Chapter Text
Reno wasn’t supposed to be this deep in Shinra’s system.
That was how it always started.
He’d gone digging for something boring and necessary—Avalanche movement reports, supply reroutes, maybe a hint of where Strife and his merry band of eco-terrorists had scurried off to next. Routine. Paperwork with teeth. The kind of thing Tseng trusted him with because Reno could skim fast, remember details, and—most importantly—know when to stop asking questions.
Apparently tonight, he’d missed that last part.
The screen in front of him flickered as another clearance wall slid aside. Red warning text pulsed once, twice, then vanished.
“Huh,” Reno muttered, leaning back in his chair and propping his boots on the edge of the desk. “That can’t be good.”
The file directory that opened wasn’t Avalanche. It wasn’t even Intelligence.
Department: Scientific Research
Lead: Professor Hojo
Reno grimaced. “Wow. Jackpot. Because that’s exactly what I wanted to find.”
Everyone in Shinra knew the unspoken rule: Hojo’s work was above their pay grade and below their moral comfort zone. You didn’t read his files unless you wanted nightmares or a one-way ticket to reassignment—if you were lucky.
Reno should’ve closed the window.
Instead, he scrolled.
Most of it was the usual Hojo-brand insanity. Mako exposure metrics. Jenova cell compatibility charts. Cold, clinical language wrapped around words like viability and failure rate. Human lives flattened into data points. Reno skimmed fast, mouth twisting as he went.
“Yeah, yeah. Human experimentation, ethical disaster, ten outta ten, Professor,” he murmured. “We get it. You’re a freak.”
Then a subfile caught his eye.
Not because of what it said—but because of what it didn’t.
No name.
Just a designation.
Test Subject Two
Reno frowned, boots dropping from the desk as he leaned forward. “That’s… not ominous at all.”
He clicked.
The first report loaded slowly, as if even the system hesitated to hand it over. Dates flashed by—five years ago. Nibelheim region. SOLDIER program involvement.
Reno’s fingers stilled.
“…Huh.”
Subject Two had been recovered alive. Barely. Severe mako poisoning. Cellular degradation consistent with prolonged exposure. Memory loss noted early—selective, unstable. Neurological anomalies flagged but not fully understood.
Reno’s jaw tightened.
He scrolled further.
Jenova cells introduced post-recovery. Not volunteered. Not explained. Survival probability listed in cold, indifferent percentages—single digits.
Subject survived anyway.
“Well, ain’t that just rude,” Reno muttered. “Here Hojo’s doin’ his best to kill you and you just… don’t cooperate.”
More notes. Fragmented observations.
Subject displayed abnormal combat adaptability. Heightened reflexes. Dissociative episodes. Identity confusion.
Reno exhaled slowly through his nose.
Something itched at the back of his brain. A memory that didn’t quite want to line up.
Blond hair. Mako eyes. A SOLDIER who fought like he had nothing left to lose.
He almost laughed at himself.
“Get it together, Reno,” he said under his breath. “You’re makin’ connections where there ain’t any.”
But his eyes kept reading.
There were gaps in the data. Missing weeks. Redacted sections with Hojo’s signature scrawled across the digital margins like a possessive mark.
Then, buried deeper, a line that made Reno stop entirely.
Subject exhibits remarkable psychological resilience despite prolonged trauma.
Reno stared at the sentence longer than he meant to.
“Psychological resilience,” he repeated quietly. “That’s one way to put it.”
He thought of the way Strife fought. All sharp edges and bottled tension. Like someone braced for impact that never quite came. Like someone who’d learned, somewhere deep down, that the world didn’t stop hurting just because you wanted it to.
Reno leaned back again, rubbing a hand over his face.
“Damn it,” he muttered. “You really don’t know when to quit, do you?”
Another scroll. Another report.
This one less clinical. More… curious.
Hojo wondered, in detached fascination, how much of the subject remained himself. Whether identity was something that could be burned away and rewritten like faulty code.
Reno’s mouth went dry.
He stared at the screen, the glow painting harsh lines across his face in the darkened office.
“I almost feel sorry for him.”
The words slipped out before he could stop them.
He scoffed immediately after, shaking his head. “Almost,” he corrected. “Let’s not get carried away.”
Sympathy was a liability. Tseng had drilled that into him years ago. You did the job. You followed orders. You didn’t get attached—to people, to stories, to tragedies with blond hair and too many secrets.
You didn’t feel for them.
The soft chime of an incoming call made him flinch.
Tseng’s name appeared on the screen.
“…Speak of the devil,” Reno muttered, straightening and wiping his expression clean before answering.
“Yo,” he said lightly. “You miss me already?”
Tseng’s voice was calm, as always. “You’ve been in the system longer than expected.”
Reno glanced at the open directory, then casually minimized it. “Aw, c’mon. You know me. I get thorough.”
“Thorough is acceptable,” Tseng replied. “Off-route is not.”
Reno grinned at the screen, all charm and easy confidence. “Relax, boss. Just chasin’ a dead end. Nothin’ worth losin’ sleep over.”
There was a pause. Just long enough to feel deliberate.
“I trust your judgment,” Tseng said finally. “See that it remains worthy of that trust.”
The call ended.
Reno stared at the blank screen for a moment after.
“…Yeah,” he muttered. “No pressure or nothin’.”
Reno closed the file.
The screen snapped back to the directory like nothing had happened.
But the words stayed.
Psychological resilience.
Survived anyway.
He told himself it meant nothing. That Test Subject Two was just another ghost in Hojo’s laboratory, another cautionary tale buried under clearance levels and indifference.
Still—
When he stood and shrugged his jacket back on, Reno couldn’t shake the feeling that he’d just read something he wasn’t meant to survive unchanged.
And somewhere out there, a SOLDIER with mako eyes was going to make that problem very real, very soon.
Test Subject Two lingered at the edge of his thoughts as Reno was stretching with a sharp roll of his shoulders. He crossed the office to the small kitchenette, poured himself a mug of coffee so black it was basically a threat, and took a long swallow.
Didn’t help.
He dug a cigarette out of his pocket, rolling it between his fingers before lighting it. The familiar burn filled his lungs, grounding—usually.
Tonight, not so much.
Reno exhaled slowly, smoke curling toward the ceiling. “Fantastic,” he muttered. “Now I’m haunted.”
Somewhere between the third drag and the last swallow of coffee, he realized the image still hadn’t gone away.
Blond hair. Mako eyes. A man who fought like he’d already lost everything once.
Reno stubbed the cigarette out harder than necessary.
“…Might need somethin’ stronger for this,” he said to no one in particular.
He grabbed his black coat, the weight of the night settling in his chest as he headed for the door.
Whatever Hojo had done five years ago hadn’t stayed buried.
And Reno had a bad feeling it was about to come back and bite them both.