack said, softly.

He knew Sephiroth heard, but he said nothing.

After a long while, Zack plopped down next to Sephiroth, and the two lingered in the cold and the darkness. Sleep was impossible, but it was nice to stretch out along the grasses and see the stars, to trace the constellations on their route through their heavens… Even without knowledge of the future, and with no certainty about the past, Zack derived comfort from the fact that both he, and Sephiroth, had escaped their glass prison together.

* * *

Morning dawned with the same silence, and Zack groggily rose to a sitting position. He had been curled up like a dog, his head buried in Sephiroth's shoulder and his knees pulled to his chest. The position was strange, unnatural – but born out of as simple practicality. For untold days, they had been cramped in the tiniest space, never able to truly stretch out their legs in the confines of the prison. Sephiroth still slept, but Zack could see he was ill and pasty by the morning light. 

_...He's always been pale, but he looks all yellowy_…

Zack sighed, and lightly reached forth, brushing some of Sephiroth's fine, silvery hair off his forehead. The man would have hated to hear it, but the way his bangs dangled about his face and the strangely unguarded expression on his face made him look almost shockingly young.

_But he's not really that old… Maybe a couple years older than me, really…_

Sephiroth may have acted like a forty-five year old, Zack decided with a grin, but he was probably in his late twenties or early thirties, at the most.

A few moments later, it occurred to him that he was smiling… Yes, smiling. The expression came almost _too_ naturally. It was a sign either that he was going insane, or that he was actually _recovering _from the hellish experience. Zack would have put money on the former, but it was so much easier to think that it was the latter…

Sephiroth awoke, interrupting Zack's thoughts.

"Hey, Seph. Good morning!"

Sephiroth looked up with the same grogginess Zack had felt, and Zack flashed him a sunny grin. The expression must have shocked Sephiroth, because Zack saw one of his silvery eyebrows raise in question.

"…Sleep well?" Zack asked, after a moment.

"No." Sephiroth moved to a sitting position, trying to hide the discomfort stemming from his wounded leg. Zack tried to ignore it, tried to tell himself that he shouldn't be worried…

…No, it was against his nature.

"…Seriously… It's light now. Why don't you take a look at it?"

"It's _fine_." Sephiroth said, icily.

"Uh-huh…" Zack scoffed. "…Look… Whadda we do now, Seph?"

* * *

Sephiroth looked at Zack, unable to believe how much _this_ Zack sounded like the Zack from memory… The confident nineteen-year old, the same boy who had accompanied him through Wutai, to Nibelheim, and to countless other missions in between. Zack's cheerful hazel eyes seemed virtually unchanged, and the hint of the warm smile remained on his lips as he looked at Sephiroth. He was so patient, and kind… 

_Do I deserve this_?

He feared that the answer was a resounding no…

Sephiroth frowned slightly, and shook his head. He was not past the shock, not yet… Zack might have recovered, but Sephiroth felt numb and distant, like the world around him was a million miles away. Maybe it was the final proof that he needed, the sole reminder that Zack was stronger than he was, that the dark-haired man sitting across from him was both more resilient and hardier than he was. But maybe it was nothing more than the most fundamental difference between their personality. Zack's life was rooted in optimism and hope; those words, to Sephiroth, were meaningless.

He respected Zack deeply, and his respect for the other had only grown over the years. Zack had started out as nothing more than an annoyance, a bother, someone who offered him something he did not know or want: friendship. But as the years stretched on, he grew to trust Zack, something Sephiroth had never placed in _anyone_. Now, after a period of seemingly endless hell, Zack had been the one to save them, Zack had been the one to fight, and Zack had been the first to bounce back, something Sephiroth thought was impossible. He could still see the pain in the other's eyes – it would probably always be there – but it was a side note. The warmth and caring in their hazel depths belied any negative emotion present.

"…Hey, Seph! Ding-dong? Didya hear me?"

Some might have thought that Zack's continual state of bliss was simply ignorance – including Sephiroth, years ago – but now he knew that Zack was simply a far better person than he himself was. Coming back to the present, he frowned and attempted to focus his thoughts on answering the question.

His mind was inescapably foggy. Every time he attempted to think, he had to wade through walls and walls of mist, leading him to believe that he was simply losing his mind.

* * *

"Hey. Earth to Sephiroth. Any signs of life up there?" 

Zack saw a hint of a familiar expression on Sephiroth's face – the usual slight irritation – and could not help but grin.

_Getting back to normal, isn't he?_

But there was still something off about his friend, whether he denied it or not. Sephiroth normally seemed so precise and alert, but now there was a strange haziness in his expression. He seemed distant, as if his mind was elsewhere… Still caught up in pain and darkness.

"We should travel southwest, towards the cities… Costa Del Sol, if it's still there…" Sephiroth muttered, in his low, slightly commanding tone.

"If it's still there?"

"This could be an entirely different world from the one we remember."

"Jeez, lighten up!"

Sephiroth ignored him, as usual.

"…And we had better be cautious… We are former Shinra employees…"

Hearing Sephiroth refer to them as 'former' employees reassured Zack – Sephiroth, too, was now ready and willing to completely abandon _all_ ties with Shinra, no matter what the repercussions.

"…Our appearance makes it obvious that we were SOLDIERs, anyway… And we have no clue what position Shinra holds in the world these days…" Sephiroth always sounded the most comfortable when outlining plans of action, and right now, he looked like he was in his element.

"You know, that reactor was shut down."

"…I know." The comfort in Sephiroth's expression did not last for long. His eyes became distant again, and his gaze turned towards the distant Nibel Foothills. Up there, the reactor still remained, a silent, grim reminder of days long past, of a tragedy neither one of them understood. Zack saw the pain in Sephiroth's eyes, but did not push – no, neither of them wanted to talk about it. Not yet.

"…It's been a very long time…" Sephiroth commented, after a moment, before looking back towards Zack. "…We should be off."

"All right." Zack rose to his feet with eagerness, unable to deny one thing: he _wanted_ to get as far away from Nibel as possible. Hefting his buster sword in one hand, he watched as Sephiroth struggled to rise to his feet. Zack contemplating reaching forth to help, but knew it was futile. Sephiroth _never_ accepted help from anyone, no matter how much trouble he was in… Just another strange facet of the older man's personality.

_But now I know why he is the way he is…_

Sephiroth was cold, as tough as nails, unrelenting, and inscrutable, but only because he had been raised in the very same hell they had just escaped from.

_Shit… Hojo… Can't believe it…_

"Zack?" Sephiroth questioned, and while his voice was flat, Zack heard the smallest note of concern deep within. It almost made him smile, just thinking how much Sephiroth cared and yet how much the man tried to hide it.

"…Yeah, sorry. Sorta checked out for a moment there." Zack smirked slightly, putting a hand to his hip. "…Ya know, I couldn't figure it out before… Why you looked so different… But now I know. You don't have your sword, man… Why didn't you grab one of the ones lying around?"

"I couldn't…" Sephiroth trailed off, and shook his head, mindful not to reveal too much about his mind's inner workings. "…It wasn't right…"

"So we gotta get you something else… Maybe."

Sephiroth said nothing, and he tottered for a few steps, before visibly tensing and taking his first real step on his tender, injured leg. He managed quite well, surprisingly enough, especially given the amount of struggling from last night. Zack watched his gait for a few paces, before moving into a trot alongside his friend. Together, the two men started their trek, going south at a somewhat shambling pace. Neither of them were in good shape – Zack's legs were still stiff, and Sephiroth limped heavily, trying to avoid putting weight on his injured leg.

They were silent for the first few minutes of travel, but Zack could not hold his mouth for long.

"…We gotta find somethin' to eat." Zack smirked slightly. "We both look like we've been doing some serious dieting lately, man."

"Hmm." Sephiroth's response was a short grunt, a drastic change from his usual precise articulacy. Every one of his actions, every aspect of his appearance, everything… All of it seemed to point to how exhausted and ill Sephiroth really was. The cloak he wore differed from his usual attire – it was nothing but a plain black trenchcoat made out of thick, ragged black cotton, over a pair of black, baggy soldier pants that sagged on his starved frame. His eyes were lined, and despite their outward emptiness, Zack could see the pain, barely below the surface.

_His eyes haven't always been like that, have they?_

Zack hoped not, and couldn't remember far enough back to be sure.

"So, uh… If we get to Costa Del Sol, then what?"

"You're getting ahead of yourself." Sephiroth said, in his usual lofty manner.

"C'mon… It ain't that long of a trip." Zack replied, in his typical cheerful timbre. "Do you think we should just stay there? The weather's always nice… And warm… Sunny…"

"We'll see when we get there." Sephiroth muttered.

"Really?"

"Yes."

"…Jeez, Seph, you must have gotten ten years younger when we were in there… You mean to tell me you don't have a complete battle plan mapped out for us?"

Sephiroth limped silently for a few moments, before replying, "We don't know what we'll find."

His words sobered the younger man immediately, and Zack nodded, after a pause.

"Guess you're right. How long d'ya think it'll take to get there?"

"We can't walk the entire way… It will take forever." Sephiroth said, after a moment. "…If we keep on heading southeast, we should make it to Quartz by nightfall. If we're lucky, the trains will still be running…"

"What makes you think everything's changed for the worse, Seph?"

Sephiroth looked at Zack rather sharply, but he quickly picked up on the seriousness in the younger man's tone.

"…When have things ever changed for the better?"

Zack only looked at him.

This time, the two were silent for a duration of about ten minutes, concentrating on the road beneath them, instead of the road ahead. Zack frowned at the dead grasses underneath his feet for a while, before his mind suddenly delved back into his past life. A series of faces flashed through his mind, some with names attached, some nameless… Hopeless curiosity overwhelmed him.

"…You know, I wonder how Aeris is doing…"

"Aeris? Your girlfriend?"

_So he does pay attention_… Zack cast a brief smile in Sephiroth's direction, and nodded.

"Yeah. You remember her, huh?"

"…Vaguely," Was Sephiroth's reserved response. Zack snorted.

"Huh. You remember every detail, I'll bet, 'cuz I've told you about a million things about her… Even though you _acted_ like you were ignoring me…"

"I was _trying_ to ignore you."

"Oh, yeah, I'll bet." Zack scoffed, sarcastic. "…Really, though…If it's been a pretty long time, she might think I eloped with someone, or something like that. You know?"

Sephiroth did not reply, but Zack could tell the other was listening.

"She might already be married, have a family… You never know."

"I doubt it."

"You doubt it?" Sephiroth did not elaborate, but Zack considered it for a while, before stuffing his hands in his pockets and refocusing on the ground. "Yeah, I doubt it… I mean… She was, like… A year younger than me, or something… And I sure as heck know I'm not old enough to think about a family right now…"

Sephiroth did not know family, Zack remembered… Had no clue, really, what a family was supposed to be like, how they were supposed to treat one another, what loving another family member was supposed to be… It saddened Zack, to think that Sephiroth's only idea of family was…

_Hojo._

_I don't know which of us has more right to kill him… Sephiroth, for what Hojo did to him, or me, for what Hojo did to my friend… the bastard…_

Sephiroth must have noticed his sudden silence, and the raw _hatred_ emanating from Zack, because those gleaming mako eyes focused on the younger man again, curiously. Zack looked up, catching Sephiroth's gaze with his own.

"…If we do one thing, Seph… We have to make that old fuck pay."

Sephiroth did not need to ask or consider it. The coldness in his eyes, instead, spoke clearly.

"…We'll kill him."

* * *

Midday and Zack was still recounting memories. They had stopped to rest by a dried up old brook somewhere on the endless plains between the small city of Quartz and Nibelheim, and Sephiroth sat in a deep haze of thought. Zack did not ask him what was going through his mind, but he continued to run through his old list of acquaintances, ticking them off on his fingers. 

"Reno, he was Shinra too, the stupid punk… Probably a Turk by now, too… You know, that kid bugged me. Remember him? He was the weaselly little messenger boy during the war… And Tseng, that deserter from Wutai… He's probably way up there, too, if the Turks are still around. I liked him, you know. He was a good guy, I thought… Sure, he was a traitor to his own country, but the guy was smart, not a coward… Knew what it took to save his skin…"

Sephiroth continued to gaze towards the horizon, a distant look on his face, but he gave Zack a short nod that proved, if anything, that he _was_ paying some attention.

"…And Rude… He was a Turk when we left, wasn't he? Just got promoted… Who else do we know? We've been through all the SOLDIERs… Uh…" Zack paused, another face springing up from his unbidden memory and plastering itself into his mind's eye. "…Tifa. Do you remember her?"

This time, Sephiroth looked up sharply. "…The guide?"

"Yeah… D'ya think she died, Seph?"

Sephiroth's voice conveyed no emotion, but something seemed to kindle within his veiled lifestream eyes.

"…She was bleeding heavily by the time we arrived. I doubt she lived."

"…Yeah… Still… It's nice to think that maybe… Christ, someone else had to have survived…!"

"I don't know. _He_ killed those that weren't burnt to death in the fire." Sephiroth's calm, taciturn manner of speech disconcerted Zack, but the thought of _him_ frightened Zack even more. There were many unexplained things in the world, stuff that Zack was sure he would never understand… And just what had happened in Nibelheim, on that painful, fateful night in late October, was something he knew he would never fully fathom, for as long as he lived. The forces at play that night had been utterly beyond imagination.

"…Maybe Zangan survived. The old martial artist guy, remember? I don't think he got burnt in the fire, and I didn't see him in the reactor…"

"Possibly. But we have no clue what happened after the reactor…"

"Hell, we have no clue what happened _in_ the reactor."

Sephiroth did not reply, although Zack saw the slight hint of consternation spread over his friend's taciturn features. Now was the time, if any, to talk about it. So many hours and days had passed by since everything had happened… But so much pain and tragedy had been compounded into one night, it still stood out clearly in both of their mind's. Zack knew he would never forget it as long as he lived… Never understand it, either.

"…I still don't know why it happened the way it did."

Sephiroth's gaunt features seemed shadowed, even in the pale midday sun. He said nothing, but Zack kept talking.

"…I can't even understand why anyone would do that… especially to their home-town. It doesn't make any sense… And all the other stuff that happened…"

Sephiroth still remained silent, but Zack captured the other man's gaze with his own, making sure that Sephiroth remained looking at him.

"…You have to know more than I do."

"I don't know anything."

"…Seph… C'mon. What happened? How did _you_ end up in the lab with me? In terms of skill, there is no way he could have _ever_ defeated you, it doesn't matter what the hell he was… You were the most powerful man on the planet… So what happened?"

Sephiroth looked at Zack for a long time, expressionlessly, wordlessly, before giving his head a slight shake.

"I don't remember."

"You don't remember," Zack stated, incredulously.

"No."

"You remember _everything_."

"Not this."

"…But you remember Tifa… And you remember running into the reactor after him… What did you say to him?"

"…I don't remember."

"How could you _not_?"

"Look." Sephiroth's tone became almost menacing in an instant, as the deep anger and pain resurfaced in his glowing lifestream eyes. Zack had seen the same look a number of times during the Wutai war, and while they were in the lab, but right now, it terrified him – he still feared Sephiroth's anger when it was directed towards him, even given the state the man was in at the moment. "All I remember is taking my sword and going to face him… After that, I can't even tell you what happened. We might have fought one another… I might have killed him, but been brutally injured in the process… I might have even lost. I don't know."

_I don't know._ Zack saw his friend's confusion and shivered, trying not to think of the implications of those words. Sephiroth not knowing was something that occurred so infrequently, Zack could not even pinpoint the last time that it had happened. The other man always seemed in control, as if he owned the world he stood upon, like everyone else was submissive to him… Always so calm and in control, almost lofty, but now…? Sephiroth seemed like a shadow of his original self.

"…I… I'm sorry, Seph… I guess you don't know any more about it than I do…"

Sephiroth seemed somewhat surprised by the apology, but a frown spread over his face after a few moments, and he slowly shook his head.

"…It's like being in a fog…"

"You got that right," Zack muttered, though he was unable to hide the fact that Sephiroth's words and tone of voice worried him. "…I can't remember a whole lot about what happened in the Reactor… I think… I think I remember seeing you… And Tifa… And… I don't know…"

They were silent again, and before Zack could break the silence, Sephiroth rose shakily to his feet and started across the dry streambed.

"We should get moving."

"Oh… Yeah… Right…"

Five minutes later, Zack was once more ticking off faces and names on his fingers. "Let's see… Rufus Shinra… Think he's still the Vice President?"

"If Shinra's still around, why wouldn't he be?"

"…Someone mighta knocked off old man Shinra. You never know. Old bastard screwed over a lot of people…" Zack scowled. "…It would serve him right…"

Sephiroth said nothing, but Zack could almost feel the anger emanating off his long-time friend.

"…Not to mention, I think that fat old butterball was well on his way to a stress heartattack, last time I saw him."

It was hard to tell, but Zack swore he saw a slight smirk on Sephiroth's face. Taking it as a sign to continue, Zack moved on down through the Shinra hierarchy.

"Betchya that old broad Scarlett still works for them, along with that prat Heidegger… Two dumb asses if I ever saw 'em, though I guess Scarlett knew her stuff. Can't say the same about Heidegger… And Palmer, ugh, you remember how he drank his tea with lard?"

"Yes."

"That is just about the most disgusting thing I've ever heard, ya know? Who else? Who else did we know at Shinra…? Oh, I betchya Reeve is still working there. He was an okay guy… Bit of a weasel, maybe, but I never hated him like I did the others…"

"… I never want to see any of them again."

Zack smiled wanly in Sephiroth's direction. "Ya know what? I don't either."

* * *

Afternoon shadows soon stretched across the ground before them, and not long after, the hint of another deep twilight fell upon the two travelers. Zack kept a close eye on Sephiroth the entire time, watching the other man's pale outline and studying his limp with care. It appeared, to Zack, that the wound was centered somewhere around his knee, although it was impossible to be sure. While Sephiroth still moved quickly, he was devoid of his usual grace and dignity. Each step came with effort, although the pain did not show on his taciturn faces. 

No, that was typical Sephiroth, the only man in the world who could probably be lit on fire and still not elicit a response.

(He seems kinda different, though.) Zack studied Sephiroth from where he trailed along behind the man, watching the lean outline of his back through the long, dark cloak he wore. His first impression did not lie – Sephiroth seemed different, somehow, oddly wilted and almost painfully weak.

(Not even like him…)

Zack's thoughts stopped abruptly, as his foot sank into a gopher hole and he let out a loud grunt, stumbling and pitching forwards towards the ground. Wildly, he wrenched his foot from the hole and hopped on one foot for a moment, before finally tripping over a pile of dried twigs and falling flat on his face.

A few moments passed before Zack dared to look up. Sephiroth now stood slightly ahead of him, looking at the younger man with one of his silvery eyebrows arched and a slightly disdainful look on his face. Zack looked at him, and he looked back for a few moments, neither saying a word.

Sephiroth, Zack decided, looked exactly like Sephiroth, for the briefest couple of seconds – and it almost seemed like another of his sardonic remarks was coming on, the kind of dark humor only Zack got to hear, but the expression faded and Sephiroth looked tired and weary again.

"…Come on. I think we can reach Quartz in an hour or so, if we keep moving."

"Quartz?" Zack questioned, stiffly rising to his feet.

"…On the Nibel province Border… A small farm-town."

"…Never been there before. Have you?"

"A few times." Sephiroth replied, shortly, but his form was already receding through the night.

"…Know anyone there?" A few moments later, Zack smirked at his own idiotic question. It was a curious thing, really, one he had wondered about it for the first few years that Sephiroth and he had known one another. No matter where they go, no matter what end of the Earth they traveled to, it had always seemed like Sephiroth never found home… Like what Zack had felt, the one time they'd done a mission somewhere in the Gongaga area…

(But what about… Him? He didn't want to go home, he didn't want to be seen by the people in his hometown… because he wasn't a SOLDIER… but… why?)

"…Seph?"

The other man stilled walked slightly ahead of him, and, like always, it was impossible to tell whether or not Sephiroth was listening.

"…Why did it happen? Why the _hell_ did it have to happen like that? It just doesn't make any sense… Why would he…?"

Sephiroth did not reply, but the questions were rhetorical. Instead, he crested a hill with his long, slightly limping stride, and stood at the top, eyes narrowing slowly.

"Zack…"

"Yeah?"

The dark-haired man crested the top of the hill, and he saw it, too.

Below them was Quartz, once a thriving small town on the border of the Nibel Province.

… The town was now as empty and still as death, inhabited by nothing but abandoned, dusty old buildings and remains.

It was as if the entire world had been abandoned.

"Wait. I don't want to go down there."

* * *

Sephiroth paused, hearing Zack's voice, noting that it was softer than usual. Turning slightly, the silver-haired man studied his friend with interest, contemplating his tone. Was it fear, perhaps? In all the times since the Wutai War, Zack had not shown an ounce of fear, but the expression in his eyes seemed very close to being just that. Not wanting to look any longer, Sephiroth turned back towards the abandoned city below them. 

"…There's nowhere else to stay for the night." Sephiroth said, after a moment of silence. His eyes roved over the outlines of the deadened buildings, before he started down the hill once more. Each time he put weight on his wounded leg, sharp, stabbing pains started in the knee and shot downwards and upwards through the entire leg, and a slight wave of dizziness overcame him… He had not looked at the injury, but he knew when it had happened…

Only a few days ago… A scalpel… Pain… Dizziness… The details were fading already, disappearing into an endless haze of dark agony. How long it had been, he truly did not know… But he and Zack had spent forever in those dark glass prisons, nothing more then experiments for a madman.

(God Damn you, Hojo…)

The thought, as vehement as it was, trailed away into the fabric of his mind, and he remained focused on the city below. It grew nearer and nearer, until finally he was limping along the main street, eyes trailing about for signs of decay, of disease, of whatever strange plague had damaged the entire world…

It soon became readily apparent to each of his senses. He heard the winds whistling through empty buildings and open windows, but he could smell ashes, and he plainly saw that several buildings were badly damaged, inside and out. Fire, he assumed… Explosions… The streets were cobbled as if an earthquake had struck, deep rends in some areas… Abandoned houses, empty businesses, not a sound or a light emanating from within…

"…They must have been attacked suddenly…" Zack murmured, from behind.

Sephiroth turned to him, and gave the man a slight nod. "Yes. But they had time to get out. There are no bodies."

"…How long d'ya think it's been like this?"

Sephiroth turned, his sharp, glowing mako eyes once more roving over the empty streets. Finally, they rested upon a fluttering newspaper, half-hanging out of a dispenser as the wind tore at it. The silver-haired man snatched it before it could fly away, and studied the headlines. Zack immediately attempted to look over his shoulder.

"Huh! Two-headed Calf Born to Farmer Jones?" Zack read, sarcastically. "Not a lot of help, is it…? But ya know, I'd like to see a two-headed calf… That does sound kinda interesting… I-"

"…The Date." Sephiroth said, quietly. Zack froze, and in the darkness, the two men stared at the paper with a new air of solemn worry and pain.

"…Seph…?"

"…This paper seems fairly recent, judging by the shape the paper is in… But the date… It's been over five years…"

And they fell silent once more, bathed in cool night breezes, under the pale moonlight. Around them, the lands seemed even quieter than before.

"Five years…" Zack murmured. "…Man…"

They had spent five years in the lab of a madman…

…And it seemed, for the time being, that the two – Sephiroth, former General of the Shinra Army, and his lieutenant Zack – were the only ones left in the entire world.

* * *

Author's note: hey... anyone wanna leave a review? insert cricket noises here.> ...No...? Okay, I get the point, but I'll keep writing and shamelessly begging for them, anyway. please review, and tell me whether this sucks or not. 


End file.

Final Fantasy VII, Drama