Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

εγλ 07/12/██-3

Arrive to upheaval. Be preoccupied the whole way—agonise over mistakes, regret big fat mouth, the whole shebang. Cringe even when no one brings it up. Matter of principle thing. Forget about it within seconds: Sephiroth’s here.

Sephiroth’s here, every long-dead inch of him. And his sword. And his propensity for murder. Lose sight of the President—probably get a demerit for that. Wait, not in school anymore. What’s the adult equivalent, again?—and be led by Hardware Rude away from the seafront all the way to the grimy city within. Feels familiar. Like the Academy. Probably the same kinds of cliques here, but troopers instead of sororities. Probably school was worse—those catty bitches could be vicious. Probably, probably.

Don’t feel much of anything but curiosity at your first dead body. Didn’t know him, no point being sad. Not your job to write the letters home. Wonder about the wound. Blade must’ve been sharp, to cut that clean. First one would’ve died right away. Reckon the second bled out. Messy. Stinks. Not bothered, but don’t get too close, all the same. Just like the troopers, standing back. Hesitant. Rude doesn’t have time for that. Gets close, gets personal. Gets blood on his gloves.

[J-1.1] About time you turned up.

Jump about a mile high. No infantry’s brave enough to get this close. Gotta be—

[J-2.1] Don’t act so cool, partner.

[J-1.2] Or what, you gonna send me back to the hospital?—Hey, kitten. They let you in, then?

Forget all about the body. Wish you had claws to unsheathe. Look Reno right in his too-bright eyes—not Mako, can’t be Mako, they only give that shit to SOLDIER—take in the bruising, the scuffs. Decide: junkie. Get beat down, pop a hyper, back to work. Can’t feel shit when you’re buzzing. Regret not joining sooner so you knew him better—could hug his cracked ribs sore again. Hope they’re cracked. Unkind. Not enemies. Not now. Not ever. Cocksure little prick all the same. Deep breath. Sweetest smile you can muster.

[J-4.6] Do I need to pull my credentials for you? Sir?

Both suits share a glance. Well-practised, as is the grin they share.

[J-1.3] Fuck no. You think I got time to read? Come on—we got work to do.

From the desk of Elena, General Affairs:
ShPSF-1207-█████ [ GA/077 ]

Three infantrymen discovered dead by stabbing on εγλ 07/12/██ in the ██████ area, Upper Junon. Refer to attached media for a detailed breakdown of injuries. Both myself and Reno conducted personal interviews with ████, █████ and █████ (ID numbers attached). Witnesses all agree the assailant was General Sephiroth. No weapon left at the scene, but all agree “Sephiroth” used his signature katana. All witnesses agree that prior to the murders, a man “wearing a black cape” had been sighted around Upper Junon. Sightings infrequent and isolated. “Sephiroth” did not engage until approached, reportedly when he attempted to enter █████████. Other than the murders, sightings went unreported to senior management and as a result security has remained unchanged even ahead of the President’s visit. Recommend that infantrymen do not move alone even off-duty. Stay alert at all times and do not engage if the General is sighted again. SOLDIER should be ready for combat until further notice.

Be the reason Rufus is running late post-parade. Fucking boy’s club. Spend fifteen minutes in the cadet’s bathroom making the world’s most uncomfortable tampon with half the roll. Curse the whole while. Distinctly hear someone open the door, pause to listen. Close the door again. Good. Fuck ‘em. Decide to give Tseng an earful when he has a minute—he has no minutes. Nevermind. Decide to give Reno an earful. He listens, at least. Doesn’t interrupt the whole thought-through rant. Then he suggests with potential sincerity superglue as a fix. Forget he’s covered in bruises and step innocently on his toes. Flash your best smile when he yelps. And then:

[J-1.4] To new blood!

Two mimosas are a bad idea, but you don’t say no when someone else is buying. Reno made that crystal clear with the first. Made sure you had it all—eyes twinkling as it went down, down, down. And then Tseng walks in, cool as anything, and asks for one more round. Definitely a bad idea, god, but—

[J-3.7] New blood.

Remember makeup bag halfway across the ocean. Ah, shit. Not the biggest loss, but it wasn’t yours. Have no qualms stealing Emma’s stuff, but losing it’s another matter. Wince. Cough. Wince again. Wonder the merits of black suits instead of blue—would take away some of the worry of leaking, at least. Why’d they change the uniform in the first place? Cough, then retch, then bring up two mimosas all down the side of the ship. At least you’re alone.

[█-1.5] You good there, kitten?

It would be Reno. Take a breath and look up and over. Swear you see, just for a second, a trooper with a tail. Shake head, wipe mouth. Deep breath. Deep breath.

[█-4.7] If you’ve come to laugh—

[█-1.6] Oh, can it. Smoke?

Shake head and lean back over the railing with one gentle swell. Hold it in—hold it in. Listen to him spark up. Be surprised when he leans over with you, arms folded loosely, fag dangling. He doesn’t touch. That’s something.

[█-1.7] Is it the boat?

[█-4.8] Don’t know.

Don’t know, don’t care. Stomach roils. It’s a still ocean, for fuck’s sake. Ridiculous. Stay lent over, even when nothing else comes up. Last thing you need is a ruined suit.

[█-1.8] You know Heidegger’s on board too, right?

Do you ever. Sure is something to go from school to hobnobbing with the bigwigs in under a month. Nod. Watched him settle in, nervous despite his size, with Rufus. Didn’t get to listen to whatever he’s getting dressed-down about. Take a breath. Look at Reno. Bruises are starting to yellow, just a touch. He looks like shit. Feel bad about feeling unkind. Just a touch.

[█-1.9] Yeah, so… don’t barf in front of him. Or the Pres. Or Tseng.

[█-4.9] But you’re—hurk—you’re okay?

He laughs. Turns into hacking right away. Spider-like fingers pluck the cig to safety and then he’s hanging his head with you. Looks too skinny to be chucking up. Like he might turn inside-out. Worrying.

[█-1.10] Babygirl, the day I’m afraid of a little vomit’s the day I retire.

[█-4.10] Don’t fucking babygirl me.

Nevermind feeling bad for him. Fuck him. Starting to understand how he got his ass beat. Remember Emma bitching—just the once—about a partner on the job. Red hair, annoying grin. No other redheads that you know of—has to have been him. Wow. Wow. Immovable object, meet the inexorable march of time.

Lucky for you, he laughs.

[█-1.11] That’s the spirit. Get it all out, go on, then come get a mint and we’ll go over that report again.

[█-4.11] Again?

[█-1.12] Turks 101, kitten. We’ll make you into one of us yet.

Chapter Text

Be impressed by the Shinra suite. It shouldn’t exist. Should disgust you. It doesn’t. Know intimately just how far a few gil can go—sure, Dad and Emma might’ve been compensated handsomely by the company, but once you hit fourteen every penny earned was yours and yours alone. Think about the place Corel could be if this quite frankly hideous monument to gil hadn’t been built on its bones. Think about where Dio could’ve got the money from in the first place. Was it Shinra? Had to be. Couldn’t have been anyone else. Think, think, think—

[GS-1.13] Quit it.

Jump a mile high. Be affixed by Reno’s scowl. He’s been slumped in the fancy exec-style chair since you arrived and refused to move ever since, complaining about everything from the smell to the heat.

It is pretty warm.

[GS-1.14] I can see you thinkin’. Knock that shit off. We ain’t paid to think.

[GS-4.12] But I—

[GS-2.2] Reno’s right.

Bet no one says that all that often. Fold arms, raise eyebrow.

[GS-2.3] Not worth it.

Think: he’s probably right. Doesn’t matter, really, if Shinra paid for the Saucer to hide the ruins of Corel. Nothing you can do about it. Can’t unbuild the damn thing, and, well, there were plenty of happy faces on the way in. Who are you, to take so simple a thing as joy away from them?

Don’t think: you’re a Turk. That’s not what you do.

Besides, it’s not like constructing a theme park is the worst thing Shinra’s ever done. Or the worst place for it, even—people go to Wutai all the time now, just for fun, and nevermind all those endless green fields that not too long ago were home to bodies beyond counting. Out of sight, out of mind, or whatever.

[GS-1.15] Should think about trying to top my winnings, instead.

He’s holding out his phone. Approach, look politely at his screen. Don’t touch. Don’t want to run the risk of swiping and seeing parts of Reno no eyes should ever see. Blink. Frown. It’s a photo of a chocobo ticket held up against the winnings list. First place. He won—

[GS-4.13] Ten thousand gil?!

[GS-1.16] And a watch, yeah.

Reno shakes his wrist so the jacket rides up to show it off. The hands are gold, the strap worn. A mog head's engraved on the bezel. It’s hideous.

[GS-4.14] You’re a real son of a bitch, you know that?

[GS-6] Goodness. Am I interrupting?

Ignore Reno’s laughter as Reeve Tuesti walks through the door, as immaculate as he’s ever been on TV. In his arms, a cat. Sure. Why not. Why not carry a cat around, now the old man’s gone. Realise, in a numb sort of way, that wearing the blue suit has inured you to all sorts of bullshit in an alarmingly short time.

[GS-2.4] Afternoon, Director.

[GS-6-1] No need to be so formal. You’re all here? Good, good. No time to chat. Let’s get right to it. 

No more laughter, no more wondering about Shinra’s many crimes. Back straight, head up. Even Reno, previously slumped like all his strings were cut, is sat up and serious.

[GS-6-1.1] Say hello to Cait Sith!

The cat wakes up and jumps from the Director’s arms, pulls itself up to full unimpressive height, and bows. Just like a perfect little gentleman. Bite cheeks hard to keep from laughing.

[GS-6.2] I’m sure you’re already aware, but Avalanche crossed the ocean with us—

News to you. Glance sidelong. If the others are surprised, they’re hiding it well. Alright. Need to know basis, and all that, but shouldn’t you—?

[GS-6.3] —Rufus isn’t worried, but Heidegger…

[GS-1.17] Yeah, yeah. Pissed, and it’s our problem. 

Catch Rude’s eye. He shakes his head, slowly. Alright.

[GS-6.4] … Something like that. Anyway. We have the jump on them for now, and in order to keep the upper hand, we’ll be planting a mole within their group. That will be me. Rather, the drone.

He gestures at the cat, which has straightened from its bow and is nodding along like Reeve’s the most interesting guy around. Be completely, entirely unable to stop the laugh. Cover mouth immediately.

[GS-4.15] Sorry, sir—it’s just—the optics—

The knit of his brow suggests disappointment. It’s not enough to put the giggles to rest. The cat has boots, like something out of a children’s story. And a little cape! And a crown! How is anyone taking it seriously?

[GS-6.5] … The drone will be posing as an employee of the Gold Saucer. We have reason to believe Avalanche will be coming this way. Once sighted, the drone will engage, follow, and with luck, gain their trust. We have access to a range of accessories, courtesy of Dio—there’s a stuffed mog body with enough space for a long-range transmitter within that picks up signals from reactors and transmission towers, and—

[GS-2.5] So it’ll work?

[GS-6.6] … yes, it will work. I’ll keep the three of you abreast of the situation, of course. Think of this as my primary duty until further notice, since Urban Development isn’t exactly…

Almost feel sorry for him. Abandon the feeling easily: he’s Shinra just like everyone else. About time he gets his hands dirty instead of stacking blocks in his office all day long. Not like he’s even all that good at that, considering how easily Avalanche brought the Plate down. Consider a big thank you basket for Sephiroth for getting them out of the city. Could deliver it to his cell personally. Hm. Maybe not. Maybe just a thumbs up from far away instead, and pray he doesn’t get the wrong idea.

[GS-6.7] Just be aware of the time, please. I’ll be returning to Midgar within the week and will be a couple hours ahead of you.

All makes sense, except for what they want you doing with Avalanche if you do indeed get the drop on them. A fight, probably, but… while you can hit a bullseye no problem time after time after time, people aren’t targets. Look at your fellow Turks, unbothered, unflappable.

Who and what the Turks are is well-known above and below the plate. And now you’re one of them, and people can in fact be targets, and somewhere far below is the evidence.

Stop thinking. Stop thinking. Stop it. Stop it. Stop it.

[GS-6.8] Tseng will be remaining with the President—

[GS-1.18] ‘course he will.

[GS-6.9] —and is an hour behind. Keep your phones on: I’ll call when Avalanche makes contact. And that…

The cat bows again, and brings a megaphone to its mouth. It’s the Director’s voice that comes out of it, disguised badly.

[GS-6.10] … is that!

On your left, Reno makes an incredulous noise. At least it’s not just you that thinks the thing is stupid. When no one applauds or smiles or responds at all, Reeve deflates—and as one, the three of you turn attention away from him and his robot.

[GS-2.6] Races?

God, please. Need the distraction like a bullet needs a gun. Have ten thou and a shitty watch to win.

And a conscience to ignore.

Chapter Text

Be glad to be on the move, right up until the world starts wasting away again. Had gotten used to greenery. Had gotten used to life. Had felt relieved, sure, in the Saucer, about as much as annoyed—too loud, too kitsch, too much like its owner—it’d been nice to spend time on something other than assignments for once. Got to know Reno and Rude, too, despite your best efforts. They’re not so bad, for Turks. A little fucked, maybe. Like you’re not—like there’s anyone out there not screwed too tight or too loose or just plain screwed up.

It was nice, but getting the call was nicer. Back to business, back to the real world, away from the glitz and glamour that the further away from the desert you get, seems more and more like a desperate attempt to be anything like Wall Market, but… cleaner. More—ahem—marketable. Even the uniforms scream sanitised, though the skirts are still short and the heels this side of unprofessional. Black-and-pink might’ve been a good choice in a Market window on the right pair of tits, garish enough to grab the eye, but in the Saucer it was just hideous. Clashed with everything. A whore would be kind enough to at least give you a good time, were you so inclined. All the Saucer does is suck you dry. Your wallet can attest to that.

Nice to be in a car again, up until you’re not, and then you and Avalanche are all on the same foot, hoofing it like—okay, well, Reeve says they have a car now as well, so maybe not quite the same. At least you don’t stink like they probably do. Can’t imagine walking all this way. Can’t imagine going without a proper toilet or shower—think they might be able to topple Shinra by smell alone. Snicker. Turn it into a cough when Rude looks over.

[G-1.19] Alright. Recon time. Split up, secure the area—that means making sure the townsfolk ain’t gonna get caught up in our business. You got that, princess?

It’s like he’s trying to get on your bad side and stay there.

[G-4.16] Don’t call me that. 

[G-1.20] Wha—huh?

[G-4.17] My name is fucking Elena.

Know the mistake as it comes out. Be unable to put a stop to it. Watch in horror as the words wave goodbye and a grin slides onto Reno’s stupid, stupid face.

[G-1.21] Alright, fucking Elena. So what you’ll do is—hrgk—

Oh, could kiss Rude for winding his hand into Reno’s pony and yanking so hard his head snaps back, throat exposed. Whatever he sees in you’s enough to pull Reno close, put an arm around his neck, and hold him tight.

[G-2.7] Sweep the area. I’ll deal with him.

Take almost a full half hour doing what the Academy’s instructors would call a damn good job. Nothing of note, not a single person to warn away wandering around the barely-maintained pathways or hiding in tall, wild grass. Off comes the jacket after a little while. Might not be in the desert anymore, but it’s still hot without cloud cover keeping the sun from your shoulders. Shoes are starting to feel tight, too, but there’s nothing to be done about that. See the big eyes of a yellow spotted frog blink sticky as the slums in summer and watch it hop onto the path, staring intently—kick a rock at it and send it back into the brush. Have absolutely no patience for frogs, magical or otherwise. Don’t want to take the chance. Last thing you need is to be a tiny toad Turk riding in stupid Reno’s pocket.

Climb a low hill and take a seat in the shade of an old gnarled tree. Sweating. Gross. Can see the ruined reactor from here: all the blackened, ruined peaks and the way nature hasn’t even attempted to reclaim the deadened land. The trees all bend backwards still, pushed that way by the explosion, never to recover. Maybe that’s why the bugs are all big and gross, why the frogs leech themselves into the unfortunate souls they touch. Remember the headlines: Mental Mako Meltdown! and Reactor Crisis Forces Shinra To Consider Alternatives and how almost 200 dead had been hidden in the article’s fine print. It’s been three years, but still as clear as anything, the shock you’d felt. Didn’t think it was possible for a reactor to blow. Don’t think anyone thought that. Sure made a few people living in Midgar feel uncomfortable—there’d been a couple protests. Nothing big enough to actually rouse Shinra’s ire, everyone knows better than that, but it was a first. The President himself had come out to reiterate just how keenly he felt the loss, how he was right there with the Gongagans in heart if not in body, and… that was that. It’d been a first. There’d never be a second. If Shinra had considered alternatives after the explosion, nothing ever came of it other than putting the blame squarely on the uneducated technicians responsible for failing to maintain internal temperatures. The papers had stopped reporting within the week.

Must be time to head back. Don’t stand immediately. Stretch out legs instead. Yawn so wide your jaw cracks. Wonder about Gongaga—what it’s like, these days. How the ones that remain yet cope with the ongoing loss. If the reactor blowing had any effect beyond knocking all the trees about. Haven’t heard anything about leaking Mako causing adverse health effects —and look at you, dolling it up in the same language the papers do—it’s all from the Planet, shouldn’t do any harm. Right?

Get up. Feel heavier. Tired. Sun-tired, probably, nothing more than that. Stretch. Back down the hill, back along the twisting paths. Pay less attention this time, but there’s no reason to. No one’s walking this way. There’s nothing worth foraging or hunting out here, so close to the reactor. Hear them before seeing them:

[G-1.22] —way. Could’ve sworn you’n Elena—

[G-2.8] No.

[G-1.23] No?

[G-2.9] No. Pretty sure she likes Tseng.

Cheeks burn. Scowl intense. Hands ball up, leather squeaking. How dare—how dare. Excuse you for not immediately announcing your intention to fuck—or not fuck!—coworkers, superiors, etc. Not like any of them fit the bill. God, no, how’d he even—

[G-1.24] Shame. Think she knows he’s into that Ancient chick?

Stalk closer with the single express intent of beating Reno to a bloody pulp. His bruises are only freshly faded, but you’re pretty sure you remember where they were. Gonna put them right back on him. Maybe break his nose. Wonder if that’d even do anything—fucker seems too cool to be shaken up by a shakedown. Dimly register a little group watching them gossip and pull up beside them, eyes trained ahead.

[G-4.18] They’re so—they’re so stupid.

See the group startle out of the corner of your eye. Don’t care, not looking. If the Gongagans want to listen in on theoreticals of who’s fucking who, by all means.

[G-4.19] Like they’re still in school. God, I can’t stand it. Yeah, no wonder I like the boss’s company more, if this is how you damn well act. Huh?

Look sidelong for validation, and see—see three bemused Avalanche members shadowed by a toy cat on the back of a giant mog staring back at you. Big sword, big gun, big tits. Bingo. Don’t move. Might cry. Might scream. Might just pull a gun and shoot all five of ‘em, and then the cat for good measure.

Then all four of you seem to realise just what’s going on in the same heartbeat. Yell, loud as you can. Don’t even mind that it comes out high. Run —shove past tits’ outstretched arms and avoid sword’s attempt to snag your jacket—trip on a rock and shriek. See Rude’s head whip around. See Reno jump nearly clean out of his suit.

[G-4.20] They’re—they’re here! Quit yapping!

Make it past the two of them without being grabbed. Cheeks hot, face flushed. Exertion, and too much sun. Hear the mag-rod spark to life and the crunch as boots stepping forward. Come skidding to a halt and turn to see: oh, they look cool, all confident swagger and Shinra blues crisp and clean—fuckers, they’ve just been standing around gabbing while you’ve been patrolling, haven’t they?

[G-4.21] Keep ‘em busy—I’ll report to Tseng!

And then sprint. Sprint, like you’re after that third shiny emblem the Academy gave you all over again.

Chapter Text

Have to wait for takeoff. Not a problem. The less time spent around Director Scarlet, the better. Whatever magnanimous thoughts that might once have existed toward her have been blown clean away by her grating laugh alone. In some parallel world you’re working beneath her and hating every second. Stroke of luck, really, that she wanted company out here, even if it was just to fly the heli. And a target for her laugh. Damn, but she can do some serious sonic damage.

Wait awkwardly alongside Tseng, who’s pretty much perfect. Back straight, eyes ahead, follows at a polite distance. Amend: perfect at his job. Still flustered. Keep glancing around, expecting Avalanche.

[G-3.8] Relax.

Don’t. Can’t. Take a deep breath and hold it and let it out while Scarlet pokes around in the reactor’s exposed guts and deems it—

[G-7] Nope. Nothing huge here except junk. God, what a waste.

Stand aside for her to climb into the heli. Wait. Wait. Wait. Hurry it up, woman.

[G-7.1] Know what this is?

Looks like a lump of shit. Look closer.

[G-4.22] Is that… materia, ma’am?

[G-7.2] Wow. Wasn’t expecting you to know. Hah, guess Heidegger isn’t a fuck-up all the time if he’s able to snag the occasional brain..

Try to meet Tseng’s gaze over her shoulder as she tosses the charred lump back to the wreckage. He doesn’t meet your eye. Imagine, perhaps, the slightest shake of his head from side to side.

[G-7.3] Steady output generates materia as a byproduct. I’d hoped since this one had been running for a while there’d have been something more substantial for collection, but… 

[G-3.9] Substantial, ma’am?

[G-7.4] You know—big, large, huge materia. Just imagine the potential something like that would have. Not just for R&D, either. Oh, I just bet Hojo would love to get his greasy hands on it, test it right back into Mako. Ugh.

This time, Tseng meets your glance. He looks completely unimpressed. Stands to reason: he doesn’t seem like a particularly violent person. Not even for a Turk. Why should he care about weaponry? Or science? Or… does he have any interests, actually?

[G-7.5] Come on, already. The reactor’s a dud and coming here was a waste of time. Let’s go.

Be glad to be up front. Better view, and no smirking witch in the peripheral. Anything she does say into the headset is so hard to understand it’s pretty easy to pretend she’s not even there. Don’t ask questions about this or that button. Neither the time nor the place—once this whole Sephiroth thing’s dealt with you’ll get a robust education in everything the Academy couldn’t teach, probably. Too much to take in right now, anyway.

Watch the world below turn into baked rock and deep crags. The canyon’s beautiful, evidence of the planet’s age writ across ancient fault lines. Don’t know all that much about it, really. Not even from school, though it’d been a module in at least half a semester of history. Something about it being fertile land and settled by people in the ancient world, and there used to be all sorts of creatures that lived in harmony, and now they were all dead. Must be decent if people are still living there.

But you don’t stop, not even to check in ahead or time or set an ambush for Avalanche, or—

[█-3.10] We’re going to Nibelheim.

Grimace. Didn’t mean to look confused. Rack brains for any memory of the place. Feel, real or imagined, Tseng’s chagrin. It’s very heavy.

[█-3.11] Sephiroth’s last known location, as of five years ago.

From the back, laughter. Even Tseng winces at the sound of it crackling over the headset.

[█-7.6] Weren’t you Turks involved in that?

[█-3.12] Well remembered, ma’am.

[█-7.7] Right, back before Heidegger crippled you. Guess that makes me the only one on the board who hasn’t nearly lost their job over some fuckup or another. Remind me to mention that to the President.

[█-3.13] Of course, ma’am.

[█-7.8] Hey, blondie. You sure you want to work with them?

Tseng’s staring dead ahead. Doesn’t look pressed at all. Would be tempted to crash the craft, if it were you. Good thing it’s not. Put on your most winning smile and twist in the seat to look at the director, who’s heavily painted lips are curved in the most irritating little smirk. Someone ought to smack it off her. Wish it could be you. Can’t reach.

[█-4.23] Looks great on the resume, ma’am. I hope you’ll keep me in mind in the future.

Tseng’s smiling when you twist around again. Wow. Wasn’t sure he could. Scarlet doesn’t have a damn thing to say to that, which is the icing on top. Hell yeah.

Scarlet needs to piss or do a line or both, so you’re not alone walking into town. Feels totally different to Gongaga despite being pretty much the same. There’s only so much a backwater place like this can offer. If it weren’t for the reactor up in the mountains it’d have been steamrolled over long ago, probably. Or just plain forgotten about. The town hasn’t forgotten about Shinra, at least: the villagers smile and bow their heads almost nervously on seeing the suits. Some disappear back indoors. None of them stare. Kinda weird. Like they know what you are. They shouldn’t, out here.

[N-4.24] Hey, Tseng. What the director said, back in the heli…

He sighs. One slim hand disappears inside his jacket and pulls out a slim silver case. He clicks it open and offers it your way—cigarettes. Huh. Didn’t think he was the type.

[N-3.14] They’re herbal.

That strange barely-there smile again. Wonder what his deal is. Shake head.

[N-3.15] Don’t worry about it.

Smells like incense, when he lights up. Not bad, not great. He turns his head to breathe out. How polite.

[N-3.16] The director has requested a tour of the Nibel factory. You’ll be staying here. There’s an old manor house that belongs to Shinra on the outskirts and a lab below it. I want you to go through the documents there and summarise them. 

Sounds easy enough. Judging by the crease in his brow, it won’t be all that simple. He breathes another plume off to the side slowly: he’s stalling for time. He doesn’t have all the answers. It’s a shock, hits somewhere just above your gut but below the heart. 

[N-3.17] I understand the situation isn’t... normal, but I expect you to carry yourself appropriately. Discretion, Elena—I do not want a repeat of the Mythril Mines.

Cheeks flush with such force that fainting seems a possibility. Nod, weakly. Almost miss the way he’s still clearly struggling with something—wait. Enjoy the breeze on your cheeks as you do. Please don’t let that be something that’s gonna be brought up before every order.

[N-3.18] You’ll likely have… questions. Which I will, to the best of my ability, answer at a later time. If I’m not available for debriefing, Reno is capable—

[N-4.25] I don’t want him debriefing me.

He didn’t expect that. There’s a little shadow between Tseng’s brow that’s actually a crease, brought to life by his uncertain frown. As he opens his mouth to chastise you or cede ground, the clip-clopping of the director’s heels starts up again. Ugh. She looks ridiculous out here. Too much finery in a place where the finest thing around's not worth any amount of gil.

[N-7.9] Tseng! We’re leaving.

Watch the heli take off, face screwed up under the relentless assault of dust and dirt the rotors kick up—and then the world grows silent and then lively again, the villagers deeming it safe to leave their houses and go about their business once more. Feel bad. Shove it down, with effort. Need to act the way the suit demands. It’s not Reno’s fault—well, it is, but it’s not—wonder what Tseng means by questions.  

Right. Old manor house.

PROPERTY OF THE SHINRA COMPANY SCIENCE DIVISION
THE JENOVA PROJECT
CO-AUTHORED BY ████, ████, ████████ , ET AL
SUPPLEMENTAL MATERIALS AVAILABLE ON REQUEST

TOP SECRET

—discovered in a 2000 year old geological stratum, located at the northmost tip of the Icicle area (geographic coordinates approximately ██████). Geological survey to follow (see materials A-1 and A-2). Specimen, hereby referred to as “Jenova”, found encased in ice and presumed dead. Physically Jenova stands at above average height in the range of 6’ (180cm). Weight yet to be determined. No natural physical abnormalities noted at current date ([μ] εγλ 1977/██/██). Further examination to be undertaken once Jenova has been removed from the ice. Notably, Jenova’s arms are missing from mid-bicep below. Scar tissue indicates limbs were removed manually rather than birth defect. Trauma to the upper arms suggests violent removal instead of surgery. Cranium also showing extensive depressed fractures consistent with limbal injuries.  ████’s hypothesis of Cetran war considered. Skin uniformly grey and mottled, likely extreme generalised cyanosis (note that cyanosis may have occurred either due to hypothermia consistent with the region, elevated altitude, or hypoxia due to cranial injuries). Skin slippage minimal. Ice cover extensive enough to completely cut body off from aerobic bacteria. Temperatures and conditions consistently below freezing: it’s likely the specimen would be well preserved even if not encased in ice—

PROPERTY OF THE SHINRA COMPANY SCIENCE DIVISION
A HISTORY OF THE ANCIENTS, 2ND EDITION, 197█
BY PROFESSOR G███ ███████

—appropriate to assume that the Ancients were driven to extinction. An inherently nomadic people without true roots, it is likely their history was primarily oral: little to no written records have been discovered or definitively proven to be of Ancient origin. The archaeological community is no stranger to hoaxes—even today papers persist about the so-called “proto-Wutai artefact” of 1931, a stone figure given the name anewa (from the Wutai 埴輪 “haniwa”, referring to clay funerary artefacts), which was later discovered to be a petrified Cactuar. One’s mind must then turn to why the Ancients died out, and why no human record of them exists. Theories range from interstellar impact, with the Great Crater’s existence as much evidence as one needs of foreign collision, to civil war, to simply illness that spread quickly. In this chapter we will discuss—

CLASSIFIED MATERIALS
PROPERTY OF THE JENOVA PROJECT TEAM

TRANSCRIPT, “THE ORIGINAL CRISIS”
DISCOVERED ████/██/██ IN ████████
TIMESTAMP ██.██

IFALNA—[inaudible 0.5s] something fell from the sky making a large wound. [pause 4s] Thousands of Cetra pulled together to heal the planet [pause 2.3s] but due to the severity of the wound it was only able to heal itself over many years

GAST—Do the Ancients sorry Cetra [inaudible] sorry have special powers to heal the planet?

[pause 6s]

IFALNA—It’s not that kind of power [pause 3.5s] the life force of all things becomes the energy [inaudible] lifestream [pause 4s] Cetra tried to cultivate the land so no energy would be wasted

GAST—[inaudible 2s] close to the crater the snow never melts is it because the lifestream is gathered here to heal its injury?

TIMESTAMP ██.██

IFALNA—it appeared suddenly [pause 2s] it looked like [pause 2s] our dead mothers and [inaudible] [pause 3s] spectres of the past [pause 3s] it [inaudible]

GAST—[inaudible] the crater?

IFALNA—I’m sorry could you repeat that

GAST—sorry sorry [pause 3s] carry on

IFALNA—okay [aspiration 2s, pause 3s] it approached as a friend deceived us and finally gave us the virus [pause 5s] it turned us into monsters restorative magic was unable to help drawing on the planet’s energy was off-limits due to the injury [pause 4s] then as at the [ nɔːlz.pʰɔːɭ ]¹ it approached other clans and [inaudible] with the virus

¹no record of any area matching this description is noted in geographical literature of the Icicle area and thus has been transcribed as phonetic notation. It may be denoted orthographically as “noulsepole”, “nolzpol” “knowlespole”, etc.

PROPERTY OF THE SHINRA COMPANY SCIENCE DIVISION
THE JENOVA PROJECT
CONT.

—sample analysed likely dates to around two millennia prior. The likelihood of “Jenova” being an Ancient has increased exponentially (though due to lack of comparison samples this cannot be confirmed definitively). Going forward, the team will consider her an Ancient and refer to her in materials as such. Further samples to be taken on 197█/██/██—

—of the three wolves brought from the surrounding Nibel area, two died within twenty minutes of being injected with J-cells. The third survived overnight, though by the time it was first observed [07:24] patches of fur had begin to molt from its body and it was beginning to exhibit the onset of hydrophobia not dissimilar to rabies. Researchers unable to approach specimen to draw blood or administer sedatives. Specimen #03 died at [13:21] on the same day. A request to the Turks for more specimens was made within the hour—

—isn’t dead! ████ calls it a miracle of the Ancients. Analysis of cells shows some vessels punctured by ice, but those unharmed do not exhibit cell necrosis even at raised temperatures. Petri dishes have been set up with cell samples to investigate the effect of further temperature increase and other environmental effects (see supplemental material 3B for detailed analysis)—

—transplanted into multiple specimens consistently produces reactions within both subject and the injected cells. In physically weaker specimens, J-cells induce dysplasia in under 24 hours, resulting in extreme physical deterioration and often death (in appendix Δ, specimens that died immediately are marked with † Specimens that died within a 48 hour period are marked with ‡). Those subjects that do not immediately die appear to become incapable of acting in a natural manner, typically refusing to eat or drink (a combined total of 82 specimens have passed from terminal dehydration, officially listed as separate fatalities from J-cell fatalities). Physically stronger specimens—typically young male adults, though fertile females in the B. vela species have proven consistently to be the exception to this rule—have a 34.68% rate of surviving implantation within the first 24 hours. Specimens may benefit from exposure to J-cells earlier in the life cycle. In vitro injections will be scheduled for—

Lean back in chair. Hang head back. Watch the low-hanging bulb flicker and buzz—old electric out here in the sticks. Been spoiled with Midgar, where the only electrical hum comes from old feeder pillars waiting for decommission. Think of Science—think of all the chances they had to poach you. Stellar filing habits could’ve been the beginning of the end of you. 

Be unwilling to scribble on Hojo’s old ledgers. Feels wrong. Grab a sheet of blank paper and scribble Sephiroth definitely dead. Turn paper over and check it’s actually blank. Add Sephiroth definitely weird and then doodle a gun up in the corner. Attempted to recreate an Ancient with a biological unknown from the north. Names scrubbed. Turk work, that. Don’t need to be wearing a suit to know that. Wonder if Emma—?

Be grabbed suddenly by a thought that possess your hand and has you write Result: Sephiroth. Stare at words. Feel it to be true, even if there's nothing in the papers—so far—that says so. Feels like the logical conclusion, though—point A winding its way all the way through several fucked-up paths to meet up with point B. Actually—why not? Everyone knows the General was a freak. Everyone knows Hojo's still a freak. No one else could come up with injecting cells into living things for the purpose of—what purpose? Why bother in the first place?

Right. Take breath. From the top.

Chapter Text

Be given an education. Think—no way anyone could prep for this, not in a million years. Think—take that, Officer Clodson, you thought I shouldn’t be approved for a licence? Think—

[J-4.26] Holy shit—holy shit—

[J-3.19] Focus.

Have hands tight around the stick and Tseng’s careful eye on every shaky movement. Under his careful instruction, take the heli across the Junon bay. High enough that the waves are no bother—high enough the winds buffet the craft strong enough that your hands aren’t enough to keep it steady. Be corrected without reprimand. Gladly let him take charge of the landing. Spent twenty minutes on the pad being lectured about this button and that dial ‘til he’s satisfied you can tell at a glance what’s the compass and what’s the variometer. All the while, the infantry responsible for refuelling and cleaning are waiting for you both to emerge. Makes you nervous, having people wait for you to finish up.

[J-3.20] There will be a formal test, at some point.

Damn. Hate testing almost as much as writing essays. Both were the subject of much loathing, in the Academy. If you can answer questions, why should you have to put it on paper?

[J-3.21] … but this is adequate for now, I suppose.

Take another ten minutes wasting the infantry’s time recounting as much as you can to his satisfied nod. Be exhausted when he slips out. Be burdened by Science and the unfortunate task of trying to make sense of it all. Be squashed under the weight of this on top. And helis are heavy. Be—

[J-8] Elena?

—ten years old all over again.

[J-4.27] Daddy?!

Probably look like a kid, mouth hanging open and all tensed up like you might jump up at him. Remember, just in time, that Tseng is watching. Everyone else waiting to do their job, too. At a single word from daddy, in sergeant reds, they start scuttling around like insects cleaning up detritus left in the wake of your personal-space hurricane.

And then he salutes.

[J-8.1] Reporting for duty, ma’am.

Laugh. Don’t have a hope in hell of holding it back. At least he looks embarrassed about it: rubs the back of his neck and grins down at you like he can’t quite believe he’s suddenly the junior between you. Footsteps, smart and measured, as Tseng comes up behind you like a well-dressed wraith. Feel tiny between them, the two most important men you know.

[J-4.28] Don’t call me that, daddy. Why’re you here?

Silly question. Silly. Here for work. Here on the President’s orders. Here because what does it matter? Shinra says jump and the world asks how high and the machine that is the world turns and grinds a few more unlucky souls for oil and those of you not in any danger are quite alright with it all. First he looks to Tseng, who shrugs as though it matters not at all to him if he answers or not. Right—they've probably met before.

[J-3.22] At ease.

[J-8.4] Yes, sir. After the President’s inauguration, a good number of us were moved to Junon. We weren’t told why.

Silly, silly Elena, always asking what she should already know. Even the obvious isn’t obvious enough. Who let her into the Turks?

[J-8.5] So… General Affairs?

Stupid Turks, stupid Tseng, stupid—stupid Emma, like it’s her fault. Can’t even wish she’d go away. Don’t want her back just to go again. Rock, meet hard place—oh, that thing squashed between you? Don’t worry about it. Guess this is just what life’s gonna be from now, overshadowed by her every step of the way. Same as it ever was. Another weight to the pile, another something to trip you up, send you careening down to the bottom with the rest of the sad sacks. Could buckle, under it all. It’d be so easy. Could let it crush you.

God, living out of spite alone is gonna kill you dead.

[J-8.6] Can’t say I’m surprised. You always did take after Emma.

All this time, and he still doesn’t know what’s pride and what’s not. Takes a blind man not to see the muscle twitching violent in your jaw and a deaf one to not hear the way your teeth grind hard and severe. He reaches out to ruffle your hair—thinks better of it at the last moment. Think, good. Think, huh? when the hand comes to rest upon your shoulder instead. Look. Keep looking. Unfamiliar. Shouldn’t be, surely. When did he get so calloused? When did daddy get old?

[J-8.7] I’m proud of you, too.

If this were a teledrama, you’d be drenched in filial pleasure, warm and tingly. Nothing of the sort fills you: remain cool and dry and unaffected. No spark of joy in your gut, no coy smile sliding onto your face—just dull resignation. 

[J-4.29] … Thanks, daddy.

He squeezes your shoulder once, firm. It does nothing for you.

[J-4.30] … I think we need to be going, though.

Another squeeze, and then another salute. Long gone are the days of climbing in his lap, of sidelong hugs and rough kisses to your hair. Gone is the normalcy of childhood—of caring and being cared for. Daddy’s Shinra property, just like you. Just like Tseng. Just like the rest of the world. And Shinra doesn’t care much for caring. One look at Rufus is all anyone needs to be convinced of that.

Wait for the door to close to take a seat. Don’t have the energy for awkward hovering. Chew lip. Grimace at the taste of lipstick. 

[J-3.23] Ele—

[J-4.31] What do we do in downtime, sir?

Your name dies on his lips, another Turk victim. He’s not used to being caught unaware. Or maybe he’s just not used to you.

[J-3.24] Pardon?

[J-4.32] When we’re not doing anything. What do we do?

Mail had arrived late last night: Avalanche is after a key to a temple lost to time. Shinra’s letting them do the hard work while they comb the conquered world for the one thing that doesn’t belong to them. If Reeve hears anything more, you’ll be the first—okay, more like the fourth—to know.

But ‘til then…

[J-3.25] … Paperwork?

The suggestion is delivered almost as a question, which throws you. Like he thinks you might go mm, nah, next idea. Fix him with the very best stare you can muster. He meets it easy and holds it easier.

[J-3.26] I’m not responsible for every second of your day, Elena. There’s a shooting gallery you could take advantage of, there’s mission reports to be filed…

Imagine for a wild second finding Emma with Turk resources. Hunt her down, like a proper Turk would. Like she maybe did, once upon a time. Maybe not even to go after her—just to know where she is, a comfort blanket for the soul. Like the knowledge alone would be enough to keep you happy or quiet or both. Imagine, too, of going after her. Finding her out in the wilderness and putting her out of her misery—no, unlikely that you’d be the one to come out on top.

[J-3.27] Your sister—

[J-4.33] Don’t talk to me about her.

Your turn to meet his eye. He’s unreadable. Inscrutable. Impossible.

[J-3.28] —would have taken any outstanding reports to finish at home.

Can well imagine it, the humourless bitch hunched at her desk well into the night, crossing every t and dotting every i and handing it in for full marks first thing next morning. The Academy drilled prompt work into her: it seems she never quite fell out of the habit.

[J-3.29] I get the feeling you and her are nothing alike.

Open mouth to snap—notice the barest hint of a smile. He’s teasing. He’s an ass that should know when to leave well enough alone, but it’s not malicious.

You think. You hope.

[J-4.34] Absolutely not.

Can’t help it, really. Something about the mere mention of her forces you to be as contrary as possible. Have had enough, honestly, of everyone thinking they have your number just ‘cause they’ve got hers. Don’t want to be her twin. Don’t want to be her opposite. Just want to be you.

[J-4.35] Where would I find more information on the helis, sir?

Two in the cockpit, but your hand alone keeping it steady. On the left, Rude’s shades mirroring the racing track’s bright lights. Can’t tell if he’s watching the dials or not. Concentrating hard on keeping the damn craft steady. The wind’s a force to be reckoned with, up here. On the platform, Tseng yells something down to Reeve’s toy, inconspicuous against the backdrop that is the Saucer, and then Rude says go, go, now, and keeps his hands away from the stick as you tilt away and into the night.

[GS-2.10] Good job.

[GS-3.30] Excellent job. Take us back to Junon.

Think—worth jumping for Shinra if this is how high it gets you.

Chapter Text

The temple’s out of place. Out of time. Proof that not everything belongs to Shinra after all.

Small wonder it’s been overlooked all this time: it’s nothing but bones, a veritable ribcage long picked clean and starting, finally, to crumble into dust. The surrounding jungle has gone to great pains to reclaim it. Below, vines fat as snakes have slithered almost fully around the perimeter; above, the flat peak peeks just above the canopy.

[T-3.31] We’re working against the clock.

The suit feels stifling, sweat trickling into the small of your back just from standing around. Tseng doesn’t need to remind you—either of you—just how little time there is to get in and get out. Avalanche will follow, however hampered by the Director, and it is inadvisable to be here when they arrive. Inadvisable, had said the orders from Rufus, like getting caught wouldn’t mean the beatdown of all beatdowns.

Quite enjoy all your bones unbroken, actually. 

[T-3.32] Normally I would suggest a careful sweep of the grounds, but without more time, that’s out of the question.

Wipe forehead with back of hand. Grimace when it comes away wet. Wipe forehead with jacket cuff. At least Tseng looks put-upon by the humidity as well. Wouldn’t be fair to be the only one sweating half to death.

[T-3.33] We’ll be cutting some corners for the sake of speed, but that’s not to say the quality of work needs to suffer for it.

[T-4.36] Understood, sir. Can we move? I can barely breathe out here.

Expect to be reprimanded. Brace for it. Tseng takes one look around and nods without complaint.

If the altar outside was impressive with its carvings and pillars, the innards of this dead beast are much more incredible to behold. Once the world stops spinning, anyway. Everything tastes like Mako, right at the back of the mouth, like using materia without a brace or some other kind of buffer. Hard to explain. Emma’d tried casting like that. Once. Just to show you the danger. All the hair on her forearm had been burned away. Even then the lesson hadn’t stuck til the Academy went over it again. They’d picked Cure instead of Emma’s Fire. You hadn’t been the only one throwing up after class.

Check materia, just in case. Body-warm, snug in the brace.

[T-3.34] Are you okay?

Hear: are you fit for duty? Deep breath. Ignore the taste. Look around. Just like outside, there’s dark runners well-set into the stone, up the wall and down the steps. Blink. Frown. Up and down seem to be concepts instead of certainties, like the impossible art daddy’d taken you to see as a kid.

[T-4.37] … Yes, sir.

Stick close as you walk together, both of you hesitant at every unfamiliar sound. For a corpse, there’s a lot of them: far-off groans like the last wheezing breaths of a dying beast; the soft crumbling of stone succumbing to the march of time; once, the shriek of something much larger and much angrier than you, though it never makes itself known. Lose track of time. No service in here, of course, but even your watch with the hideous mog’s head carved into the face doesn’t seem to work, the second hand ticking, ticking, ticking, but never moving on. When you’ve been walking for long enough that your calves are protesting yet more steps, your shoe gets caught in vines that may or may not have moved on their own. Roll face-first down the stair. Look up, back to Tseng—you didn’t fall that far. Be bright red from effort and embarrassment by the time you get back to him. 

By the time you reach the room with the murals, both of you are winded. Can’t even be enamoured by the change of scenery, by the enticing draw of ancient knowledge. Just need to breathe. Lose track of how much time that takes, too—but when you straighten once more, the full weight of this place bears down on your shoulders. Tseng’s, too. He doesn’t immediately stride forward, eyes first drawn to the flickering flames in sconces that shouldn’t be burning, and then the figures painted on the stone. The scene carries all the way down the wall, as far as the eye can follow.

[T-3.35] What… is this?

He doesn’t seem to realise he’s spoken. Not like him, to be so outwardly shocked. Remember again the impossible art daddy had so revered, much more than anything else the exhibition had had on display.

[T-4.38] A polyptych, sir.

[T-3.36] What?

[T-4.39] It means multi-paneled. Art that depicts something over multiple screens. Walls, in this case.

Step forward to inspect it closer. Daddy had been keen to point out damage at the gallery on lesser pieces, where oils had long cracked and yellowed or plain just faded away with time and light. Even the Wutaian woodprints hadn’t been immune to the ravages of age. Whatever materials the Ancients had used here have held up remarkably well, even to your untrained eye. Maybe it’s just because there’s been no light here for thousands of years. Maybe because there’s been no people.

[T-4.40] At a guess, this is the knowledge of the Ancients actually put down on, er, paper. Not their usual way of doing things.

Think that the good professor is probably rolling in his grave—probably grave, right? What with the unpersoning, and all?—at being proven wrong. And by a non-academic, at that! Fight to control the grin that wants to break free. Win. Straighten up. Follow the story, not Tseng—he trails behind a half-pace slower, overwhelmed by the room or the history or both. There’s symbols beneath the pictures, too, as incomprehensible to you as Mideeli script, but you don’t need to read to know the story. People walk in procession to where your decidedly non-Ancient feet stand now, paying homage to something. Considering the giant rock falling from the sky just past halfway, they might be praying for salvation instead. A salvation that failed them, judging by how the last panel shows the world wreathed in flame. Well, the world’s not on fire. Yet.

Don’t think about the Nibelheim report. Don’t think about the Nibelheim report as hard as you possibly can.

Inspect the little model of the temple instead, on its own plinth with no helpful mural explaining what it is or why it’s here. It’s a perfect miniature, bearing all the scars of the outside world and everything—the crumbling surrounding walls, the intricate pillars supporting where you’d entered on top. 

[T-3.37] Elena.

Well, it’s not like the model’s gonna give up its secrets just by staring. Straighten, stretch. Tseng’s looking at his watch like he’s just noticed it for the first time. Not like him, to be so distracted. That confirms it: this temple’s full of heebies and jeebies.

[T-3.38] My watch—

[T-4.41] Mine’s not working either, sir. Nor’s my phone. Must be something to do with the… everything.

Gesture futilely at the walls around you. Not very professional. Tseng frowns and checks his own phone. Might be the longest he’s gone without looking at it in some time, if he's only just now noticing.

[T-3.39] … I see. In that case…

Look up at the mural again together. Wonder what the temple was built for, really: to house whatever the Ancients prayed to? as a shelter against falling stars? or some unknown third option, beyond human understanding now. Think briefly of those research papers forgotten under Nibelheim, of long dead but yet surviving specimens discovered in the Crater at the top of the world. Think—

[T-3.40] We’re due to check in. I’d like you to return above ground and do the honours. I’ll take what documentation I can.

[T-4.42] You’re not scared to be here alone? Sir?

He isn’t looking at you. His eyes are fixed upon the painted prophecy—on the end of the world.

[T-3.41] There’s nothing in here but bugs. And us. I can take care of myself—go. Don’t rush. I’ll be here when you come back.

Nothing for it, then. Not that it sounds like a bad idea, letting the rest of the world know you’re still alive in this dead place. With time stopped (not stopped, not truly, but what else to call it?), it’ll be a comfort to know there’s still a world to get back to. God, if it’s been hundreds of years and everything’s changed above—

[T-3.42] Elena.

Stop panicking. Look back. Tseng’s still looking at the walls.

[T-3.43] How about dinner, once this job’s over?

Be—confused? Elated? Uncertain. Think—Reno set him up to this. No, he’s not that cruel—well, he is, but not this casually—other than the contents of his pretty face, realise all you know about the boss is his name. Could be twice your age. Could be a terrible person. Could be married to his work—ah, well, that’s not news.

[T-4.43] … Thank you very much, sir. If I can be excused…

He doesn’t stop you from going. Don’t quite know what to make of that. Leave him to it—make way slowly back through the not-quite maze, slow and steady. Check every step for vines. Think, at one point, you see an Ancient—can’t be right, that’s fucked up, they’re long dead. Blink, and the not-man, not-beast is gone from view. Don’t have to fire a single shot.

Back up top, the air feels like soup. It was cool inside and you didn’t even realise. Now the jungle’s back for revenge and gets it immediately: start sweating before you even think about going down the steps. Pull out phone and pray— excellent, don’t have to go all the way down to the base and away just to get signal back. Time’s back to normal, too, watch ticking away quite happily and phone display reading normal. Lean back against the altar’s entrance and tap out a message to Rude first—forward it to Reno second—know they won’t mind something informal. Want to get back down there as quick as possible.

Take a breath. Hold it. Hit call.

[T-5.2] Report.

Anyone else might at least wish you a good day. Rufus doesn’t do niceties. Prick.

[T-4.44] The, uh, temple’s intact, sir, but there’s some kind of… barrier around the insides. Tseng’s still inside. I had to come out to call.

Nothing from the other end. Is he even listening? Ugh.

[T-4.45] It’s… much bigger than it looks from outside. A labyrinth, almost. No way of knowing how deep it goes—there’s no map, or—

[T-5.3] What’s inside?

Of course he doesn’t care. Why would he? Why should he? What’s some bizarre architecture to Rufus Shinra, who grew up in a womb of steel a thousand metres tall? Be glad he can’t see your face.

[T-4.46] A whole lot of nothing, sir. With time and manpower we could sweep through, but with just two of us—

[T-5.4] What’s inside.

Come over all white-hot with fury. Think the President would benefit from a good old-fashioned broken nose. At the very least, he wants for a slap. This is the problem with those up-top brats: the slums build character, a little appreciation for anyone willing to help you out. Shinra, with the whole world on a plate, never bothered learning things like basic courtesy. Take a breath. Take another. Wonder how Tseng doesn’t smoke real cigarettes to cope.

[T-4.47] Not much. Sir. It’s mostly maze. There’s a room of murals—Tseng’s looking at it now. Something about a… something falling from the sky. Once we’ve got more data, we’ll be able to—

The line’s gone dead against your ear. Take a breath. Resist the urge to smash phone on the altar. Rufus Shinra doesn’t want a slap, or a broken nose, or anything of the sort—no, that’s a boy who wants some humiliation for the lesson to settle in. Fall back into the temple’s innards thinking about—deep breath, hold it, stay still when the world spins—making him cry. Slide the old fantasy away from its previous target and onto its rightful target: still blonde, still bratty, still works. Emma and Rufus are worlds apart but could both use a little grounding, in your opinion. On the floor, on their knees, faces streaked with tears—no, that’s not realistic. No tears. Just a fantastic glare. Not that they could do anything about it, not with a gun in your hands, between your legs. Great position—can look down at them, watch them put their mouths to better use than gabbing on and on and on. Step carefully over the uneven floor, across the mantle of the mural’s room. Could take a picture, even. Post it on the company’s intranet. Extranet, too, if they complain. Let the world see just how much of a bitch—

[T-4.48] —Tseng?!

Chapter Text

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

[██] BP steady. Seal intact.

[██] Requesting medical unit to meet us at—

[██] —miss? Miss?

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

[██] ETA is—

Can’t look at Tseng. Can’t look out the window. Can’t do anything much but sit out of the way, totally and completely useless. Was only ever taught basic medic stuff in the Academy. Nowhere near the kind of thing necessary now to keep Tseng alive. And they are keeping him alive. Believe in that, if nothing else. In another life it might’ve been fun to see him sans shirt, hair fanned out, eyes closed, lips parted. Could’ve counted every silvery scar like the rings on a felled tree if you’d wanted to. Might’ve tried to figure out what brings up goosebumps, what makes him shiver. Might’ve, could’ve, maybe should’ve. No chance now with a hole in his goddamn chest sucking noisily and nightmarishly.

Once more, with feeling: fuck.

Phone’s buzzing in your pocket. Ignore it. Wait til it dies and starts up again and dies again. Like Tse—no. No. The medi-babble’s slowing but not stopped, and he’s still breathing, hasn’t stopped this whole time. Whatever seal they’ve put on him has stopped the air sucking in and rushing out, at least. Can still hear the echoes of it. Will probably be hearing it all through the night. For the rest of the month. Year. Lifetime. Whatever. Keep listening intently all the same. Need to know if the boss is gonna die, need to know if it’s your fault for stepping away. Worry lip savagely when the medics fall mostly silent and all there is to hear is the chopper’s hum. Overwhelming. Like so much else.

Deep breaths. One. Two, three, four. Eyes closed. Five, six. Hold it. Calm. Find the zone, the same one you step into when it’s time to hit bullseye from thirty paces. Hit it every time—this isn’t any different. Breathe out, shaky. Breathe in, slow. Seven, ei—

[██] Miss—it’s for you.

No escaping it. Take the phone without looking at the screen. Eyes on Tseng. Nothing else exists but you and him. And whoever’s interrupting.

[█-4.49] Speaking.

[█-5.5] Report.

You’ve come to understand Tseng’s brand of wordlessness—enjoy it, even. No idle chatter for the sake of filling silence. To the point, but thoughtful, mostly. Even his teasing, such as it is, isn’t all that malicious. The President, on the other hand…

[█-4.50] Tseng was stabbed.

His fault for demanding checkins. Neither of you are incapable children needing constant management. If you’d been there—if you’d only been there…

Glance at Tseng, pale-faced and sweating on the floor. If you’d been there you’d be in the same position. Or worse.

[█-4.51] … Sir. The Temple had no signal inside, so I had to leave to contact you, on Tseng’s order. It took some time, the landscape—

Rufus doesn’t care about the jungle. Rufus cares about very little outside of Rufus. Grit teeth. Take another breath. Force mind away from mouths and barrels.

[█-4.52] When I got back, Tseng was… on the ground. I pulled him out and called for med-evac. He said—I mean, Tseng said—he was conscious—he said Cloud’s group had approached, gone inside, and then—

Against your thigh, your phone goes off again, a rumbling pattern distinct from the heli’s all-encompassing vibration. Ignore it. Scowl.

[█-4.53] We’ll be landing in…

One of the medics has been pretending not to listen, but at a glance, straightens up.

[██] Approximately twenty-five minutes, ma’am.

[█-4.54] Half an hour. I’ll talk to you then, sir.

Hang up before Rufus can protest. Give the medic their phone back. Pull out your own. Two missed calls from Reno. Sigh. Hit return. He picks up before the first ring is over.

[█-1.25] What the fuck is going on?

Reno’s brand of wordlessness is nonexistent. Much easier to work with, honestly. Harder to get him to shut up than it is getting Tseng to start. No dancing around the point, either. Feel really, truly grateful for it, all prior ill-will fled. If you yell at him, he’ll just yell right back. No hard feelings. Probably. 

[█-4.55] Why didn’t you finish them off, in Gongaga?

[█-1.26] I—huh?

[█-4.56] Gongaga. Avalanche. They were there and you didn’t stop them! I thought you were meant to be good at getting your hands dirty? Or are they so scary you’ll puss out the second you get the chance?

Silence, such as it is. The medics are looking very carefully at any and everything that isn’t you. Good. 

[█-1.27] It was five on two, after you ran away. We’re pros, not miracle workers.

Ran away, like you’re some kind of coward. You’re a Turk too, dammit. Thump hand against the wall. It hurts.

[█-1.28] Elena.

[█-4.57] Tseng—Tseng’s hurt.

Can’t stop the tremor in your voice. Feel like a kid again. Stupid. Haven’t been a kid for years. Grow up.

[█-4.58] It was Cloud. They’re in the Temple, right now, they stabbed Tseng and he’s—

[█-1.29] It was Cloud? Hold on.

Look at Tseng again, at the strands of hair clinging to his neck. Unkempt. Unlike him. Think about getting even. That sounds—right. That sounds like something a Turk ought to do. Eye for an eye, and all that. Avalanche hit first, so you hit second, and third, and fourth, until all chance of retaliation is fully over. It’s not in the handbook, but neither’s shit like go wandering in ancient ruins ‘til someone nearly dies. And it’s not like Emma gave out too much detail, back in the day, but she’d given hints here and there. Coming home late, partner got hurt. Unspoken but loud as day: gotta say with ‘em. Gotta get even.

Wonder what she’d do now, with the boss on the floor. Probably not sat around feeling sorry for herself, for one.

[█-1.30] Director Tuesti says it wasn’t them.

No, she’d be out gathering info already. Wouldn’t need handholding or telling what to do, she’d just be out doing it. As ever, her shadow hovers right behind you, unseeable, unknowable, but weighty with its presence. With her experience. Record-breaking bullseyes at school don’t count for shit out here in the real world. Who’s gonna respect five elite emblems but you and the people looking over your CV?

[█-1.31] Elena? You there?

Hang up. Deep breath. Hold it. Count to five, let it out. Find the zone.

[█-4.59] ETA?

Meet Reno on the landing pad. Stand shoulder-to-shoulder as the medics unload Tseng and rush him away. Watch in silence as the rotors die down and troopers jump in to wipe off the windshield and check internals. Lucky bastards. They don’t care much about anything other than getting the job done and getting out of here. They’ll be on break soon, probably. Or shore leave. Whatever.

Can’t even hear the ocean from up here, not even with the chopper dead. Can’t hear much of anything but the wind doing its best to scream and engineers shouting at machines. It all turns into some language you don’t know: ooooOOOO pass the OOOOOooooo pressure fine eeeeeeee?

[J-4.60] Where’s Rude?

[J-1.32] With Rufus.

Good matchup. They’re suited for each other. Not as good as the boss, but—

[J-1.33] Elena. Are you…

Glance sidelong. Reno’s looking out at the horizon, totally expressionless.

[J-1.34] … alright?

Can’t stop jaw from twitching. A kid, that’s what they think of you. All of them. Not as good as any of them. Can’t keep up. Go check in, Elena, we don’t need you doing Turk work like the rest of us. Tell me what’s going on, Elena, it must’ve been hard seeing something like that. Elena, Elena, Elena, we wish you were more than you are.

[J-4.61] I’m fine. I’m not the one who was stabbed.

Silence again but for the wind giving up on screaming in favour of whimpering low and long like a dog begging for treats.

[J-1.35] You’re allowed to not be, you know.

Bullshit. Not as a Turk. Even had Emma not been still at home when she’d started out, you knew the stories. They don’t have hearts, not really. Joining up means cutting them out and bleeding them dry and then getting down to business. Shinra says jump and before your feet can leave the floor a Turk’s there lifting you up kinda thing. To be a Turk is to be dead but still breathing. To be a Turk is to sell your soul—no, that’s wrong. They don’t have souls to start with.

[J-1.36] El—

[J-4.62] Come on. Let’s go.

Might as well be back in Midgar with the amount of nothing you’re doing, just waiting around listening to the news and carrying papers back and forth. Don’t have time to go to Medical despite it. Neither does Reno, or Rude. Rufus is keeping you all doing a quite frankly offensive amount of busywork that doesn’t really want doing, in your opinion, but what do you know? Don’t even realise you haven’t seen Reno for a day or three ‘til you see Rude sat alone one afternoon, shades off and pen flying across whatever documents he’s signing. He’s on the road is all you’re told: right. Not your circus, not your monkeys. No point knowing which brother’s about to die next. Think of a world without Reno as you pour coffee: think of him bleeding out off the side of some road in the unkempt rest of the world. Him, and Tseng, and then Rude’ll be the last to go, and then it’ll just be you and you alone against the world. Deep breath. Put down coffee. Lock self in bathroom and dig fingers into the soft hollow of your eyes to keep from crying.

Then the rest of the bigwigs turn up to talk to Rufus—to be talked to by Rufus. Pardon. They don’t spare you a single glance—no, not true. All but Tuesti make like you’re no more than background noise as they march by, but he pauses to start to ask under his breath are you—? before he’s called on, and off he goes, no backward glance. No problems there. Don’t want anything to do with him. Don’t want anything to do with any of them. Their world might be Shinra’s, but it sure as shit ain’t yours. Which one’s real? Which world’s the real one, the one where a handful of rich bitches sit in their chairs and make decisions for everyone else, or the one where you’re out there seeing the consequences of those choices? Or maybe the real world’s the one where Shinra has so little part of it that it might as well be untouched, down in the canyon or over the sea or deep in the jungle. Or, or, or—

Doesn’t matter. Follow the directors to the President’s office. Slide gaze from Tuesti’s back to Hojo’s. Say nothing. Say nothing.

[J-6.11] Miss, ah, Elena?

Tuesti interrupts your lack of thought after three hours have passed. Rude begged off a while back to go take a piss and left you alone in the corridor. No problems there. Can keep watch no problem. Don’t exactly need the suit to do it.

[J-4.63] Sir.

[J-6.12] Is Tseng…

Surprised anyone other than you suits and Rufus knows his name. Or yours, come to think of it. Again, in mind’s eye, the boss laid out on the stretcher. Laid out on the floor of the temple. Alive, but dead. Can’t imagine him sat in bed alright.

[J-4.64] As far as I’m aware, he’s stable, sir. I haven’t heard anything else.

[J-6.13] Ah… good. Good.

He has all the grace of a hand-wringing salesman. How’d he ever get to be head of urban development? His brand of antsy energy was everywhere in the slums: you learn quick to ignore it. Either they float off to bother someone else or spill their guts just to fill an awkward silence. Usually it’s the latter. When he sparks up it takes him three tries to light the stick. Don’t envy him in the slightest. 

[J-6.14] I’m sorry. For… all this. It’s not exactly an easy job, and those of you that do it are, well—

Think, freaks. Think, good as dead. Think up a whole script of colourful language, some of it even original. Tuesti’s not the good man he thinks he is, having spent his whole life above the Plate. He’s trying to be delicate. It’s not cute.

[J-6.15] You know… if you want to go…

Look over at that. Thought it would take him much longer to get to the point. He ashes prematurely, winces when it all ends up on his nice shiny shoes.

[J-6.16] I wouldn’t stop you.

Go? Go where? There’s nowhere to go to. Junon might as well be a prison—the whole damn world’s the prison but for the canyon and the jungle and across the sea where they’d kill you rather than hear you out. Could go down to see Tseng, sure, but if he’s awake he’d kill you too for shirking duties, and then he’d hand your corpse over to Rufus for good measure. No, there’s nowhere to go, too much to do. Even though you’re waiting in a hallway bored out of your skull.

[J-6.17] … They’re headed north.

They could be anyone. No. No, it couldn’t. There’s fuckall north except a giant hole in the ground and a bunch of crazies that set up shop in the forest a couple decades back. Before your time. Somewhere even further there’s a town of could-have-beens that probably think they’re happy in the snow, but only ‘cause they don’t know what they’re missing out on.

If the good professor’s papers are right, it’s the hole they’ll be going for. Maybe. Wonder if they’ve figured it out already, that Sephiroth isn’t Sephiroth. Chasing a dream in a black cape has never been so impossible, but they’re trying all the same. Headed north, like once they get there everything’ll go back to normal. Pawns on a chessboard, that’s what they are, praying they turn into something else at world’s end. Praying they can throw the game in their favour.

Rude returns as Tuesti pulls out a portable ashtray and stubs out the cig, just in time for his name to be called. He says his goodbyes to the both of you, polite as you please, and then disappears: Rude resumes his position on the other side of the door with the barest hint of a sigh. Think. Think. What to do—what to bring. A change of clothes, maybe. Don’t know how long you’d be out there for. Couple of potions for just in case. Wonder what Reno would bring—mentally add a couple packets of hyper jelly to the list. Gloves, with metal over the knuckles, for getting up close and personal. Yeah. Could be there and back before tomorrow evening. Wham, bam, thank you, ma’am.

[J-4.65] … My turn. Back in a bit.

Chapter Text

[IA-4.66] Come on!

Maybe that hyper had been a mistake. Maybe, definitely, whatever. Didn’t want to risk not having that edge. Had ripped the packet open and squeezed it empty as the heli’d set down a whole half hour away from the arse-end of nowhere and now it’s thrumming all the way through you loud and bright and fiery. Must be how Reno feels, all the time. Jumpy and alert and ready to take on the world. No wonder he’s an asshole.

The troopers you stole away from their posts are barely keeping up. Short wonder: they’re not the ones buzzing and you’ve all been cooped up for six hours in the belly of a great mechanical beast tearing hell for leather like you’ve been trying to beat the wind north. Sucks for them. Sucks for Rufus, actually. This is his army? Struggling to keep up with a little girl in clothes definitely not made for hiking in the snow? Laughable. Actually laugh, giddy with nerves and jelly and something dangerous shifting around in your gut.

God, this stuff’s great.

Icicle Inn comes into view looking like it’s jumped right off the front of a new year’s card. Cute. Snow glitters like shattered glass and the mountains either side of the valley stand tall and proud and probably loom like undesirables when the sun’s down. Can well imagine the shadows thrown at night, dark enough to make it seem like this fairytale town never existed in the first place. Smaller darker figures turn into trees the closer you approach, and then everything’s back sugar-sweet and innocent again. Lopsided snowmen welcome you with wonky smiles and mismatching eyes and sticks for arms. One’s wearing a hat and scarf. Stop to stare. What a waste of time. Can’t imagine how cold the fingers that put it altogether must be.

Lose track of time. Jerk back to the real world by a kid’s delighted shriek and watch as three of them go tearing down the street, sleds in hand and bundled up with enough layers to be almost spherical. Fuck, but it’s cold. Even through the haze of a hyper your fingers are stiff and stinging, toes sore in their too-thin socks. Didn’t think far enough ahead. Maybe. Don’t exactly plan on staying here for long.

One of the snowmen’s already started to crumble, the top half having slid off the base, whittled away by the weather and wildlife. It’s missing an arm. Look directly in its stupid smiling face and put your foot through it. Oh, feels good. Satisfying. Nice crisp crunch on contact, and enough weight behind the lump that you’re not just kicking powder everywhere. A hidden pebble goes flying and cracks against the welcome sign: Välkommen till Icicle! Befolkning 861. The sound echoes, loud and harsh. Heads turn. Look back at them, defiant, searching—meet too-bright eyes set in ruddy cheeks. Familiar, kinda. From the slums? Can’t be.

[██] Ma’am—

Took them long enough to catch up. Squint—look to the troopers too quick, world whirling around kaleidoscopically—nose smarts with a deep breath of frigid air. With sudden clarity remember those eyes from stifling Gongaga: they belong to a cloud that struck down Tseng like lightning. Wait, that’s not how it—

[IA-4.67] Oh, it’s—yeah, come on!

Struggle to hold onto the facts as you approach. Nearly lose them completely when the snow proves too treacherous and you slip: grab them just in time. Cloud killed Tseng. Tried to. Good as. Waited til your back was turned and ran him through with that monster sword of his and left him to die. It’s a wonder it didn’t cut the boss in half.

He looks half-dead himself. Something in the way he holds himself, in the shadows the hollows of his eyes cast. A man all but given up on being.

[IA-4.68] Cloud!

Your lips crack and split when you scream his name. Somehow he draws the ice and snow within himself and becomes cold and hard. Suits him. Wonder if people can be descended from spirits: maybe from the frosty bosom of Shiva once sprang forth the first Cloud or Cloudette and that’s why he can look so stern in this hell.

[IA-4.69] You’re not going anywhere.

Without ever looking away, he jerks his head over his shoulder where the shadow of the mountains fall. Wonder what he sees as he stares. A cool and capable you? Yeah, no. Would love to see the flush spread all over your cheeks and down your neck and your eyes all huge and dangerous for yourself. Bet it looks great on you.

[IA-█] Why? What’s down there?

A whole lot of nothing, if the maps are to be believed. Nothing but snow and ice and crevasses wide enough that neither the brave or stupid would try and scale ‘em. Beyond that, the Crater and all the nasties that come crawling out of it. Studied it, in school. It’s full of flora with a mind of its own and fauna that refuses to let the cold get them down. It’s where malboros come from. If you ever wanted an indication that a kind and loving god doesn’t exist, malboros are the answer. Cloud wants to drag his sorry lot down there and get eaten by a mouth wider than he is tall? By all means.

[IA-4.70] It’s a secret. You won’t like it.

[IA-█-1] I won’t like it, or it’s a secret?

Fucker.

[IA-4.71] That’s not why I—shut up! You got guts, doing my boss in like that.

[IA-█-2] Boss?

As if Tseng means even less to him than shit on the floor. Feel your lip curl. Must look absolutely wild. Deranged. Might hit him in the nuts, for that. Maybe twice. Once for you, and once for—

[IA-█-3] … Oh, you mean… Tseng? That wasn’t us. Sephiroth—

Sephiroth this, Sephiroth that. Hate the fucker on principle at this point. Even if he hadn’t gotten you all feathers ruffled and running about the world it’d still be too much to hear about him over and over. Funny. Don’t remember it being that much of a deal when the papers were praising him at every turn when you were a kid. Wonder if this is Wutai felt—feels. Wonder if Tseng—

[IA-4.72] Shut up. Shut the hell up.

Don’t give him a chance to brace. Wind up and let the momentum of your entire weight carry forward into your arm, your wrist, your fist. Sink into him as deep as you can go. Not very far. SOLDIERs are built like nothing else. Like—like nothing else, damn. Even beneath the glove your knuckles sting. A first. First class fucking joke. Can’t be human, under the clothes. Wonder—wonder. Take a breath of his breath, warm enough to set your mouth to tingling. Look at him. Really look. Mako-bright eyes and well-chewed lips cracked at the corners and half-clean tracks down his cheeks. Don’t move. Hold him steady. Both of you warm and still, the only people in the world. Flex fingers. Breathe out, slow and shaky.

[IA-4.73] … asshole.

Materia flares to life under your sleeve. He feels it, same as you, eyes wide for all of a second before the full weight of him’s upon you. Squeal and twist so he falls into the snow. Face-down, he doesn’t stir. Not for the cold, not for the impact, not for anything at all.

Movement at the shoulders of trooper blue: a snowman comes to life and advances. No, not a snowman. Tuesti’s weird robot on the back of its giant mog, brandishing a megaphone like it owns the place.

[IA-6.18] You gonna let him freeze to death? Put him in a house!

Almost laugh again. The troopers look to you for guidance, find none, and then decide to hop to it, one at Cloud’s shoulders and one at his ankles to ferry him out of the snow to sleep off the spell. Force nonchalance onto your face. Fail, probably. Fold arms. Finally starting to feel the cold—hyper’s starting to fade. Well, it got you all the way up the hill—shit, can’t imagine being winded and trying to face him down. Would’ve gone arse-over-tit and rolling down the mountainside. 

The mog comes close, delicate on the snow and slush. A single hair is sticking to your eyelid. Feel the beginning of exhausted nausea pull at the back of your mind, wanting attention. Refuse to give it. You’re in charge.

[IA-6.18] Elena…

Feel like a kid about to get a scolding. Come on—you’re seventeen, for fuck’s sake. 

[IA-6.19] What the hell are you doing?

Trick question. Gotta be. Don’t answer. Can’t answer. Mouth’s gone dry. Blink. Blink again, trying to dislodge the hair.

[IA-6.20] Elena.

[IA-4.74] You’re the one that told me to come here, di-Director!

Both robo-cat and mog move in perfect tandem, sagging forward like they’re sighing. Oh, god, he really put way too much time into this stupid thing.

[IA-6.21] I thought you’d leave the suit behind.

That doesn’t make any kind of sense. Why would you ever take it off? Sure, it’s not the most stylish thing you own, but style’s not the point. The point is—the point is—

The point is, some terrifyingly lucid remnant of your mind says sadly, he thought you’d drop hat and run.

Just like—

[IA-4.75] Mm. No.

Can’t even begin to imagine. Sure, it might be shit under the President’s thumb—actually, if all this is the norm then a resignation slip might find itself on his desk sooner rather than later—but there’s no escaping Shinra. Oh, you can fight all you want, but it’s not gonna get you anything but grief.

[IA-6.22] … Clearly, no.

The cat inclines its head like it’s listening to something—probably is, on the other end. Can well imagine Tuesti’s disappointed face looking like a kicked puppy. Could kick it some more. Wouldn’t fix anything, but it’d make you feel better. Maybe.

[IA-6.23] What happens now?

Blink. Frown. Shiver. Wipe away that fucking hair and blink again. Harder to focus now than it was buzzing like a vibe, full of juice and ready to go. Think about it. Shrug.

[IA-4.76] What, you’re not gonna fire me?

When the stupid robot laughs it comes out all weird and tinny. Don’t like that. Bad enough it’s got Tuesti’s voice and mannerisms, it could at least sound normal about it.

[IA-6.24] I’m not Heidegger. I don’t have that authority. No, I mean—you’re really not going to go with them?

God, you only just sent their poster boy to la la land, and he still thinks you wanna tramp up to malboro central with them? There’s more than a couple wires loose in his head, alright. Can’t stifle a yawn. Want—need—maybe if you just curl up beside wherever they threw Cloud for an hour or three. Maybe someone’ll bring you a bucket if you ask all nice.

Be more pathetic, Elena. Try harder, go on.

[IA-4.77] Ugh… no. No, I—god, I don’t know what to do.

No way of knowing if on the other end Tuesti pities you or not. Press knuckles against eyes and feel for the first time just how stiff and cold they are. Shiver, full-body. Dead, but still alive. That’s the Turk way, alright. Turn head as you retch, sudden and violent, careful not to splash the director’s prized toys, and look inward for the voice of reason that sounds like Emma. She’s long gone. Alive, but definitely dead. Should’ve gotten paid. Ten thousand gil and a crappy watch—no, that’s not quite right.

Should’ve joined up sooner. Shouldn’t have left her hairbrush behind. Shouldn’t be kneeling in the snow. Should get back to the heli, back to Junon, back to normality.

Barf again, instead.

Chapter Text

[J-1.36] Smoke?

Might’ve been happy to be part of the team in true, once upon a time. Stare numbly at the pack for a lifetime. Take one. Let him light it. Hold inexpertly between fore- and middle- finger and only remember you’re meant to smoke it another lifetime later. It’s not as bad as—actually, nevermind. It doesn’t so much tickle the throat as burn all the way down and erupts from you in white smoke. No one says anything as you hack it out again and wipe at streaming eyes—not a single laugh or snide comment or sympathetic look or even a friendly thump on the back.

Pull on it much shorter, next time. Much better.

[J-1.37] Attagirl.

Just the four of you in the exec suite. Might be just the four of you left in the whole world. It’s as quiet in here as your graves will probably be, the hustle and bustle of military life easily shut out. Rufus is elsewhere, for once actually worried about something past the tip of his own nose, alone but for his director-cum-lackeys-cum-headless chickens all clucking about him. Can’t imagine there’s much worth listening to.

What are you meant to say, at the end of the world? What are you meant to do?

[IA-4.78] …

Can’t do it. Can’t say it—can’t say anything at all. Smoke chokes what could try to be words and leaves you thinking, fuck, well, and staring at the wall opposite like it knows better than you. It might.

[J-1.38] So we’re just waiting for his holiness to give us orders?

Silence, long and lasting. Can’t imagine what orders might be. Something impossible, something only a Turk could do. Go stop the sky from falling down, maybe.  Yeah, no.

[J-1.39] C’mon, man. Someone talk to me.

[J-3.44] Just what do you want me to say?

[J-1.40] Something. Anything.

[J-2.11] Reno.

[J-1.41] What? God, if I can’t have a breakdown now, when the fuck can I?

[J-3.45] No one’s having a breakdown.

Having the boss back hasn’t helped like you’d hoped. Tseng’s as lost as the rest of you, if not more, having been forced to catch up from his sickbed by way of hastily-scribbled reports, almost illegible between your handwriting and Rude’s. He shouldn’t even be here, but he’d insisted. Whatever medical did to him, they did it well—but he’s not the same man he was a week ago. Paler. Weaker. No one’s said shit about the way he breathes harder after a set of stairs, but everyone’s gotta be thinking it loudly.  You sure are.

[J-3.46] We’ll wait for the President and go from there.

[J-1.42] And if Rufus darling hasn’t got shit?

[J-3.47] As I said—we take it from there.

That’s how Rufus finds the four of you, sprawled out on couches daddy’s money bought once upon a better time. If he’s surprised at all to see you ignoring decorum, he doesn’t show it: no, the only thing on that face of his is a crease in his brow, a downward twist of his thin mouth.

[J-5.5] Don’t tell me you’re sulking.

Doesn’t even want to acknowledge the imminent end of the world. That’s for everyone else to worry about. Good to know. Rufus crosses the room with quick, confident steps to throw the shutters open and bathes the room in Meteor-stained light. Everything turns gory red and sickly pink. The cigarette smoke reminds you of burning buildings—of Sector 7 so sharply and suddenly that you have to stub the damn thing out.

[J-5.6] Pathetic. Is this all it takes? I thought you were Turks.

[J-1.43] All respect, sir, we’ve never seen anything like this before.

[J-5.7] So?

Don’t even try to hold back the laughter. Rufus’ attention is on you in a flash, a predator after his prey, but… God, being torn apart now would at least mean you wouldn’t need to worry about anything else. That’d be something, at least.

[J-3.48] Have the directors come to an agreement, sir?

Meet his gaze, gun-grey, inscrutable. What’s he gonna do, fire you? Shoot you? Will him with every fibre in your body for him to find the courage. Come on, sir, take off those pristine whites and join us in the muck. Get your own hands dirty, just once.

[J-5.8] No. I’m still waiting on a copy of Hojo’s reports, and I want to make sure Reeve’s loyalties still lie with the company.

[J-2.12] You think they might have changed?

[J-5.9] I don’t know. I want to make sure.

[J-3.49] Hojo’s reports?

[J-5.10] On his so-called Reunion Theory. He mentioned it in the crater.

Reunion. It sounds familiar, somehow, a memory hidden under other thoughts like scraps of paper covering an already-messy table.

[J-4.79] Reunion…

[J-1.44] God, don’t. You sound like Hojo when you mutter like that.

Kick Reno’s ankle lightly for that, but grin all the same. Almost miss the soft snort that sounds like it belongs to the boss, but came from the other side of the room where Rufus stands alone. Stare so hard his little smile disappears entirely. Holy shit, he’s human.

[J-3.50] Elena?

[J-4.80] … Right. Uh—Reunion. I read those notes. It’s all about how, uh, Jenova cells—wait, I need to explain what—

[J-3.51] You don’t.

[J-4.81] —uh? Uh, okay—how they all want to become whole again. Like a magnet, a really powerful one. If you cut it in three and put the pieces in the corners of the room, they’d all start to gravitate back to each other, right? So… like that, but a living… thing.

The full implication of what Jenova is hits you all at once like a brick to the head. Can’t breathe, suddenly. God, they were—they were—this whole time, and no one said—

[J-1.45] Do they know?

They are sat in cells awaiting judgement, entirely at Rufus’ mercy. Would hate to be them right now. Do they know? They must, or they wouldn’t have been chasing the dead bastard all this time. Knew all along, probably. And never said a fucking word.

Rufus shrugs. He almost looks elegant, perched on the end of the table. Something about the way he holds himself is… well, it’s inspiring. Rude sits up straight. Your own hands fly to your collar to check the knot of your tie. As one, all four of you get to your feet.

[J-5.11] I suggest you go easy on them.

Reno scoffs aloud as he pulls his jacket on. With his foot dangling artlessly, Rufus tosses his head to get the hair out his eyes, and follows up with:

[J-5.12] Reeve informed me they’re grieving. The Ancient is dead, and—

[J-3.52] What?

Tseng’s tone makes the three of you stop dead. A quick glance sees him more intense than you thought possible: eyes narrowed and fixed on Rufus. He might be an arrow about to fly, to find his enemy’s heart and wedge himself in, deep and fierce and unyielding.

[J-5.13] Sephiroth, as I understand it. A pity—

[J-3.53] A pity?

Don’t complain when Reno’s hand goes to the small of your back and pushes you out. Don’t think you want to hear that fight. Not your business. Really, really not your business. Be relieved, when they hustle you away from the door.

[J-1.46] Which one you want, then?

PROPERTY OF SHINRA’S GENERAL AFFAIRS
AVALANCHE INTERVIEWS, PT. 3 OF 3
GA/077 AND “RED XIII”
[μ] εγλ 20██/██/██

077—Your, uh, friend is alive.

[pause 10s]

077—Oh, for—this was already the worst week ever, and now they’re making me talk to a dog? Reno, you son of—

RX—I am not a dog.

[inaudible exclamation, 6s]

077—shit, shit, fuck! Fuck. Fuck, okay. You—you can talk.

RX—Yes.

077—You could always talk?

RX—Yes.

077—God! A-alright. Uh—do you know why you’re here?

RX—I presume it has to do with the situation regarding Sephiroth.

077—That’s—

RX—Or this is an exam requested by the professor.

077—Professor?

RX—Hojo.

[pause 10s]

077—Uh… no, no, nothing like that. I’m not sure he even—no, it’s not that. 

[pause 4s]

077—Wait, you know Hojo, then?

[pause 5s]

RX—We are aware of each other.

077—Er… right. No, this is—you got it right first time. Actually, this is kinda just a formality, this interview. None of us really know what’s going on—you, us, anyone. So—

RX—You said Tifa is unharmed?

077—Tifa? Oh, the girl with the [pause 4s] yeah, she’s alright. Must’ve hit her head when she collapsed, ‘cause she’s not waking up, but apparently her vitals are just fine. A bit of bed rest and she’ll be okay, probably. We’ll let you guys know if anything changes. Turk honour.

[pause 4s]

077—Don’t look at me like that. Okay, so, uh, what do you know about Meteor?

PROPERTY OF SHINRA’S GENERAL AFFAIRS
AVALANCHE INTERVIEWS, PT. 2 OF 3
GA/052 AND CID HIGHWIND
[μ] εγλ 20██/██/██

CH—About the same as you, I reckon.

052—That little? Great. Just great.

CH—Here, you got a—? [pause 10s. Sounds of a match being lit.] Thanks. Yeah, I dunno, man, we ain’t got shit. Or if we do, I weren’t payin’ attention to it.

052—Why’d you tag along in the first place? I mean, I get it, the program not being reinstated was a blow, but you didn’t have to shack up with terrorists first chance you got.

CH—Your President shot up my fucking plane. 

052—Huh?

CH —The Tiny Bronco. That fat cunt Palmer tried to steal it, and then Rufus shot it down. Fuck the both of ‘em for it, and fuck Shinra.

052—[laughter 3s] Rufus shot down your—? Damn, man, that’s—

CH—It’s fucked up is what it is.

052—Damn.

[laughter 3s. pause 6s]

052—Must’ve picked up something while you were on the road with ‘em, though. 

CH —Oh, sure. Whole bunch of shit no one ever bothered to explain fully. Look, man, I’m an engineer. Gimme a wrench and a valve and I’m a happy man. They never covered materia in the Academy. And Sephiroth? He was meant to be dead, and now he’s not? [pause 6s] And then pipsqueak started going loopy.

052—Around when? Roughly. 

CH—[pause 3s] That old temple? Right after? Yeah, after, when it turned into [pause 2s] and he handed it over, the dumbass. [pause 5s] And then that flower girl—yeah, I wouldn’t be the same after, either.

[pause 15s]

052—Damn shame. She’s a—was—she’s a good kid.

[pause 6s]

052—Alright, sorry. How’d you get from there to the crater, then? Hell of a journey without an airship.

CH—My airship.

052—You wanna cough up the seven-fifty it took to build her, she’s all yours.

CH—Check my wallet, asshole. We walked.

052—What, seriously? All the way to—?

CH—And it was fuckin’ awful the whole time, yeah. Thought we got it under control, though. Some big nasty was carryin’ the materia and we took it back.

052—The materia…? You don’t mean—

PROPERTY OF SHINRA’S GENERAL AFFAIRS
AVALANCHE INTERVIEWS, PT. 1 OF 3
GA/048 AND BARRET WALLACE
[μ] εγλ 20██/██/██

BW—Yeah, we got it back. For all the good that did.

[pause 3s]

BW—Little fucker gave it to me to carry. You ever used materia? [pause 3s] Felt different to the regular stuff. Dunno, I’m no expert. It—it was different. Heavy, or dense, or whatever you wanna call it. Bad news.

048—Fitting, considering what it’s done.

[pause 10s; sound of shutter opening]

048—And then?

BW—And then we caught up with you all in the crater. W-well, we ran into Sephiroth first. Or whatever he is. Did some [inaudible] shit. Freaked out Cloud, and Tifa. Hey—you’re sure she’s alright?

048—Like I said—

BW—I know what you damn well said. I wanna see her. 

048—When she’s stable—

BW—Forget about when she’s stable, I wanna see her now!

048—No.

BW—Then we’re done here. Put me back in my cell, I ain’t speakin’ to you anymore.

[pause 10s]

048—Your little girl’s safe. For now.

BW—What—that’s low, even for—

048—’For now’ won’t last all that long. You see that [pause 3s] out there? 

BW—What’s that gotta do with—

048—You ever read a history book? They reckon whatever made the crater in the north wiped out as much as fifty per cent of the world. [pause 4s] People, plants, animals. You never wondered why there’s not much out there?

BW—Shinra—

048—If you wanna get technical, we’re still recovering from the last time.

BW—Shinra’s suckin’ the planet dry. You ain’t helping.

048—We’re doing more than you think we are. But that’s beside the point. You, me, that little girl of yours… none of us want to die. But that’s what’s coming.

[pause 5s]

048—Call us if you think of anything.

PROPERTY OF SHINRA’S GENERAL AFFAIRS
UNOFFICIAL INTERVIEW - TOP SECRET
NOT FOR PUBLIC DISTRIBUTION
GA/039 & PRESIDENT R. SHINRA &  REEVE TUESTI

RT—Mister President. Tseng.

PR—At ease. How’re you feeling?

RT—Sir?

PR—It’s been a hell of a week. Week, month—whatever.

RT—Be a lie to say I wasn’t stressed. May I smoke, sir?

PR—Be my guest. Tseng?

[pause 15s]

RT—Thanks. So—how can I help?

039—We’ve finished our initial interviews with the members of Avalanche. [pause 8s] We’d like to ask you to see if there’s any anomalies in these reports.

RT—Reports? Alright. Let me see…

[pause 20 minutes]

RT—Looks… good, actually. Couple of missed details here and there, but nothing life-changing.

039—Such as?

RT—All of them seem to have forgotten it was me that helped out, at the temple. [pause 4s] Oh, god.

PR—Don’t worry about it.

RT—But—

PR—He’d have gotten it one way or another. We had the upper hand, for five minutes. 

RT—Oh, god.

039—These are otherwise accurate, though? The temple itself was the materia?

RT—Uh—yeah. Yeah, that’s right.

039—Fascinating.

PR—Hojo didn’t seem to think any of it was important. Hasn’t talked about anything other than the Reunion in days.

039—He can’t exactly subject Meteor to his usual experiments.

[laughter. Pause 5s]

PR—These are accurate, then? Mostly. [pause 3s] A personal question, if you’ll indulge me.

RT—Sir?

PR—How do you feel about them?

RT—Sir?

PR—About Avalanche. About everything. This whole mess. Off the record, of course.

[pause 1 minute]

RT—It’s… definitely a mess. I don’t know, sir—all things considered, they’re pretty normal. Not hard to see why they all came together. [pause 13s] I don’t think they’re bad.

039—They did blow up Reactor 1.

RT—I know that! No, I mean—I don’t think they’re bad the same way that—what’s her name, your newest. Elena? I don’t think she’s bad. But she still wears your suit and does your bidding. Sir. Uh, no offense, I know you Turks are—

PR—Get to the point.

RT—They’re just… people. Like you and me. Sure, they’ve done some terrible things, but out of a sense of… They’re just doing what they think is right. [pause 8s] What’re you planning for them?

PR—I haven’t decided yet.

RT—Right. Right, of course. [pause 6s] Will you let me know?

PR—Gone soft, Reeve?

RT—Wh—no! No, that’s not—it’s not like I have anything else to do. [pause 4s] Can’t imagine you want me planning extensions around Junon.

[laughter 3s]

PR—I’m sure we can find something for you to do. [cell phone alerts, pause 10s] Excuse me. 

[door clicks. Footsteps. Door clicks again.]

RT—You’re not going with him?

039—I had some questions of my own. [pause 4s] Nothing like you’re imagining. [pause 7s] I’d like to know about—about Aerith.

Chapter Text

Can’t see anything up here but the big desk and the disappointed face behind it. Can’t hear anything either, except the hum of the AC. It’s too low for your liking. Be glad for the jacket.

[J-3.54] Have I missed anything?

Try and fail not to shrink under Tseng’s shrewd gaze. There’s two of him, you’ve learned: one was there with you in the Temple, level-headed and mission-focused, the consummate professional Reno says he is. The second one sits across from you now, stern and disapproving like the Academy’s principal.

Remember him teasing, in Nibelheim. Scratch that. Three Tsengs. Maybe more.

[J-4.82] I don’t think so, sir.

Reeve had been thorough, telling him all about your little sojourn north. Never thought for a second the little bastard would tell. Isn’t there too much else going on to focus on past mistakes? God damn him. Wouldn’t have gone anywhere if he hadn’t said anything in the first fucking place!

[J-4.83] Actually—did the director say why I left my post?

[J-3.55] You’re about to tell me it was his fault, aren’t you.

That delivered in the tone of someone who’s used to dealing with miscreants. In your mind's eye, Reno sticks his tongue out. Take a breath and ignore that mental image and keep a tight leash on the mix of misery and anger that wants so dearly to boil over. This isn’t the place for it.

[J-4.84] … Yes, sir. He all but told me to go. I think he felt sorry for me. Maybe. After you—

Not a single muscle has twitched in the boss’s face except for the minute raise of his eyebrows. You’d have missed it if you weren’t focused on him, appealing to his good sense and forgiving nature. From a Turk. Better start writing that cosmic jokebook.

[J-4.85] … Wouldn’t even have known where to go if he hadn’t said.

[J-3.56] Elena, you’re a Turk. Of course you’d have—

[J-4.86] All respect, sir, no I wouldn’t have.

Oh, he’s not happy at being interrupted. Quick, before he can tell you off further—

[J-4.87] I didn’t know where Avalanche was—I didn’t know what I was meant to be doing while you were dying. Presidential detail, yeah, fine, but you know what Rufus is like. Reno got sent out somewhere and Rude never told me I was meant to do anything else—I’ve just been sat around clueless for weeks! I wanted to—nevermind, it’s not—I never even knew they crossed the sea with us, sir, you know that? I don’t get told anything. How am I meant to help, if I—am I just a bench player? Is that it? Why’d you hire me at all if you weren’t gonna use me? I’ve been trying to look up these weapons the directors have been talking about, and we’ve talked to Avalanche, and I don’t know what else I’m meant to—

[J-3.57] Elena.

Stop. Stare. He’s holding a box of tissues out… but your cheeks are dry. Just who the hell do they think you are? Him, Rufus, Reeve—is it because you’re a girl? Like that makes you any less dangerous. Take a deep breath and hold it. Remind yourself of director Scarlet. Bet no one wants to fuck with her just ‘cause she doesn’t have a dick.

[J-3.58] You’re as much as a Turk as the rest of us.

[J-4.88] Ha.

Yeah, right. Tseng can’t think that, not really. He had his back turned while some asshole gave you a suit and a gun and—ah. Right.

[J-4.89] I just don’t get why you let me join up at all, sir. I’m not like you or Rude or Reno. Experienced, or… I’m not my sister.

Tseng’s silent as he waits for further outbursts, but it’s all come out of you already. Think for all of a half-wild second: should’ve gone with them in Icicle after all. If they’d have even let you. But no—you’d still be here if you had, and much worse off for it. You might be a fuckup, but at least you aren’t waiting out the rest of your life in some dingy cell.

[J-3.59] You most certainly aren’t. I can’t imagine a world where Emma would abandon the President to go sock a terrorist in the gut.

Feel five inches tall all over again. Not being Emma’s never not worked out for you before, but this might be the culmination of, well, everything. Should’ve been more like her after all.

[J-3.60] Reno would, though.

Stare at your hands. Yeah, he would. But what’s that got to do with you?

[J-3.61] And Rude is the only person I know that could knock someone out with a single punch. Not to mention, you grasped the particulars of the Jenova report quickly. Nor did they bother you.

Were they meant to bother you? Other than giving you the heebies, but plenty of things do.

[J-3.62] Yes, your sister’s the reason we took note of your records in particular. But your records speak for themselves, Elena. Marksmanship. Endurance. Five elite emblems, and a glowing recommendation from both the Academy and your time interning for  administration… I won’t lie and say hiring you wasn’t a gamble. But it was a gamble that paid off.

The tissue box is so inviting. Eyes, nose, cheeks—they’re all warm with the threat of tears, but no way will you reach for it. Nope. No way.

[J-3.63] I won’t pretend this incident isn’t staying off your permanent record, but not a one of us has a clean file.

[J-4.90] Not even you, sir?

For the first time since before the Temple, Tseng’s mouth lilts upwards in a way that might be coy on anyone else. On him it’s furtive. A little dangerous. The kind of thing that makes your breath come short.

[J-3.64] I—

[█████] ALL MILITARY PERSONNEL TO SEAFRONT IMMEDIATELY. REPEAT. ALL MILITARY UNITS TO SEAFRONT IMMEDIATELY.

[J-4.91] What—?

Tseng’s phone finds its way into his hand in a heartbeat and at his ear another heartbeat later, waiting to deliver orders. Even as he’s waiting for someone to pick up he’s on his feet, looking your way, jerking his head toward the door.

[J-3.65] Rufus is meant to be meeting with Heidegger right now.

Halfway down the corridor it occurs to you that the good President is about as independent as a cat and about as prone to wandering. No point calling the others—they’re on Avalanche detail. That’s right—today was E-day for them, and rather than burden you with walking innocents to their death, Tseng’d chosen to reprimand you instead.

Still not sure how you feel about Rufus using them as a scapegoat. Not sure either how you feel about being kept from Turk work. Especially after that little speech of his.

Think about taking the elevator until Junon itself shakes on its foundations. It’s not just you that goes flying: a handful of infantrymen nearby are sent almost to the ground too. Didn’t even hear the boom of whatever made the world shake.

[J-4.92] ████?!

Can sure as hell hear the ringing in your ears, though. High pitched and unrelenting, loud enough so that you can’t hear yourself yell. One of the men nearby waves his hand to get your attention:

[██] ████████████? ████?

[J-4.93] ████.

Forget about them, and the way they’re tripping over themselves and their gear trying to get back to their feet. Push up. Use the momentum to go tearing down the hall, into the stairwell. Take them two at a time, every impact harsh on your ankles. Soldiers do the same on every level you pass, wisely getting the hell out of the way if they see you coming. A rushing blue suit can only mean one thing. Rufus—fucking Rufus. Is he going to be a good boy, stay put? Wait for extraction? If you were him—

[J-4.94] ███mit.

No, he’ll be at the fore. Where it’s just about safe, but only barely. The kind of thing that’d give Tseng a heart attack. Might give you a conniption. That’d be the main suite, the so-called war room overlooking Junon Bay, two floors about the execution grounds—completely the other direction. God fucking dammit.

Jump half a mile into the air as your phone buzzes in your pocket. Just about drop it as you flip it open. Realise hazily that you can hear it chiming, the merry jingle just about offset by high-pitched ringing. That could get annoying quick.

[J-3.66] The President—

[J-4.95] The war room, right? On it.

[J-3.67] … Good job.

Hang up, gasping. Take steps back up one a time this time. Try for two, but your knee wobbles dangerously on the first attempt. Fuck that. He’d sounded pleased. Surprised. He’s the one that said you were one of them, and then goes and doesn’t expect that from you? No take-backs, sir. Keycard, keycard—

Junon shakes again as the door opens from the inside and sends you flying into Rufus. Face, meet chest. If he goes oof you don’t hear it over the ringing. Shame. Could use that sound in the daydreams. He doesn’t, however, fall to the floor.

[J-4.96] Sir—

[█████] ALL NON-MILITARY PERSONNEL, EVACUATE IMMEDIATELY. REPEAT. ALL NON-MILITARY…

Rufus takes your wrist—too tight, hurts—and drags you away from the door, into the corridor. If you look a mess, he looks a hundred times worse. His pupils are tiny and his hair’s all out of its immaculate style.

[J-5.14] We need to go.

Have to shake him off to lead the way. Thankfully he falls in easy enough, used to being behind a suit. Or because he thinks you might actually stave off the end of the world. When everything shakes again, you stop in tandem, feet unsteady.

[J-4.97] Just what the hell—

[J-5.15] Weapon. From the—you weren’t there.

He must mean the crater. Had watched the things fly out, the size of airships and just as fast. Two drinks in, you’d thought of dragons and the tale of Sir Alfred. Had giggled, then, at the idea of kissing a big old beastie. Doesn’t seem all that plausible now.

[J-4.98] Weapon? Here?

The President looks at you with pleading eyes that would belong better on a child. Most powerful man in the world, everyone. 

[J-5.16] So you understand why we need to go.

[█████] ALL NON-MILITARY PERSONNEL…

Oh, yeah, you understand, alright. Take off again at a brisk walk and then, against better judgement, a jog. Rufus neither complains nor gets left behind. Good.

The klaxon’s almost loud enough to make you think you’ve gone deaf again, blaring one long note between announcements. Run by a group of third-class Soldiers with their swords drawn—like swords might do anything against creatures great enough to make a whole city shake!—and a few more gunmen checking off ammo. No one recognises either of you.

[J-5.17] It evaded—the cannon.

What? Slow down and stare—he’s on the phone, doing his best to give a report as the both of you make it across Junon unimpeded.

[J-5.18] Yes, I’m with—we’re going to—Elena, stop.

He’s out of breath. Actually, so are you. It feels good to stop for a second, and then your legs and lungs are burning fiercely. Double over trying to breathe through your mouth. Wrong thing to do. Feel worse right away. Straighten with effort and wipe your brow.

[J-5.19] Yes. En route to the airfield. If not the Highwind, a heli, at least. Where are—?

Slow and even, Elena. Slow and—god, everything hurts. A warm up would’ve been great before you went sprinting every which way.

[J-5.20] Midgar, yes. Be safe.

… That sounded downright human of him. Weird. Definitely Tseng, then, but god, does that make them friends? More? Oh, weird. Wonder what Turk rules on fraternisation are, and if it really matters if the President’s the one who tosses the handbook out of the window. The kind of man you just can’t say no to. Eurgh, shivers up the back.

[J-5.21] Elena. We’re going to take ██████████ —

Junon rocks again, and takes all the sound with it. Rufus doesn’t seem to notice right away: he keeps talking and scowls. Point at your ears and shake your head.

[J-5.22] ███████████████████!

Read his lips: that was the cannon. Oh—so when he said—they tried to shoot it? How very Shinra of them, to think a big gun would be the answer to whatever problem presented itself. Above the world, something ten times bigger waiting like a guillotine to fall—they gonna shoot that out of the sky next, too?

Rufus jumps—or at least, does the next best thing a man like him can do to being startled: he frowns at his phone, lit up and buzzing in his hand, and accepts the call. One moment. Two. He shakes his head, frustrated.

[J-5.23] █████—███. ████████████—

He stops and tries again with enough force to make the line of his throat go tight: shouting, like that might make him hear himself again. Wave hand to get his attention: he’s scowling when he looks over. Very deliberately mouth stop talking! and come on!

Sound is slow to come back this time, but it does so like the rushing of the waves far below, hissing and crashing and confusing as it hits you. There’s panting—that’s you. For someone out of practise, you’re pretty sure you made good time getting here. Come to a halt. Have to. There’s an elevator you have to take to get to the airfield. Heavy duty kind of thing. Should feel safe. Doesn’t.

[J-5.24] … Is it over?

He looks surprised to hear himself not sounding like himself, voice ragged after all the effort of running and shouting. All you can do is shrug. He pulls his phone out in response… and closes it again when the elevator starts groaning loudly and carries the two of you up, up, up. It creaks in the way of heavy machinery and—hate making the comparison, hate knowing how accurate it is—a city made of metal recoiling into a cliff.

When the doors open again, it’s… silent. No chatter, no gunfire, nothing—no one even milling around pretending to look busy. The engineers probably ran after the first alert, if they were sensible… or died, if they weren’t.

[J-5.25] … Elena.

Yeah, yeah, you know. The President says your name again—a week ago it might’ve been nice to know you were known. Now it’s just irritating.

Pull out your phone to call Tseng. He picks up on the first ring.

[J-4.99] Uh… there’s a problem, sir.

[J-3.68] What kind of problem?

[J-4.100] The... The Highwind's gone.

Chapter Text

JENOVA, says the sign above the door and about a thousand other little plaques hidden in plain sight and the tubes running across the ceiling and walls. JENOVA, like the word’s meant to mean anything to anyone, like it’s not the x-point on a map that signals to any and everyone to stay the hell away. JENOVA, this close to civilisation—well, not anymore. There’d been no such warning in the Shinra building where it’d broken free and left a bloody trail in its wake. Maybe if they’d signposted certain doom, everyone but those freaks in Science might’ve known to jump ship. Yeah, maybe not.

[N-2.13] You alright?

The guts of the reactor would be terrifying on its own, all piping leading to nowhere and this ever present hum that sets your teeth on edge. Something metallic in the air daring you to take another step in. Normal people wouldn’t get this close. Real shame you’re not. Rule of thumb: touch nothing. Sure, don’t want to be hurt, but more than that, don’t want to find an invoice from Rufus dearest sitting waiting for you ‘cause you had the balls to look funny at one of his machines. Add on top of all that the fucking pod people that you just have to assume are long-dead, and the red emergency lights giving you a headache, and a big ol’ door with nothing behind it that wants you to come closer, closer, closer…

They sent people here to fix the damage. People like you.

[N-4.101] Were you here?

Can’t even pretend you’re anywhere else. Too delicate a task to get lost in the doldrums about. Not really sure why they sent you here, then. 

[N-4.102] When—

[N-2.14] Would you like me to lie?

Meet his eyes through the lenses. Hope you do, anyway: all you can see’s a mirror of your face, pale and worried. School it into something a little less concerned. Take a breath. Make a choice.

[N-4.103] I read the reports. Were they true?

[N-2.15] Mostly.

Fucking Turks. Can’t even put the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the goddamn truth down on paper where it belongs. Like top secret isn’t secret enough. Why bother writing anything at all, then? Not even Hojo was that cagey—actually, come to think of it, there wasn’t really anything missing from his papers at all. Size and shape and smell of the thing they dug up for all the world to see, if they knew where to look. Gross.

[N-4.104] By mostly, you mean…

The two of you have to walk up past the rows of please-be-dead creatures to get to the true heart of the reactor. Neither of you stray too far from dead centre, like any misstep might wake ‘em up shrieking and screaming. God, imagine that.

[N-2.16] Boss’s orders.

Not sure what’s worse: Rude’s conversation being like pulling teeth, or Reno’s incessant chatter about any and everything that grabs his attention. He stops so suddenly you almost run into his back—right, right, swipe the keycard to be let in. Have to look over your shoulder at the other sealed door, like Jenova itself might emerge while you weren’t looking. Why’d they keep it in a reactor, of all places? Stupid place to put a monster.

[N-2.17] We didn’t leave out much. The names of those in attendance. How long it took to restore the town. Little things.

Must’ve taken a lifetime. Well—maybe not. Never heard about reconstruction back home. Never would’ve given a shit about some tiny backwater village, come to think of it. It’s not like Nibelheim’s particularly large: the manor and its basement probably had the most money poured into it when it was first built. Can’t quite remember if everything else was made of wood, but it’s quaint enough—poor enough—that it might as well be. Probably took less time to put back together than it’ll take to fix up Sector 7.

Was Emma here? Wonder if your feet now follow the ghost of hers in this atrium, inexorably joined to her no matter what you do. Hard not to think of her even on the best days, but you’re doing it more and more now the world’s all going to shit. If she was here—

But she’s not. She’s not, and even if she was, she’d be doing the same thing you are, climbing down into the rotten guts of Nibelheim’s old reactor looking for a last-ditch hallelujah.

Probably.

[N-4.105] You knew my sister?

[N-2.18] Not as well as others.

Figures, really. The two of them side by side would’ve been a class act in silence. Fuck, can only imagine the face you’d have pulled if she’d ever brought him home. Not that he’s her type. You think.

[N-2.19] What do you want to know?

God, how can he be the one asking that? She’s your sister. Should be you offering details… except you don’t really know all that much about her. Never did. Emma was always quiet. Insular. Stood about yea-tall, had the audacity to buy new clothes instead of fix up the old, and took all of daddy’s lessons to heart. Never deviated from the rules, never missed a bullseye, never turned down an order.

And now she’s gone.

[N-4.106] No, I—er—

Choose that moment to trip over a wire not taped down well enough. Catch yourself before you go careening into something delicate. Rude didn’t even take a second to glance backward at you. Good. Not sure you could’ve managed being helped on top of everything else.

[N-4.107] You think this plan’s gonna work?

At least he waits for you to catch up. A door slides closed as he hits a button, cuts you off from Jenova-storage, and the whole world starts whirring as the elevator takes you down. Right into the belly of the beast, except the beast doesn’t have any guts anymore, ‘cause the Professor took ‘em all out and the General took its head and who’s to say it has human biology anyway.

[N-2.20] You asking what I think, or what your sister would say?

[N-4.108] You.

[N-2.21] They don’t pay me to think.

Smartarse. Glare up at the back of his bald head. Step over a pipe far too big to be buried. Feels a little silly that the majesty of Shinra’s architecture is completely lost on you: this is the kind of place plenty of people would kill to see. Have killed to not see, come to think of it. A full-on modern marvel, and you can’t wait to be free.

[N-4.109] Fine. What about Emma?

[N-2.22] No idea.

Could throttle him. Might throttle him and leave him here. Let the ecoterrorists figure out why a Turk’s body was left rent asunder in the depths of a reactor. Jenova’s reactor, at that. Could become the next threat to the world, if you were so inclined. Sounds good, actually, moving around from place to place looking for your sister and discarding the bits and pieces that only get in the way. And when you finally get your hands on her, then what? Shit, maybe you should track down Jenova to ask what its endgame is.

[N-4.110] Great talk, chief.

[N-2.23] Enough of that. Pay attention, now.

You’ve been taken right down into the core where everything throbs and hums like it’s alive, mimicking the thing that was kept above so long ago. Big materia, huge materia, right. Notably absent. Rude beckons you away from the elevator and around a few important-looking panels with their flashing lights trying to tell you something. A stranger to their language, you can only tear your eyes away and follow him to yet another door where a keypad waits, and watch carefully as he shows you exactly where to input your credentials for access: G… A… 0… 4… 8… typed so slow it hurts.

[N-4.111] You know I know how to use a keypad, right?

[N-2.24] You think I want a fuck-up in here?

A door slides open to admit you entry to a place where only engineers have gone before. Tight, in here. Cramped. Can’t imagine the big man’s feeling much better than you, but he’s not complaining, so you hold your tongue and watch as he reaches out those big arms of his to a screen labelled OUTPUT and opens it. Must’ve been treated glass or something: it swings open and reveals the treasure within, a jagged-looking rock about as long and broad as a particularly fat baby.

[N-4.112] Just like that?

[N-2.25] Just like that.

[N-4.113] I thought it’d be… harder to get to.

[N-2.26] Output was designed to be funnelled to a particular place. Just have to know where to go. Arms up.

It’s heavier than any baby, that’s for sure, but at least it’s not wriggling and crying. Together the two of you manoeuvre it out of its cell and waddle back out into the core. Every mechanical flash reflects strangely off its surface ‘til the blue of it is lost to intermittent yellows and reds sparkling like a supernova under its crystalline surface.

[N-4.114] Wouldn’t find something like this in the wild, huh?

[N-2.27] Nope.

Supposedly, there’s a mako font in the area. You’ve neither the time nor the inclination to go climbing over the Nibel range looking for it—why bother? The stuff Shinra gives you works well enough. Rude takes the materia from you, supports it with a full-body upward jerk like he’s settling a kid on his hip, and you take control of the passcodes: the core door slides shut again and then it’s up to you to tell the elevator to take you back world-ward.

[N-4.115] … Seems kinda small, for huge materia.

[N-2.28] Big enough.

[N-4.116] Can’t help but wonder if throwing it at Meteor’s gonna work.

Rude examines every inch of you over the edge of it. There’s three pieces of materia in the room: the one in his arms and the two reflected in his shades. He’s unreadable, inscrutable.

[N-2.29] Your sister might have said the same thing.

For the first time, it doesn’t feel like a personal attack. Might’ve done from anyone else, but Rude’s not like anyone else. Too measured, too calm. All he does is examine the truth of the world and engage with it without concern for anything else. Could get a man in trouble, being that sincere. Weird, from a Turk, but then—what’s it that Tseng had said to you, once? Overspecialisation breeds weakness. All of you have a certain something fresh to bring to the fore, and from the sounds of it, the office had always been that way. No need to be rude when someone else has that in spades, you suppose. Like Reno. Reno’s rude, and Rude’s refined. Try saying that five times quick after a stiff drink.

[N-2.30] … If she had said anything at all.

[N-4.117] Ha, ha.

He doesn’t offer the rock back, so you lead the way back through Jenova’s creepy atrium and into another elevator that takes you to the surface proper. Who the hell designed this place, anyway? Damn them, and damn Rufus for making the two of you come out here. Highly classified, your ass. He wanted the two of you to suffer out in the middle of nowhere, but it’s alright. He’ll get his.

Might’ve been hellish down there, but at least it was warm. Out here the air’s cold, the rocks uninviting. Somewhere over the closest peak a big beastie wails and sets your teeth on edge. It wouldn’t be so bad if you could just wait for evac, but Shinra, in his infinite wisdom, had built this monument to sin in the single most inhospitable place on the planet. The only chopper small enough and capable enough of landing anywhere on the mountain proper was destroyed when Junon was attacked, so no more easy visits to the reactor just for fun for the directors… or you.

Check gun. Check materia. Check huge materia. Check it all again, just to be sure.

[N-2.31] Lead on, partner.

Chapter Text

Corel’s a real shithole. Exactly the kind of place you feel keenly for in the worst kind of way—oh, you can commiserate ‘til the chocobos come home, but it’s not your shithole, so it’s not worth caring about. Not really. The slums have character: a resilience born of a beleaguered people too stubborn to move away from being built on top of, a refusal to let go of what makes them, well, them, even with Shinra stomping them into the ground. Midgar is as Midgar does, and what Midgar does is grow and swell in all the right ways.

Not like out here in the sticks. Everyone out here might as well be made of rock—won’t move ‘til they’re knocked down, and even then they stay put. For all they say that coal turns into diamonds under pressure, these sorry bastards remain brittle and blackened by fire. You can see it in their eyes. They know what you are. Of course they know what you are. Not one of them, that’s for damn certain.

There’s a heli waiting at the reactor for you, and something better by far than coal within. A little minecart, right out of a cartoon, sits pretty waiting to take you up into the mountains. Your escort had bullied it out of an old man bent nearly double for the crime of living closest to the tracks. Didn’t offer money, didn’t offer love, didn’t even offer to bring it back. Meet the old man’s eyes as you climb aboard. He’s not even angry. Not anymore, not after a lifetime of honest hard work and Shinra-sponsored neglect. There’s nothing left in him. Tell yourself not to look away as the cart groans to life and spirits you down the track. Can’t even manage that.

Wonder in silence what that says about your character.

There’s no villagers up at the reactor. Might never have been, if you didn’t know better: it’s practically abandoned except for the troopers on guard duty and a token few engineers inside who know how to read flashing lights and throw switches to avoid another Gongaga. Feels emptier than NIbelheim, somehow, and only the strictly authorised were allowed anywhere near anything of interest up there. For good reason, too. Still can’t think of that room of pod-people without a shiver up your spine. No, the good people of Corel would rather spit in Shinra’s eye and stay downtrodden than take his dirty money.

But, an oft-ignored part of your mind wonders, wasn’t it Shinra that ground them down to begin with?

Make the troop that had ridden up with you promise to bring the cart back to the old man. Make him. Force a grown man to link his pinky with yours and swear on his mother’s grave to ride right back into town and thank him for the use of his cart. Can’t even make the time yourself. What a joke. Could bet good money he’s laughing all the way back to the village. Can’t do anything but dance on the end of Shinra’s string. The control twitches and you jerk to life: one step, two step, three step, core.

When Rufus had finally told you all what he’d come up with, you’d said nothing. Hadn’t laughed, hadn’t made a little cutting comment—nothing. No one had. The four of you had decided, collectively, silently, to just go along with whatever the bastard tells you instead of thinking for yourselves. Easier that way. All on his head if it goes wrong. Can’t come up with anything better, anyway, no matter how hard you try. God knows you’ve tried.

Avalanche is still out there somewhere too, trying their best without a head. Still not sure how to feel about Cloud being gone. Reeve had come to deliver that news personally, as if it was too sensitive to put into an email. He’d looked downright miserable. Man’s a soft touch.

Not dead, he’d said. Gone. The weight of it hadn’t hit til later. Spent all that time dragging his sorry self around the whole world just to watch his friend die, then you’d come along and socked him in the gut as a farewell present before he’d gone climbing the Crater where he met his inner demons and lost, and now he might not even be properly dead. Rest in fucking peace, Cloud, man of many misfortunes. And all that flounder in his wake.

Don’t know what they’re planning, if anything. Don’t care. Not your business anymore. All you have to do is focus on grabbing the materia and getting it to Junon safe and sound. Simple enough, right? Then when you’ve enough, strap it to Rufus’—pardon, Palmer’s—rocket and blast it into space. Blow Meteor to kingdom come and take a bow. Turk work, baby.

Still don’t really know what to make of it all. Been thinking a lot about whether it’ll work, after Nibelheim. After everything Rude had said, and everything he hadn’t. Keep wondering what Emma would say, and nevermind her opinions don’t define your life. Want to know so damn bad that a sister-shaped hole within you growls, hungry for her. Push the thought of her down. Deep down. Like every diet you’ve ever bothered with, the thought of her will come roaring back to life too strong to ignore in the future and pull you under. Forget it. Forget her. Future Elena can deal with that. Current Elena has a heavy chunk of materia to lug to the surface and fob off on the first troopers she sees. Their problem now. Watch them put it on the pre-prepped train and thank god you’re not riding with it: it stinks of coal.

Coal?

Shit, they don’t even get the luxury of clean electricity down here. Every last drop of Mako goes right to the Saucer—to the people that matter. All the village dregs get is all they can dig out of the mountain. You know, the one Shinra sat a reactor on. The one Shinra set up patrols around.

God, Reno had the right of it. You need to stop fucking thinking. It’s gonna get you in trouble, one of these days.

Be totally alone in the pilot’s seat. Like it that way. Don’t have to waste words on anyone that thinks sucking up to you might win them a promotion. Two troopers are in the back, probably gabbing on about how they’d fuck the tightarse out of you if they had the chance, or something equally crass they wouldn’t dare say to your face. Or the boys. Fine by you. Would much rather be an ice queen than a pushover forever. Probably heard worse from the old boys back in the bar anyway, back when you’d been doing homework between pulling pints. Nothing quite so lurid than a drunk trying to cop a feel, not even in the military.

Focus. Blink back to the real world, hovering above the rickety old tracks that lead down the mountain. Train’s going hell to leather down it. Worrying. Maybe. Pretty sure this is normal—has to be. They still need coal down in the village, and hand-carts just won’t cut it. Watch a second train follow after—see? Gotta be supplies. Or something. 

Leave them to it. Can’t follow the train at this height without choking on smog or clipping rock. Follow the track as best you can wondering why the rest of the world never cottoned on: Midgar’s got inter-city tracks, of course, and Junon has a tram system that breaks down more often than not, but they don’t compare. Corel’s the only place that ever tried to get anywhere else. Tried to get out. Now look at ‘em. Hover by a split in the track that leads all the way to Costa Del Sol, where there’s a boat waiting to bring it back to Junon. No small craft is suitable for carrying such an important payload anymore—thanks a million, Weapon—and Rufus wants to inspect it all personally before sending it back off across the world again. Scarlet, too, probably.

See the smoke disappear as the train enters the tunnel. Yawn. Wonder if you’ll have enough time to grab some proper Costan food before the ferry leaves. Probably not. Shouldn’t leave the materia anyway. The train leaves the tunnel on the wrong side. On the track that goes all the way to—to Corel.

Oh, for fuck’s sakes.

Pull the craft after the train. Smell the smoke. Swear. Can’t take hands off the controls. Can’t get anyone’s attention—didn’t bother with a headset, didn’t want to listen to the troopers gossiping. What could anyone do, anyway? Shoot the fucking train off the tracks?

God, it leads all the way into Corel. Like, into into. There’s no station down there, not even a stopblock, just the end of the line. Everyone—everyone is going to die. They’re all going to die in a fucking freak train accident and no one’s going to care. Is it Avalanche? Has to be, doing this, but on purpose? New low, even for them. All their posters say Shinra’s killing the planet but they’re the ones doing the dirty work, just like back in the slums.

Consider firepower. Disregard the thought as quick. The heli hasn’t got weapons, and whatever firearms the troops have back there won’t do shit against a train. Nothing you can do short of crashing right into it, and that’d take you all out. It’s not an option.

Isn’t it? says something in the back of your mind, low and awful, is your life worth more than all the lives of Corel?

Think of the old man who’s seen far too much death and destruction for one lifetime. Think of the grubby-faced kids feeding skinny strays ‘cause sharing is caring! Think of every man and woman who looked at Shinra’s proposals and spat on the ground instead of sign their lives away. They’ve got more backbone than you ever will, every one of them. Coward. Coward!

Dither in midair. Let the train go by. Swear as you catch it up again. Think, Elena, think— has to be something you can do. Pull the stick back and push it forward like you mean to dash yourself right into it. Pull back again before you can pick up speed, hands sweaty, heart going wild in your chest. Painful. Proof of your life. It’ll stop beating if you—no, no, god, no. Can’t. Can’t.

Movement below. Blink sweat out of your eyes and squint: someone’s crawling on the roof of the train. They look over their shoulder, yells something you can’t hear—shit, there’s more of them. Three whole people climbing along like roaches on a counter. You know their faces, of course. How could you not recognise Avalanche, at this point? Even without Cloud at the helm, they’re still doing their damndest to get under your skin.

Or doing what they think is right, the way you’re doing what Rufus thinks is right. 

Watch, then, as they make their way long, inch by precarious inch. Shinra’s doing its damndest to stop them: hatches open and out pour bio-mecha, quickly taken down by magic and bullets and a fucking shuriken in quick order. That’s all it takes to put an end to Scarlet’s finest. All that money—all that work—and they’re nothing more than bits by the side of the road, now. Can’t find it in you to care. Can’t really make yourself care about the people that come out after them: some shaking trooper who lifts his rifle and falls before he can squeeze off a single shot, left behind at speed for someone else to find.

Have to force yourself to take your eyes off the train every so often. Hate every high-octane second of paying attention to where you’re going and keeping up with the train. Avalanche gets further along with every hasty glance, ‘til all three of them squeeze into the cockpit together and start pulling levers. Good. Thank god. Have to pull away again when the train disappears into another tunnel. Hope—pray they figure it out. Come on, you bastards, show Shinra why you’re better.

Don’t really want to watch it emerge faster than before and plow into the village. Have to. If only for the report. Fuck. Fuck.

The worst sound you’ve ever heard, amplified by the tunnel and funnelled out like a loudspeaker: the shriek of metal on metal as Avalanche figures out the breaks and slams them down. The train erupts from the tunnel as fast as it went in, sparks at the wheels as they grind against the track. It’s not enough. It can’t be enough. Be totally, completely frozen in the air as you watch it slide along what must be a mile of rail, toward the banner strung between two dead trees, toward the people scrambling to get out of the way, and—

The nose slides right off the track and through the shack closest to the rails, but it stops. It stops, holy fuck. Corel’s still on the map, minus a single shitty tent. And then there's silence, but for the chopper’s rotors going. No more uncomfortable, screeching metal to drown out the rest of the world.  No oncoming death, no more destruction from the hands of a company that never cared about this place to begin with.

Don’t stick around to watch Avalanche pop out. Don’t care about the materia anymore. It’s theirs. They earned it. Take one last look at the fuel gauge and pull up and away, to over the mountains where a boat’s waiting for you—well, it’ll just have to wait. You've got a plate of Costan cuisine to get through, and an apology to figure out how to give.

Chapter Text

[J-5.26] Well?

Back straight. Eyes ahead. Focus up the way you were taught at the Academy, where the slightest imperfection would have your knuckles cracked with a ruler and then lines on top of that. Seemed unnecessary then. Actually, it seems unnecessary now.

[J-4.118] Sir.

[J-5.27] You have nothing to say for yourself?

Hard to be scared of the President when he’s so obviously terrified. Not even his fury is potent enough to drown it out. Meteor hadn’t been enough to ruffle his feathers, but a single weak link in his carefully laid plans—a single outcome he couldn’t have foreseen, could never have known to predict—has him snapping like that bitch of his.

Take stock of every imperfection in the brat’s face: a line between his brows that stays put even when he stops scowling; the tell-tale redness of a pimple pushing its way to the surface in the crease of his nose; the flop of his hair refusing to stay in place no matter how many times he pushes it back.

Funny. Rufus Shinra’s human after all.

[J-4.119] Not really.

[J-3.69] Elena.

Right. Some people still care about things like presidential honour—the President not being one of them. The boss stands in the corner of the room looking tired, like being back in disciplinary’s the last place he wants to be. Can commiserate with him on that, at least. With any luck, this one won’t be quite the disaster the last one was. God, if another Weapon pulls itself out of the ocean, you’ll scream. 

[J-4.120] I don’t really know what you want me to say.

[J-5.28] Acknowledgement of what you did would be a great place to start.

[J-4.121] I know what happened. What I did. I fucked up, I know—Avalanche has the huge materia. Big deal. We—

[J-5.29] Big deal?

All that fury’s worked its way out of Rufus’ brain right into the the very tips of his ears, which almost match his hair for how red they’ve gone. Shit, there’s two lines in his brow. And he’s been chewing his lip. Any student worth their salt has had the same telltale marks there at one time or another. Holy shit, he’s really, truly, human.

[J-5.30] Last I checked, the financial value of a fraction of a single one of those materia numbers in the millions. That’s not taking into account, of course, the value of the weaponry on board the transport that was destroyed—I mean both units from R&D’s division, and standard ammunition—Tseng, remind me how much a bullet goes for, these days?

[J-3.70] 200 gil per bullet minimum, sir.

[J-5.31] —right, at a minimum, and I would hate to be the person adding it all up—the locomotive is, of course, a total write-off… Am I missing anything, Tseng?

[J-3.71] The infantry, sir.

[J-5.32] Right. Three dead at Avalanche’s hands, on top of everything else—and you think it’s no big deal.

[J-4.122] I know I messed up! I know, but I can’t undo the past. I can’t—

[J-5.33] Do you even know who died? Names? Ranks? Oh—who am I kidding? You’re a Turk. You don’t care.

[J-4.123] Do you?

Can’t stop it from coming out. Takes him off guard. For a second his mouth flaps open, closed, open again. Ridiculous. Just as human as everyone else, and just as stupid, now. As easy to blind with rage, no matter how he tries to hide behind the cold hard facts. He’s got no way of knowing how to be human, either, not after spending so much time pretending to be a god. Fancy that: still trying to be top dog, and caught short by someone half his age and three-quarters his height.

[J-4.124] Tell me, then, sir. Who died?

[J-5.34] I—

[J-4.125] Without looking at the incident report.

Think he might slap you across the face. Hope he does. Deserve it, just a little. Can see in the tense of his shoulders that he wants to more badly than he’s probably ever wanted anything before. Do it. Do it. Will him to join you down here in the muck and mire, show you what kind of man he really is, now he’s torn from heaven and forced to walk with the rest of you. Turn those pristine whites black.

Maybe the uniform should change, after all. Or maybe they can stay, and altogether you’ll spread black-and-blue across the land. Shinra’s a dab hand at bruising the world til it gets what it wants already. Might as well lead by example.

But no: Rufus is bred better than to go around hitting people, no matter how much he might want to. Instead he starts rifling through papers on his messy desk as though he might find something on it that will teach you a lesson.

[J-5.35] You’re suspended until further notice. Without pay. Maybe some time to reflect on your actions will teach you a little humility.

Doubtful. In his haste, he knocks a pen to the floor. Watch it bleed ink all over the metal floor, a pool that reflects the steadily-building miasma in your soul a little too well. Can’t bear to watch the most powerful man in the world getting ready to run. Pathetic, really. At least he didn’t stamp his feet or pout or demand that you listen to him ‘cause he’s President and that’s what people do—like running away’s any better. He doesn’t deserve that emotionless facade he’s so fond of, if this is all it takes to crack. Can’t have had too many people talking back to him. Pity—he clearly needed it. 

Say nothing as he gathers his things. Just stare at the broken pen and wonder how you got here. Don’t look up as he marches past. Let him throw his little tantrum. Wonder if he’ll slam the door shut.

His boots stop clicking against the floor. Nothing slams. Look up and over your shoulder, hesitant, not wanting another dressing-down from Tseng as well. Meet the President’s eyes.

[J-5.36] By the way—your father’s dead.

ShIN-█████-█████ W█████ █████ — Sergeant ██████████
Status: Deceased ████████/██
Next of kin: ████ █████ (daughter) [PRESUMED DECEASED AS OF ██/██], █████ █████ (daughter)

Daddy’s ID picture stares up at you, unseeing and unblinking, solemn in a way he always kinda was in life. The screen never changes. He is, undeniably, dead… as are however many others that were on the front lines in Junon. Haven’t given them a second thought. They’re not Daddy—but then, neither’s this man, with his silly sergeant hat and crow’s feet made all the more obvious by Shinra’s garish lighting. He shares Daddy’s slightly-crooked nose and busy brows and eyes and mouth and ears but it isn’t Daddy, can’t be Daddy, could never be Daddy, who’s always been so tall and dependable and invincible. No: this is just another man in the infantry, unrecognisable, unremarkable. You’re a Turk. You don’t care about things like names and ranks.

Very carefully—do not cry.

[J-3.72] I got you coffee.

Don’t suppose Tseng has ever waited in his life for anything like acknowledgement. He doesn’t start now. Click-click-squeak-click go his heels across the floor, identical to the President’s steps, except he’s coming toward you instead of running away. Takes a seat, even, and places a to-go cup by your hand.

[J-3.73] Au lait. No sugar.

Just how you like it.

[J-4.126] You knew.

The date of death is almost a full month past. Of course he knew. Probably learned all about it on day one. And he didn’t say shit.

[J-3.74] I knew.

[J-4.127] Were you going to hide it forever?

[J-3.75] I—

[J-4.128] If you dare tell me I didn’t ask, I’ll shoot you.

His mouth clicks shut. Smart man. Recognition never seemed like it would be so worthless. Is this what it takes, every time? Something’s got to give, for you to get? Not just for you—for anyone. Think of all the bodies the office has claimed as theirs, and all the ones it hasn’t. Think about the General, and the war. Think about Daddy, in his well-worn reds. Think about missing payments, and Emma, and what it means for a Turk to be merely presumed deceased.

[J-.4.129] You really weren’t going to say anything? Anything at all?

Don’t bother asking if the others knew, too. Already know—ha!—the answer to that one. Can’t take it. Bury face in hands and take a long, slow breath. Can’t take it. Can’t take knowing Daddy’s gone, can’t take knowing everyone knew before you. God, what they all must think of you now. Rufus was right, you realised, and the scoff that tries its best to force its way out comes out choked and wet instead. Just a kid. You’re just a stupid kid not meant for much at all, and you’re all alone, and how the hell are you meant to know what to do now?

[J-3.76] … We all know what you’re going through.

Yeah, they knew. No ifs or buts about it. Course they did.

[J-3.77] I didn’t know how to tell you. I should have.

[J-4.130] Yeah, you should have!

A dam breaking under the unceasing torment of sudden, unbearable grief, that’s what you are. Buckle from the weight of it and scream louder than you meant to. Wipe roughly away the tears that are already leaking hot and fast, proof of a humanity not adequately quashed enough for you to be worthy of either suit or title.

Realise, in the face of his silence, that he expected this.

[J-4.131] … You thought… you thought I’d act out.

[J-3.78] I’m sorry.

Tseng has your number, has your coffee order, has a lifetime of experience to know exactly how to handle this—handle you. He let the world keep on turning precisely because it would turn without your input anyway. Rufus came up with this grand plan without you. Avalanche got themselves involved without you. Really, nothing that’s happened since they let you join’s needed you at all.

The coffee’s hot. Too hot. Burn lips and sniffle like that’s why you’re upset. No other reason, no sir.

[J-4.132] What… am I meant to do now?

[J-3.79] What do you mean?

[J-4.133] I can’t go get revenge. Rufus already shot the damn thing’s head off.

Weapon’s body’s been floating in Junon Bay ever since. Cleanup crews are doing their best to hack it up and bring it back to the city proper for study, or whatever the directors want to try and do with it—all bets are on as to whether Scarlet or Hojo will win that slapfight. Hope it disintegrates before either of them figure it out, just to piss them off. They don’t deserve the Planet’s secrets.

[J-4.134] And I’m suspended.

[J-3.80] I wouldn’t take that one to heart. Rufus—

[J-4.135] Don’t. I get it. I fucked up. I deserve this.

Tseng looks tired. More than he’s looked in recent days, somehow, and the man’s been stabbed in the last month and a half.

[J-3.81] —what Rufus doesn’t know won’t hurt him.

[J-4.136] ... Sir?

[J-3.82] Consider yourself working in an unofficial capacity until further notice. We need all the help we can get right now.

Right. Time stops for neither man nor woman nor little girls all alone in the big wide world. Meteor still hangs in the sky ominously. Sephiroth does his thing; Avalanche does theirs.

Burn lips again. It’s good coffee. Be a waste not to drink it.

[J-4.137] Tell me…

Want to hear Daddy say it’ll be alright again. Haven’t heard it for years, not since before you got into the Academy. Everything’ll be fine, Elena. Really, Daddy? Will it, Daddy? Promise?

[J-4.138] God, just tell me this rocket thing’s gonna work.

But Tseng says nothing, even when you meet his eye and hold his gaze. Understand, then: what Rufus doesn’t know won’t hurt him. 

Oh, god. You’re all going to die.

Chapter Text

Shinra ain’t worth shit anymore. And what a thing that is, to watch it die, starting from the inside-out, declining so slowly that only those looking for it can recognise the rot for what it is. When it finally collapses, what’s going to go with it? No matter where you look, everything’s connected. If Midgar’s the slow-beating heart, Junon’s the brain, Corel’s the lungs, Nibelheim the liver. The whole world’s dependent on each and every one of them, unable to carry on without them. When one goes—and it is when, at this point, there’s no ifs or buts about it—the rest’ll follow. Guess the question should be what's going first. No medicine in the world could fix this broken beast.

Well, that’s not quite true. There could be. But Shinra won’t allow it, not when the price is their profit margins. The benefits must not outweigh the bonuses, and in the eyes of Shinra and its stakeholders, that’ll never happen.

Stick around just long enough to hear about the disaster the Fortress retrieval ends up being. The infantry, with all its extensive training, got itself good and defeated by a bunch of self-funded free-thinkers. Oh, and Avalanche, but that just feels like a given at this point.

Head back to Midgar with Tseng’s weary blessing. Watch the world turn from green back to grey, the sky itself going dark with smog, the plate rising up like a great grey wave, and think—ah, I’m home.

Even suspended, there’s a million things you could be doing. Like sorting through Daddy’s bachelor pad, or going over old reports and learning how to make yours fit the brief, or hell, even just wasting time in the shooting gallery, Rufus’ precious bullets be damned.

Instead—don’t do a single one of them. Pull the second skin off and leave it in the closet and for the first time in what feels like a lifetime, put on a civilian’s costume. Skirt, shirt, pair of old scuffed boots: the skin of a girl called Elena. Step out into the festering sickness at the heart of the world—the heart of you. Home’s left a hole behind nothing but the Turks can ever hope to fill. Could be worse. Could be drink, or drugs, or wasting away without purpose or direction and wondering what else is out there.

Find yourself back at the old bar your sister used to haunt. Be the youngest person under its roof by about twenty years. Don’t let it bother you: sit at the bar proper and smile at the barman, who recognises you with the frown of a man who thinks you should never have grown up and serves you without asking for ID. Don’t answer his questions. Not even the easy ones. Sit in silence til he leaves you alone—and drink.

Should be a surprise when Reno joins you. Isn’t. The bar goes quiet as the grave except for the too-loud thud of your bottle on the counter, and footsteps coming close, and then he’s sat close enough his knee knocks yours every time it jiggles.

[M-1.47] I’ll have what she’s having.

The bar never really recovers, after that. Guess it’s been long enough since the Turks were here they finally thought they were safe. Shame on them. No one’s ever really safe in Midgar. The regulars filter out as the both of you ignore each other: Reno drinks when you do, bottles tilting in unison, beer glugging at the same speed, mouths grimacing as one.

[M-1.48] Heard about your da.

Should’ve taken longer for the grief to die. Should be worrying. Can’t bring yourself to care. Buried it under the effort of carrying on, step after agonising step, until it became a numbness somewhere deep in your heart that was easier to ignore than look at directly. Easier still to wash away with a couple of headache pills and half a beer.

[M-1.49] Sorry.

[M-4.139] Yeah. Me too.

Once again you drink at the same time. It’s like he’s intent on matching you, however long it takes—ah.

[M-4.140] Tseng told you to watch me, didn’t he?

[M-1.50] Yeah.

Figures.

[M-1.51] Nothing personal. I’m in the doghouse, too.

At long last he breaks the rhythm to drink on his own, the next pull longer than any of yours have been. Turn to look at him—really look. Still skinny, still just scraping by. No bruises this time, but the circles under his eyes are darker. The tattoos draw the eye to them. Bad design, really.

[M-4.141] What’d you do?

[M-1.52] Stayed alive.

He meets your gaze, clinks his bottle to yours.

[M-1.53] They sent my ass to Junon’s reactor. Avalanche came knockin’. Didn’t fancy getting caught up in all that again, so… I ran.

Holy shit. Is every man a coward, these days? First Rufus, now Reno—no. Remember Daddy, swallowed by the sea, and the man on the train that fell at high speed. Tseng hadn’t run, either, at the temple.

Maybe the ones that run are the smart ones.

[M-4.142] Bet Rufus loved that.

[M-1.54] Oh, big time. Offered to suck me off, and all.

Consider how that must’ve gone down in silence. Faced with your indiscretion, Rufus had been furious. With Reno he must’ve been positively apocalyptic. Move over, Sephiroth, there’s another case of righteous anger on the loose, fuelled by good-faith fuckups. If you want the world destroyed, do it your own damn self.

[M-4.143] There weren’t any others, were there? Materia, I mean.

[M-1.55] Nope. Just those four. You’d have thought Midgar’d have made some, right? Nah. Every bit of Mako we can squeeze, we do. Output’s got output out here.

[M-4.144] Gotta keep the lights on somehow. Lot of people living here.

Never really given thought to just how much Shinra’s producing. Enough to keep the world afloat, or as good as—the crazies at the Canyon didn’t even feel it when Gongaga blew, but the rest of the world probably wouldn’t fare quite as well. Bully for them. If the same thing happened here the crater’d be as big as the one up north.

[M-1.56] Too many. At least Junon got a good culling.

Shoot him a glare entirely on instinct.

[M-1.57] … sorry.

Too much effort, being offended. Shrug and tip back the rest of the beer, warm and flat.

[M-4.145] So where’s the little darling now?

[M-1.58] Man, you’re real pissed at him. Hey, old man, put the telly on.

Reno takes it upon himself to commander the remote, half its buttons worn off with age and sweat, flicking through the scant channels ‘til he lands on a grainy prerecorded picture of Rufus. He’s yapping on about the great sacrifice of the many or something equally stupid—just the sound of his voice is enough to get you going. God, you should’ve broken his stupid fucking nose.

Then he disappears, replaced by the rolling green fields of the rocket area, with the No. 26 sticking up like something obscene from somewhere within its little forest. Well, not right up. Some slum drunks could give it a run for its money with how they slump and sway.

[M-4.146] They should rename that thing to—to—I dunno. Big ol’ leaning tower of shit.

[M-1.59] Alright, lightweight. Whatever you say.

Realise you miss the greenery. Home’s well and good, but after so much time spent out in the world seeing what’s there, hidden by a manmade plate, it just makes you think of everything that could be. Once upon a time, Midgar was probably just as green, just as fertile. And then the sickness had set in.

[M-4.147] Is this live?

[M-1.60] Should be. Look for a big bald head, that’s how you’ll know.

The last of you to fuck up, Rude’s probably there on security detail. Squint. The screen’s too small and too high up to see clearly, the only thing certain the rocket proper. Good luck catching your local celebrity. Turn attention back to the empty bottle in your hands instead, now good only for its label being pulled off and shredded into itty-bitty pieces.

In your pocket, your phone buzzes. Reach for it and read the same message Reno—and probably Rude, come to think of it—just received: Avalanche in area. Be alert. Hardly a surprise. Corel, Junon—why not the rocket, too? Can’t fathom what they even want from you, at this point. Not like they can strap the huge materia on and cast super-duper spells with it, or lug it around with them—they didn’t even know it existed ‘til a couple weeks ago. What’s it to them if you shoot it into space?

But of course it means something, even if it’s obscure to you. Everything means something. Maybe that dead friend of theirs told them all about the secrets of materia, and they really are planning on using it to save the world. Maybe they just want to save Shinra a couple billion gil before it’s shot into space to burn up in the atmosphere.

[M-1.61] Well, that’s that, then.

Away goes his phone again, moving unhurried and unconcerned as if he’s only been told dinner plans have changed. He looks more disgruntled to find out his bottle’s empty.

[M-4.148] Shouldn’t we—

[M-1.62] You gonna teleport to the launchpad? Take them on yourself? No you ain’t.

[M-4.149] But Rude needs help!

[M-1.63] Sure does.

A tap of his spindly fingers on the bar and a fresh bottle’s brought without ado. The glass is wet from the freezer. Reno throws it back fluidly… and then jolts, and clutches at his head.

[M-1.64] Arrrgh. Brainfreeze.

Turn eyes back to the little screen just in time to see the first lick of flame, the great plumes of smoke. Can’t see anything else—no Rude, no Avalanche, nothing but the old No. 26 in all its rusted glory.

Wait. What?

[M-4.150] Reno!

[M-1.65] Ow—fuck—what?

The months leading up to No. 26’s original launch had been surprisingly wholesome, to think about it. Even down here in the slums, it had been a thing of pride, brought up every other conversation like it was a contribution to science that could be attributed to every layman in the street. Highwind was a Midgar recruit, a local boy, one of them, and going into space—proof that anyone could do it, if they worked hard enough.

And then it had failed. Aborted just as launch began, so it never got more than a half-mile off the pad. The rocket fell back to earth and stayed there, and every eager street party around the world was put firmly to rest.

Watching it take off now is a heart-in-throat matter. Wait for it to fail and fall again—but the flames keep going, steam covers the little makeshift town that had built itself up around a man with nothing else to live for, and No. 26 pushes its way up, up, up.

[M-1.66] Well, whaddya know.

It took off. It took off. All that pride comes roaring back to life as you watch it escape the world that made it, with its meagre bounty aboard. Think how lucky it is, to be gone. Watch until it’s no longer visible, when all the barman’s grainy screen shows is a foreign blue sky and the excited babble of the newsman stops making sense.

[M-1.67] Rude’s alright.

Hadn’t even noticed him fiddling with his phone again. He sounds relieved. Exhausted. Like he’d resigned himself prematurely to a good friend’s death and was already trying to grow around it.

[M-4.151] He is?

[M-1.68] Well, he’s alive. Burned, a bit, but he’ll live.

Stomach unknots of its own accord. Hadn’t even realised you were worried for him too. Come to think of it, can’t exactly imagine the Turks without him. It’s like the suits need someone quiet, someone loud, and someone cold at all times to be able to function properly.

And you.

Wake up suddenly to bright light. Daytime. Overslept. No—it’s all strange. Too bright. White, turning mottled. Weird. Not right.

Scramble for the window. You’re not the only one sticking their head out to see what’s going on. No sunlamps, but through the holes of Sectors 6 and 7 you can see the sky, pink and red and terrible.

[██] What’s going on?

[██] It’s Wutai! They’re here!

[██] Ah, shaddap—ain’t you been watchin’ the news? 

[██] Stupid Shinra’s rocket—

[██] Some of us ain’t got power, dumbfuck—

[██] Wutai, it’s Wutai! They’re bombing us!

Leave the rest of them to their arguments. Duck back inside. Grab the duvet, turn on the TV. If you were topside you could go stand in the street with everyone else, but you’re far too stubborn for that. Daddy’s place would’ve been too big, too empty. 

The report’s live. At least, it says it is, but the newsman’s sat there frozen—no, nevermind, blinking every so often, mouth ajar. He looks like he might cry. The camera cuts to the sky, and the weight of the world once again settles heavy in your gut.

[████] Ladies… ladies and gentlemen of—of Midgar. Of the world. The—it would appear that—the rocket—the Meteor mission was a failure.

Get back into bed. Expect to lay awake listening to the world whine and wail. Find blessed oblivion in your pillow instead, and dream about the stars.

Chapter Text

<SMS messages recovered from number ███-███-████>

Meet Tseng slumside at your insistence. Don’t much fancy hobnobbing around up top where you’ve gotta put on airs—too much effort. Have to remember shit like manners up there. Which fork to use and when to choke down snails and slivers of ham on melon so thin you could see right through ‘em. And you’d be hungry at the end of it. They never serve enough, topside.

Could’ve dressed up, though. Worn something racy and plunging with those cute heels you’d ordered ‘cause you were bored three months back and never gotten the chance to put on. Driven him mad with desire, been the most powerful thing in Midgar for half an evening—the cutest, too.

Instead: grab the mostly-clean bra out of the laundry basket and dress business-casual. Turk without the trimmings: dark jeans in place of fitted slacks, no tie and the top button undone, a slim watch where the chunky bracer should be. Think about a necklace and decide against. Slide on work shoes that need a waxing, probably, and voilà.

Meet him in Wall Market. Laugh, when you see him. No tie, no jacket. No gloves, for god’s sake.

[M-3.83] I see we had the same idea.

[M-4.153] Sure—ha!—sure did. Looking good, sir.

[M-3.84] You, too. Lead on.

If he’s at all surprised or alarmed by the locale, he wisely keeps it to himself—steps past the beggars and junkies with practised indifference and follows you past crowds clamouring outside the many eateries. There’s only one place you had in mind for no other reason than the food’s better than every other dogshit stall around. Naturally, it’s full, and you shoot daggers at the group sat yapping rather than paying and getting out ‘til they go—and then you’re sat at a too-big table with a too-handsome man not knowing what you’re meant to say.

[M-3.85] It’s all Wutai?

[M-4.154] Huh? Oh, right. Yeah, this place is under new management—I know, it’s kind of a fad, but it’s not bad.

He meets your eyes.

[M-3.86] The menu is authentic enough.

Oh, right.

Shit.

Jiggle leg under the table in lieu of tearing the napkin into shreds, and when the waitress comes to take the order, pronounce your choice so badly Tseng can’t hide his wince.

[M-4.155] Did… Did I say it wrong?

[M-3.87] I’m not sure I can repeat what you just asked for without offending everyone in the building.

Giggle nervously, just in case it’s a joke. He doesn’t join in. Bad sign.

[M-4.156] Okay, uh… tell me how I should say it, then?

Thus begins a lecture about Wutai’s pronunciation—tonal, apparently—where he makes you repeat sounds that mean nothing to you. Feel like a jackass, sat at a dinky little table going mā, má, mǎ, mà until he nods and moves onto a different vowel, the weight of other patron’s gazes resting real heavy on your shoulders—but it’s not so bad, actually. Know nothing about Wutai, really, or Tseng. This crash course in both isn’t what you expected nor something you particularly needed to learn, but there are worse things to know: like how to shoot a moving target right between the eyes every single time, or how to pretend you’re not perpetuating a systematic, worldwide oppression that started long before you were ever brought into it. And really, why would you ever need to know this stuff? Sure, Wutai never got a reactor put up, but almost every skirmish had been Shinra’s victory, and decisive at that. Especially once they’d started sending in the General and the other Firsts. Really, it was pretty generous of the President not to demand they bend over and take the reactor—the day the war had ended, he’d made a speech acknowledging Wutai’s ongoing perseverance, how it was something to be celebrated and rewarded. Wonder what Wutai thinks of that generosity.

Tseng’s moved on from tones to the alphabet now, far too complex for you to bother learning. Interrupt him easily.

[M-4.157] You ever go back?

[M-3.88] No.

[M-4.158] You want to?

[M-3.89] … No.

And that’s that. He’s not going to offer more, especially not when drinks are brought out, but he does—presumably—thank the waitress in quiet, tone-perfect Wutai, and earns a smile for his efforts. Not bothered by it. Some girls might be. Flirting with the waitress is probably a great sin against femininity somewhere, but what’s it to you?

People-watch while you wait for the rest of the food to come to you, sipping your weirdly-sweet milk tea (that has, to your endless surprise and uncertainty, chewable pearls floating around the bottom of it), thinking this girl looks almost like Emma with her uninterested moue; that guy doing a little dance in front of the closed bathroom could just take it outside; the far table is being way too loud about their self-proclaimed lack of dating prospects. Doesn't feel like a date should. Don’t know what to say to Tseng. Can’t treat him like you’d treat anyone else, at arm’s length and on another plane of reality altogether, but can’t let him in, either. Feels like the only thing there is to do is work-talk.

[M-4.159] What happens next?

[M-3.90] Usually after you order food, they bring it out.

Resist the urge to throw a napkin at him. Getting better at holding in the bloodlust. Kinda.

[M-4.160] I meant for work.

[M-3.91] I’m not sure. The boss is still thinking about what our next course of action should be.

[M-4.161] Never heard you call Ruf—

[M-3.92] Elena. We’re in public.

Out of uniform, too, and public opinion’s never been lower. Heard someone badmouth the President in the street the other day, totally unafraid of being overheard by public security or a neighbour willing to shove them down in order to push themselves up—and why should they be scared? Rufus left the city for Junon and personal ambition both. Plain Jane and Joe Blow down the street expected better and got precisely fuck-all and not a single person doesn’t know about it.

Glance around the room. Consider the likelihood of the whole bar ganging up on just the two of you—odds’d almost be even, like that. Might even be fun. Got plastic knuckledusters dangling from your keyring with sharp little kitty ears to make it look cutesy instead of dangerous, and there’s no way Tseng leaves the house without at least a knife in his sock or something.

Ugh, but you’re hungry. A fight can wait ‘til after dinner.

[M-3.93] We’ll see what the others bring back.

[M-4.162] Huh? From where?

[M-3.94] One of the planes that left Junon was downed. 

Oh. So the others are still out there. Had assumed Reno’s doghouse comment meant you weren’t the only one on forced leave. Feels cruel to have sent Rude back to work so soon, too, even if Science’s medical work is top-notch.

Tseng mistakes your distaste for confusion and sighs. Rude.

[M-3.95] It’s at the bottom of the ocean.

Oh. Well. That changes things. Wish them the joy of being trapped down there, of each other and whatever else is on board. Fun! Thank you, mister President, for the time off duty!

Dinner arrives at the same time a nervous hopeful stands and makes his way over to the—oh, god, there’s a stage and a mic and you never realised the two times you were here before. Bad combo. Should’ve gotten a beer. Wince as he flubs every other note and feel your heart lift when someone at the bar boos, which only emboldens the rest of the joint to join in. Doesn’t take long after that before he’s fleeing for the safety of his seat and a shot glass. The backing track stays on. A couple people cheer.

[M-4.163] Think there’s anything good down there?

[M-3.96] Nothing like the last thing we tried.

If a big boom couldn’t do it, nothing will. Doesn’t really matter what they bring back now, then, if there’s anything even worth salvaging at all. Can’t exactly top a good old-fashioned load of explosives.

Eat in silence after that. Don’t even bother paying attention to the single ladies’ gossip the next table over, and there’s nothing else you can think to bring up to chat about. Disappear to the bathroom once you’re done, and learn on your return that Tseng’d paid.

[M-3.97] What now?

[M-4.164] Usually when you pay for food, they give you a receipt.

The look he shoots you attempts to turn you into a fine red mist and fails entirely. He’s almost cute, when he’s grumpy.

[M-4.165] Dunno. It’s Wall Market. Nothing fancy around here. Eating or drinking.

It’s still early, but the drunken scraps are already starting. Let a couple of red-faced, pot-bellied men shove each other across your path without interrupting.

[M-4.166] Or fighting, I guess. Actually—

Lead him down one alley into a better-lit clearing where an older guy in fatigues is chatting with a bulky gymrat. He lifts a hand when he sees you.

[M-4.167] Hey, old man! You open?

He’s not, but he lets you in anyway, the good old boy not willing to turn away his favourite customer. That’s what he says to make you bat your lashes and smile, anyway, and it works. His gun store’s the only one in the Market not corrupt—that is to say, he sells to you and the Don at the same prices, and best of all, he’s been looking out for you since you came to buy a piece of your own for the first time at the ripe old age of fifteen. Let you use his gallery free of charge, even if you’d had to buy the extra ammo yourself.

Forget all about Tseng as you go over his stock. There’s tip-ups fresh in, and a knife with a beautiful handle that you’ve never seen under the glass desk before. Coo over the marbled red handle and its gold filigree for a bit, until—

[██] What about your boyfriend?

[M-4.168] My—huh? Oh—oh!

Don’t let it fluster you. Don’t. Glance over at him: Tseng’s casting an eye over a pistol. Can’t tell if he’s interested or unimpressed.

[M-3.98] I’m alright, thanks.

[██] You sure? Well, alright—but you probably don’t wanna be stepping out with a nut like this one, in that case.

[M-4.169] Hey, I’m not that bad.

[██] No? I’ve seen you turn targets into air, kitten. Bloodthirsty, that’s what you are—don’t be fooled, son. At least stay on her good side on her period.

Lucky for him, he’s behind the counter, so you can’t go for his toes—your first instinct. Roll eyes instead with a forced air of indifference. Pretend it doesn’t bother you. God, just how does Scarlet do it, all the way up there at the top surrounded by dicks? She’s gotta have at least come up with an in-sync joke of her own, right? The directors don’t clog the pipes, but they probably jack it together, in the name of the President, or something. Maybe that’s the real reason Rufus’ control is slipping, slow but sure. He never learned the significance of a good old-fashioned circlejerk, and now the world’s falling apart because of it.

At least no one’s teased you about your sex in office thus far. You’re all the same once you put on the uniform, deadly no matter what you’re packing. No reason why they would, come to think of it—you’re hardly the first female Turk. Wonder if Emma ever felt the same, left out or lesser or whatever.

[M-3.99] I think it’s time we were going, if you’re not buying anything.

Tseng’s voice breaks you away from thoughts of dirty pads and ancient ballsacks. Right. Meant to be angry, not queasy. God, what a spoilsport.

[M-4.170] … Yeah, sure. Later, old man.

[██] You take care out there, El.

End up in the street outside your tiny slum flat, horribly conscious that at least three pairs of eyes are watching. Probably more, but three aren’t bothering to pretend they’re doing otherwise. Hasn’t been a terrible night, anyway—the grub was good, and no one stormed out.

[M-3.100] Are you going to invite me in?

Realise with sudden, jarring clarity, that he means for sex. Hadn’t even considered it. Hadn’t been a distant thought on the horizon, even, and nevermind you’d thought about wearing something low-cut for your tits to be half-out earlier. Oh, god. That makes you not normal, doesn’t it? Surely any girl—and more than a few guys—would love that the option was there at all, and here you are letting regular thoughts pass you buy. Might wave at them, as they go by.

[M-4.171] Uh…

Could. Could. Imagine vividly for a long second what it could be: Tseng shirtless with that scarred-over stab wound ripe for the touching, being treated gentle or rough or submissive or in control or however Tseng likes it. Right there, in your tiny room where half your dirty laundry doesn’t make it into the basket on a good day, where your raggedy old bear gets tucked in so it doesn’t get cold while you’re out, where takeout boxes and empties balance magnificently well atop an overflowing trash can ‘cause you’re never fucking here when it’s collection time.

It’s a test, you decide, and one you never studied for—which only leaves you with one choice: to be confident in your answer and hope that gives you extra points even if you get it wrong.

[M-4.172] … No. No, I’m not.

Add all the layers back to the naked skin of the Tseng in your mind: hide away the scar with his shirt and pull the tie in place so the knot rests snugly at his throat, and add a jacket for good measure. Fumble at your own open shirt for good measure so the buttons are all done up. This is what you are, you Turks playing at civility while the President’s metaphorical leash rests around your necks, heavy but comfortable in its own weird way.

Straighten and smile—at the same time.

[M-3.101] Goodnight, Elena.

[M-4.173] Yes, sir!

Chapter Text

Come back home nursing a migraine born of Reno’s endless hyena-cackling and Rude’s judgemental silence. Bastards.

It takes time to get back across the ocean. No one’s wasting fuel on air travel where not strictly necessary anymore, and helis aren’t exactly cut out for long-range travel anyhow, which means you spend the four days on the ferry drunker than you've ever been before, avoiding your fellow suits like they have the plague. Or like the land of the rising sun granted you hitherto unrealised fucking ninja powers, far too late to be of any goddamn use at all.

They let you have your space, at least, up until the point where you all stagger bandy-legged and dicky-bellied off the boat and onto a waiting chopper. The worst hangover you’ve ever had means you miss most of the landscape below—not that there’s much to look at anymore. Wutai was lush forests and rich fields, beautiful beyond compare, positively unreal compared to the barren wasteland Midgar’s made of the surrounding area. An area which only looks worse when viewed through cracked lids and bathed in the harsh glare of Meteor-light. Think a giant face on its surface might not go amiss: the fury of the Ancients or some shit bearing down for all the world to see before devouring you whole.

Jar self from thoughts of a terrible, agonising death over and over again, alternating between eyes closed and peeking up at slowly approaching but still very certain death. Stay quiet about it, ‘cause no one wants to think you’re off the deep end—especially not after the holiday from hell—stop it. Stop it. Stop thinking about Wutai, Elena, leave it in the fucking past already. What happens on the other side of the world stays on the other side of the world.

[M-1.69] Oh, huh.

Force eyes open again and squint down at the world, where Midgar seems to have grown an extra limb that you don’t recognise at first. It looks natural the way it looked natural at home, like the planet itself had birthed a giant gun out of the surrounding hills, but in Midgar…

Well, she was never beautiful in the way of birds and flowers and flowing streams. Even deep within it’s ostensibly an eyesore, blotting out the sky from below and turning the sky tinged Mako-green above, with garbage where there should be grass and the spirit of the average person so thoroughly beaten down it might never have existed to begni with. Not beautiful—never beautiful, but eye-catching always as it stretches up into the heavens and claims the surrounding land. Stands to reason, then, that Junon’s cannon feels like a natural addition, just another thing to gawp at from sea and land and sky and then forget about in favour of everyday minutiae. 

Minutiae can’t be ignored the way the world’s biggest gun can. Be warned in the heli and then again as you disembark to make yourself busy lest you be roped into overseeing construction. Suits you just fine. Spend your time in the office, going through papers that don’t pertain to much of anything at all, wondering why you’re bothering with the charade. Could just cut and run, spend the last few weeks on this world somewhere sunny. If you’re gonna die, might as well go out in the lap of luxury, right?

Almost down tools and leave to go looking for the perfect cocktail and beachside view when it catches your eye, innocent as you please, having been rescued from beneath the manor at Nibelheim and then forgotten about:

CLASSIFIED MATERIALS
PROPERTY OF THE JENOVA PROJECT TEAM

TRANSCRIPT, “WEAPON”
DISCOVERED ████/██/██ IN ████████
TIMESTAMP ██.██

GAST—A weapon produced by the planet?

IFALNA—Yes but [pause 3s] there was no record of it ever being used [pause 4s] a small number of surviving Cetra defeated Jenova and [inaudible 2s, pause 4s] produced Weapon but it was no longer needed.

GAST—So it no longer exists?

[pause 4s]

IFALNA—Weapon cannot vanish [pause 2s] it remains asleep somewhere [pause 3s] Jenova is confined but could come back to life [pause 3s] so the planet is still watching

GAST—Even now?

IFALNA—The planet isn’t fully healed yet [pause 4s] it could take hundreds or thousands of years [pause 2s] it doesn’t know if Weapon is still needed

GAST—Where is it? [pause 2s] I mean Weapon.

IFALNA—I don’t know.

Fat lot of good Ancient knowledge did. Don’t need to be one to tell you where it is now: fighting back the world over. Reno talks, when he’s four drinks deep, about the monstrosity lurking fathoms below that had chased him and Rude all the way to the Gelnika and then waited patiently for them to emerge again. Big and scary doesn’t even begin to cover the way he made it sound. Alien and unknowable and a thousand times worse for the ocean’s gloam.

And then there’s the questions on the net all dated within the last couple of weeks asking whether the Saucer’s really going to close down. Can’t see it being any other way, not when there’s a lurking terror beneath the sands that surfaces as if for air, the ghost of every soul in Corel trying their level best to breathe, to shriek, to fight back.

So that’s sea and land spoken for, and the air’s pretty well dominated by yet another one—it flew over Wutai while you were busy having the time of your life there and for a moment you’d thought it was all over—dark as any storm cloud and as loud as thunder overhead when it screams its rage aloud. It was there when Mideel got blasted off the map and made a crater wider than Midgar when it deigned to land at all and to hear people talking about it, it takes potshots at reactors for fun.

The planet wants you dead. At least it’s not personal.

Be thinking about the latest report—Gongaga terrorised anew, because those poor bastards haven’t had it rough enough—when you see her, coffee burning as you wrestle a sleeve onto the flimsy to-go cup. Go dead still, and nevermind the burn: that’s your sister, right there in the crowd, looking for all the world like being in hiding is something other people bother with. Looks the same as she ever did, even, right down to the straight line of her back and the purse of her lips that belies her impatience… though she’s with a man, which. Well. If you needed proof you were wrong, that’s it, right there. Doubt she’s gone from sexless to sexed up in a matter of months.

Nah, probably not her at all. Relax as you take in the guy she’s with, one arm slung comfortably around her shoulders, hair almost the same brand of dishevelled as Reno’s and the scrawny physique to match. She’s far too fashionable to be your sister, even if her hair’s the same shade of blonde, the same short bob—there’s fifteen women in close range wearing similar shades and styles. Coincidence. That’s all.

Then she glances up and meets your eye and time stops. She might not be in uniform but you certainly are, and even now with the sky sickly pink all the goddamn time very few people are brave enough to look a Turk dead in the face. Most that do are this close to pissing themselves in public… or part of the family.

Emma looks right down into the very depths of you. Gone is the fear of Weapon. Fled is the inevitability of the end of the world. Forgotten is every little fuckup you’ve ever dared make in the face of her, alive and well and here and—

Your phone rings.

Swear. Loudly. Too loud. People move away. Fumble for the damn thing, tucked away safe and snug inside your jacket, and when you chance a look back with it in hand—she’s gone. Maybe she was never there to begin with. Her table’s empty, the chair tucked in, the crowd unconcerned.

Well, it’s probably about time symptoms of your craziness started showing.

[M-4.174] … Speaking.

[M-1.70] Get your ass back here. We’re having a meeting.

Spare the empty chairs one last wistful look before the crowds part for you, and disappear.

Rufus’ throne is empty, but his hounds are perched either side of his grand desk in greens and reds. Funny. Top dogs, but they still aren’t brave enough to take his place. Not while he’s still alive, anyway.

Step into place beside Rude, head up, back straight, face blank.

[M-7.10] Kept us waiting long enough!

[M-4.175] S-sorry, ma’am.

[M-7.11] Oh, whatever. What are you paying them for? Not their timekeeping, obviously.

[M-9] Certainly not. Nor for their investigative abilities.

If Scarlet’s calculated cruelty, Heidegger’s all furious force. Grew fat off the war and never slimmed back down. Absolutely reeks of cigar smoke. Would’ve been happier never seeing the boss in person, probably. Can’t even think of him as the boss—that’s Tseng, and Rufus. You don’t play with pubsec, so why should you listen to their master?

[M-9.1] Remind me what you boys brought back from the Gelnika?

[M-1.71] Nothing.

[M-9.2] Nothing!

One meaty fist meets the desk with great force. Don’t flinch. You can deal with a little temper tantrum. God knows you’ve thrown enough of them in your time.

[M-9.3] All that money, all that time spent, and fuckall to show for it! I should’ve made damn sure you were dust months ago.

[M-3.102] All due respect, sir—

[M-9.4] Can it.

Tseng falls dutifully silent as Scarlet laughs, loud and grating. Struggle to remember why you ever thought she might be worth looking up to. Nothing like a woman that kicks a helpless body while it’s down. Probably someone out there that’d get off to that, now you think about it.

[M-9.5] Nothing from the ship. Nothing from the reactors. Avalanche is still running around—you know Avalanche is still running around? Did you know that, Tseng?

[M-3.103] Yes, sir.

[M-9.6] Then why the fuck did you never stop them? That Soldier brat of theirs was all but dead and you still didn’t think it was worth chasing them down and putting some lead in their brains? Useless! USELESS!

His roar echoes all the way around the open room and down the stairs again. Wonder what the secretaries are thinking, if they’re even still at their desks. They’d smiled as you’d walked up, the bitches. Bet they’re loving every second of this. Not even the threat of certain death can put a damper on workplace drama. Gotta have something worth gossiping about in the afterlife.

[M-9.7] So what do I do with you?

Should’ve just left. If you’re gonna die, you don’t want it to be in this suit. If you get to pick and choose, let it be on that beach, with that cocktail, with the sand between your toes and the air sweet in your nose, not… here. Not Midgar.

No one answers him. Probably all thinking of places they’d rather be. Smart.

[M-9.8] Typical. How much longer before the Sister’s operational?

Think of your sister’s wraith haunting you around the city with her bright blue eyes so unlike yours, watching, watching.

[M-7.12] Hm. A day or two, I think. Initial setup’s complete—we just don’t want any problems with the reactors, as the techs keep reminding me. It’s taking longer than I’d like.

Wait, what? The reactors? Oh, Shinra’s toast. Know, suddenly, jarringly, that they’re gonna blow the city sky-high in the attempt of victory—and so long as they win, it’ll have been worth it. You might be crazy but at least you aren’t stupid, not like these two. Doubt they remember how it felt when No.1 blew, when the slums went dark, when topside went without for a few hours. When the power came back and the TVs turned on, it was to an endless list of names. People that had woken up and gone to work and never come home again. They’ll recreate that, but seven times worse, and they won’t even care. No one will be there to read out the names this time. And yours will be one of them.

Don’t move a single muscle. Won’t betray you still have feelings, not to them. Can’t tell if the others feel the same as you, horrified and resigned all in the same breath.

[M-7.13] I don’t want these toys of yours getting in the way while we’re finishing up.

[M-9.9] Of course not. They’ll—

This time it’s his phone that goes off. He answers without looking at the screen, trying to glare a hole through each of you Turks in turn as he listens… and scowls.

[M-9.10] What?

[M-7.14] What, what?

[M-9.11] Shut up, woman—what do you mean, Weapon? From where?

Scarlet nearly falls off the desk in her hurry to get to the floor-length windows, perfect for surveying Shinra’s cancerous kingdom. Don’t need to be close at all to see the gun, in the way of the Plate. Chance a look sideways as she runs this way and that looking for the threat, as Heidegger turns to strain to see as well; the four of you all looking equally uncertain. Do we stay? Should we go? Are we going to die?

[M-7.15] Oh—there! There!

Follow the clawed tip of her finger pointing skyward and think of the approaching storm with claw and fang and fucking energy beams—be completely, entirely wrong.

[M-7.16] It’s them! The Highwind!

[M-9.12] What?!

[M-3.104] Your orders, sir?

Gawp at Tseng. Can’t believe he’s really asking that now. Heidegger’s too flustered to respond, mouth agape as he watches the stolen ship circle in the skies above Midgar as if watching out for you all, a guardian angel.

Laugh. Can’t help it. Angel of death, more like, come to witness your last moments up here. Would call them Weapon, if you didn’t know any better. A hand on your shoulder—Rude’s—warm and weighty and calming. This is it, everybody: the end of Shinra is nigh, and what a spectacular show it’s gonna be!

[M-9.13] My—what—get out there and kill them!

[M-1.72] You heard the man. Let’s get going.

[M-3.105] With haste.

[M-2.32] Right.

Chapter Text

[M-4.176] Oh, god. Oh, god.

So, so lucky not to have been topside. 

[M-1.73] Holy shit. That was—

[M-4.177] Oh, god.

Got thrown to the ground all the same, all three of you caught completely unawares and getting covered in years of underground grime. Can’t imagine Shinra ever sent people down here to clean the tunnels, even if they said they did. Hope the air filters got changed out occasionally, at least. Doubt it.

Regret dusting yourself off when it turns your palms black. Reno sneezes three times in quick succession. Not even the rats are sticking around to watch your misery: they’d exploded into action when the world exploded into action, disappearing into the darkness as quick as their little feet could take them.

Wait, tense and cautious, for everything to shake again. Wait half a lifetime with bated breath until nothing happens for long enough that Reno sneezing again is almost blessedly normal.

[M-1.74] Think we got ‘em?

Got to have. Have to have—it took down one Weapon before. What a waste, if they’d moved it all only to miss.

[M-2.33] Does it matter?

[M-1.75] … Guess not. You good down there?

The red of the emergency lights shines off his goggles, the ones you’ve never seen him wear and never seen him take off, as Reno looks at you with carefully meted out concern.

[M-4.178] I—I think so.

Wipe hands off on your pants and then check over your watch, your bracer, the knot of your tie, just for something to do. Might go crazy if you have to stand completely still.

[M-4.179] Man, that was way worse than Junon.

[M-1.76] Forgot you were there.

[M-2.34] Sure you’re okay?

Be touched, genuinely, right down to the very bottom of your rancid little Turk heart. If it was just Reno asking it’d be easy enough to brush aside as asking for the sake of asking, but having the both of them looking at you with the same expression is—well, actually, it’s pretty unnerving. Not sure they were ever meant to have real-person feelings. Reno goes so far as to make an aborted sweep of his arm that starts like he means to pat your shoulder and ends sweeping his hair back. Rude does reach out, to brush something off your jacket with surprisingly gentle fingers, for a bruiser.

[M-4.180] I’m… yeah, I’m fine. Promise. Come on, let’s get moving. Don’t really wanna be down here any longer than I have to.

[M-2.35] Amen.

[M-1.77] Good shout getting us down here, man, but what the fuck. Can you see the future? Did you know the city was gonna blow?

[M-2.36] Tseng’s suggestion. Take it up with him.

The three of you walk in step with plenty of space to spare and still manage to bump into each other. Even with the emergency lights it’s dark enough that stumbles abound, and you’re not even the first to do so.

[M-1.78] You know what? I think I will. Gonna tell him all his ideas suck shit, and I’m fed up crawling around in the dirt on his say-so. You think he’ll take it well?

Laugh, just the once. The tunnel swallows it greedily.

[M-2.37] Your concerns are duly noted.

The noise that comes out of you upon hearing Tseng in Rude’s voice echoes down the tunnel like there’s fifty of you all taken aback the same way. Look sidelong at them: Rude is as impassive as always; Reno’s eye gleams wickedly.

[M-1.79] Holy shit. Do that again.

[M-2.38] Can’t.

[M-1.80] Killjoy.

[M-4.181] That was perfect, oh my god. Do you practise? That was perfect. Do Reno next.

[M-1.81] Bollocks he can.

[M-2.39] Bollocks he can.

It’s uncanny, is what it is. No one can accuse the man of not knowing his partner when he’s able to recreate the nasal quality of Reno’s bitching exactly. Feel your gut unclench as the three of you walk down the barely-lit tracks, bothering only briefly with the shine of your phone’s torch before you realise it doesn’t do shit. The emergencies are good enough to see by, and it doesn’t take long for your eyes to adjust. Takes just a touch longer for things to start feeling normal again.

Well, until something falls from the ceiling ahead and crumbles onto the tracks ahead. Oh, god, if you die down here you’re gonna make sure to come back just to haunt Tuesti for okaying these tunnels. Even if it wasn’t his fault. Especially if it wasn’t his fault.

[M-4.182] Where are we going, anyway?

[M-1.82] Fuck if I know. Out and away from HQ’s good enough for me.

[M-2.40] The track ends at Sector 8.

[M-4.183] What’s in—?

[M-2.41] The cannon.

Stop dead—and then scramble to keep up when the others don’t so much as slow. Think quick. Think hard. Why on earth would you want to go anywhere near the cannon? Except for—

[M-4.184] Avalanche?

[M-1.83] Bingo. I’m not a betting man, but if I was—what? Don’t look at me like that—if I was then, I’d be poking my nose where it don’t belong and telling us to knock off telling them to knock off getting in the way. And then beating the shit out of us for good measure.

[M-2.42] It’s their home.

Never bothered looking through their dossiers. Always had too many other things going on to be wasting time on criminal profiles, and besides, everyone knows them, why bother? Any questions, direct to current company, that’s been the way since day one. Wish keenly that you had wasted the time, now. Didn’t know you had anything in common with terrorists. Don’t exactly feel good about that connection.

[M-4.185] I thought they were from Wutai. Or like… funded by them, or something.

[M-1.84] It’s complicated. What does it matter where the money comes from? It’s still their home, either way.

Get so caught up thinking about what little you know of them that you tune Reno and Rude—mostly Reno—out, chewing on your lower lip the way you haven’t done since final exams. And then, as if the world’s peeking into your head and making all your thoughts real, you see them.

[M-4.186] There—there! Isn’t that—?

Too sudden, too loud. Your voice carries in a way the boys’ well-practised argument hadn’t, and the group ahead turns. If exhaustion had a human face, it’d look like them. Not a one of them doesn’t look like shit. Well, so would you if you’d been running around picking up after Shinra’s constant fuckups and dealing with instigating the end of the world.

Expect—don’t know what you’re expecting, actually. For the bastards that’ve been one-upping you at every turn to look a little more heroic. Cast in shadow and only dimly lit in flickering reds, they look rough. Bruised. Beaten down.

[M-4.187] That’s… all of them, right?

Count, quickly. Five of ‘em, and a dog—no, six. They lost the flowergirl and picked up an extra body in a cape to replace her. Recognise Wallace, at least. Hard not to, even if he hadn’t gotten swept up in all this shit, with that height and that glower. The rest of them are kids, barely older than you .

Even Cid Highwind’s not as grizzled as grainy pictures always made him look.

Damn.

[M-2.43] Think so.

[M-1.85] Yo. No Reeve?

Would turn to gawk at him, except not turning your back on the fucking enemy was lesson number one in the Academy. And these guys are armed to the fucking teeth. The sword on Spikey’s back—the gun attached to Wallace’s arm!—even the babyface that’d been strapped up on the mountains of Wutai with you’s carrying a five-pronged chakram on her hip.

[M-A-1] Reeve?

Recognise Reno’s attempt at mimicry for what it is before they do. Stifle a laugh. It’s pretty spot on, with the fingers pinching a fake beard into place and his back held at the right angle. He gives up pretty quickly.

[M-1.86] You know. The cat.

[M-A-2] I think he means Cait Sith.

Tits gestures to the dog they’d made you interview at the beginning of the goddamn calamity, which sits. A stuffed cat slides limply off of its back and rests awkwardly on the dirty floor; the dog itself meets your eye and inclines its head as if to say how do you do?

[M-A-2.1] It’s been quiet since before we came down here.

[M-1.87] I’ll bet. Never been reception down here.

One spindly hand disappears into his jacket, and everyone tenses—but all he pulls out is his phone, all but useless down here. The screen lights up, illuminates his tired face, and he sighs.

[M-1.88] As I thought. Nada.

They’re—they’re all right fucking there. Could put an end to this with five, six bullets, some magic, something, anything!

But that wouldn’t save the world. Scowl as you realise that they might be responsible for Meteor’s appearance, but they’re also trying their best to put an end to it. Wasn’t them that moved Junon’s gun here, wasn’t them that mistreated the General to the point of insanity—wasn’t even them that got involved with the war, probably.

[M-4.188] Our orders—

Every set of eyes on you, now. Lock eyes with Mr Mako with the massive sword—Cloud. His name’s Cloud. Guess he deserves that much.

He looks different to the last time you saw him, up in the snowfields with dried tears on his face and all the air punched out of his lungs. Looks about fifty times better. Healthy. Alive.

Meet his eyes, for the second time this year.

[M-4.189] —were to seek you out. And—and kill.

Laughter—well, more of a snort, and it comes from beside you. Oh, these bastards, not taking you seriously even here at the end of all things. Take a deep, frustrated breath.

[M-4.190] That’s—

[M-1.89] Oh, quit it.

[M-4.191] W-what?

[M-1.90] Shinra’s finished. I’m not carrying out the orders of a dead man. You shouldn’t, either.

[M-4.192] But—

[M-2.44] You heard HQ come down.

First time any of you’ve put it into words. The boom had been deafening, the echo overwhelming, and then you’d gotten up and kept on going. Only one thing it could’ve been—but to put it into words is…

Shinra can’t be done. Shinra can’t be done.

[M-1.91] Got half a mind to join you, but…

[M-2.45] Think you have it under control.

Mr Ma— Cloud shrugs, one-shouldered, as if he knows it… and then the rest of them follow suit. Tits tucks hair behind her ear, Highwind puffs his chest out all proud. Even the dog shakes its damn mane out all proud. Oh, god, they’re dorks, the whole lot of them.

Turn to Reno, instead. Can deal with him.

[M-4.193] You’re just—that’s it? You’re done? Just like that?

[M-1.92] Just like that. Don’t take it to heart.

Look helplessly to Rude, who does the unthinkable: he turns his back on you. On all of you. The one of you that’s always had it together. Gives Tseng a run for his money in that regard, even. 

Gave, your mind supplies helpfully. No way he’s still alive, if Shinra’s—

[M-1.93] You were a great Turk, Elena.

And with what might be a salute aimed Avalanche’s way, three fingers tapped to his temple and a fucking wink, Reno too turns tail, and both men melt into the dark.

[M-4.194] But…

Know what you’re going to see, before you look: six sets of pitying eyes. Look at you, abandoned by everyone, with no place of your own to go, no person to follow. Feel too small in your well-fitting suit, like a kid playing dressup, like all the adults around are smiling and saying you look great in mommy’s makeup before they tell you to wash it off.

[M-4.195] What am I gonna…

[M-A-1.1] You could come with.

It’s gentle. Genuine. Takes you completely by surprise—and going by the looks of the rest of them, you’re not the only one. Consider it from every angle as quick as you can. Dangerous, if you say yes. Dangerous, if you survive. Well, and if you don’t. Jail for sure. If it even exists when Meteor hits. Could spend the last—what, month? of life on the lam, kicking ass with these sorry bastards you were thinking of pulling a gun on not five minutes prior. Be like Emma one last time.

Fuck, can’t even go into hiding without ripping her off. This isn’t fair.

[M-A-3] What, her? Shinra?

[M-A-2.2] I don’t really think that matters, now.

[M-A-4] It’ll always matter, to a Turk.

The vampire in the cape’s right. Of course it matters… but not to any old Turk.

It matters to you.

[M-4.196] Thanks, but no thanks.

[M-A-1.2] Are you s—

[M-4.197] Better get going. It’s not much further to Sector 8. If the service door out of the tunnel wants a code, use mine. GA077. It’ll get you pretty much anywhere.

Fight every fibre of your being as you turn your back on them and stare into the mostly-darkness of the tunnel that beckons you back the way you came. Take a deep breath and hold it as the footsteps behind you pick up the pace again, and then—

[M-4.198] Hey!

Look over your shoulder and glower at every one of them in turn. Cloud, Wallace, Tits. Highwind, Babyface, Dog, Reeve’s shitty broken doll. Vampire. If it wasn’t for them, you wouldn’t be in this mess.

But then, you wouldn’t be in the suit, either.

[M-4.199] Don’t think this means you’ve won! I’m still a Turk—don’t forget that!

Getting out of the tunnels isn’t so hard. Climb up a ladder off the tracks into a room with a locked door that buckles under two well-placed kicks, and then up the longest flight of stairs you’ve ever been forced to climb. It drops you topside and leaves you shivering in the semi-dark of a twilight under Meteor. The wind’s screaming through the gap where Shinra tower used to be hale and whole, its top blown off: spend a couple minutes counting from the first floor you can see all the way up to the last one still standing. Forty-nine’s the final count, with the six topmost floors all shot to bits and barely there, which means the brain is capital-g gone.

Rufus is dead. He has to be. There’s no way he could’ve survived—he was in the tower, you know that much, but doing what? Wasn’t your business to know and you couldn’t care less now. And Heidegger and Scarlet, they’d probably stayed bickering in the President’s suite. Tuesti, too, he’d been in the library early in the morning.

Fuck, is there anyone at Shinra left alive?

Lose track of time as you stand there staring at what remains of HQ. Long enough your fingers are numb when you finally remember how to move. Pull out your phone and dial the only number you ever bothered to memorise—the one you never had cause to call. Daddy’d kept a bachelor pad topside when you’d moved out at fifteen, for the times you got let out of class too late to catch the last train down, or when one shift ended too late and the next started too early. Don’t know if he ever bothered to set up a voicemail—actually, probably not. Technology hadn’t been his favourite thing. Even so, you want to call. Want to grab that tiny chance that maybe, just maybe you’ll get to hear his voice again one last time.

Maybe in the future when you’re all long dead, someone’ll find the remains of his phone and fix it up and listen, and they’ll know that once upon a time there was a girl who loved her daddy.

That’s enough for you. Isn’t it?

Stand in the middle of the empty road, still looking skyward—not at the building, at the sky. Squint, trying to see the stars, but it’s a hopeless game. Don’t think anyone could ever see the stars here, not even before they built Midgar. Just doesn't seem like that kind of place.

Somewhere in the distance there’s screaming. The wailing of alarms that you’d not noticed til now. Think for all of a brief second about the people that must have died when the building came down on them, and then push them firmly out of mind.

Already know what you’re gonna hear. Your call cannot be connected at this time, please try again later.

Wonder if you’ll ever cry.

[M-████]: Hello?

[M-4.200] … ████?