Beloved, Chapter 7
Things settled into a strange new routine. Cloud would meet Genesis nearly every second day. The former Commander normally loitered in or near the Church. On one occasion, Cloud walked in on him fussing over Zack’s sword, and realised why it seemed so much shinier recently.
The whole affair had gained a sheer of unreality. When Cloud left Edge, it was as though he stepped into another world, where time didn’t matter beyond the rise and fall of the sun. They searched for the clone, but it felt more like a monster patrol, and despite the seriousness of the situation it was difficult to feel any urgency about it. They would prowl Midgar until the shadows grew long - one from the sky, the other from the ground.
Part of the odd sense of disconnect was probably due to Genesis - he was so cut off from the rest of society, and so utterly unconcerned by his solitude, that the attitude inevitably rubbed off on to Cloud. He suspected it was unhealthy, but in many ways, the escape was appreciated. For a while, he could leave the whispers and glares and crushing sense of responsibility behind.
As for the mysterious clone...
Vincent dredged up another witness account that led nowhere. Cid was in the bar every fourth day, grumbling about being used as a taxi service. And everyone else wouldn’t leave him alone about it.
His phone buzzed for the fourth time that morning. With a sigh, Cloud flipped it open, thumbing through the latest voice messages.
“Cloud, it’s Reeve. I really think you ought to reconsider. We need all hands on deck, if a civilian-”
He hung up, skipping to the next recording.
“Hey, Cloud.” Reno again. His voice came through a lot thicker these days. “What the hell are you playin’ at, yo? Don’t go pretending this ain’t your problem. We need to find this fucker and-”
He cut that one off, too.
“Strife.” Tseng. He, on the other hand, didn’t sound any different at all - if Cloud hadn’t seen the deep bags under his eyes the last time the Turks were at the bar, he might have thought Elena’s death didn’t bother him at all. “I understand you’re a busy man. I’d like to make it clear that Neo-ShinRa are still offering monetary compensation for help with the search, to make up for any losses from your delivery services.”
He very nearly hung up there as well - he was searching, just not with them - but as his finger caressed the button, Tseng added, “At the very least, please contact us for backup if you come across the clone by chance. There’s a high risk they will target you.”
Nothing he didn’t already know. In this instance, though, he wondered if maybe they were all fishing in the wrong pond. He’d been all over Midgar, and aside from that one chance encounter, had seen nothing since. He’d even started to doubt the clone’s connection to Genesis - though the tracks led to the former SOLDIER’s hideout, Genesis appeared largely clueless on the matter of Sephiroth clones. Nothing added up right.
The message bank ticked over. “Cloud.” Tifa again. “Are you going to be home early tonight? Barret’s back in town for a couple of days, he’s taking Marlene and Denzel to the movies. It’s an old rerun, but Marlene won’t have seen it before.” In the awkward pause, he could hear her shifting in place. “I thought it would be nice if… well, I’ll see you when you get home.”
He closed his eyes, turned off the phone, and quietly resolved to be home late.
Maybe it was avoiding the issue, but he didn’t know how to deal with it anymore. It was so much easier to spend his time and energy chasing ghosts of clones.
As Cloud tucked his phone back away, a flutter of feathers heralded Genesis’s arrival. “You’re here early,” the SOLDIER grumbled, shaking his wing out in a gesture that looked remarkably like an unhappy bird being roused from its slumber.
He shrugged. Genesis, it turned out, wasn’t a morning person. Cloud simply didn’t sleep much either way.
“Have there been any further developments?” the former Commander drawled.
“No. I want to check around ShinRa Headquarters again today.” They’d been back there twice before. Midgar was a big city, and rather than fruitlessly comb it street by ruined street, it made more sense to keep an eye on places where the clone had been spotted previously.
Genesis huffed, but thankfully didn’t argue. He did, however, remark, “I am beginning to wonder about the validity of these so-called ‘sightings’. This is turning out to be a waste of time.”
“What, you have something better to do?” Cloud retorted.
Genesis’s eyes flashed, and for a moment he almost seemed ready to pull his rapier.
The moment passed, and his stance relaxed. “Touché.”
Cloud wanted to take that as a sign that Genesis’s mood swings were getting a little less hair-trigger, but the eccentric SOLDIER would no doubt pay him back double with some viciously incisive quip later. Genesis fought with words just as eagerly as he did with swords.
They went their separate ways to begin with, heading for the interior - Cloud on his bike, and Genesis in the sky.
When the wreckage grew too thick over the roads, Cloud left Fenrir and made his way on foot. After a while, Genesis soared down to glide lazily overhead, his shadow lapping Cloud’s boots.
“Why do you suppose the clone only became active now?” he mused.
This had become part of the routine. Every day they went searching, Genesis would ask questions - normally about the clone, but sometimes about ShinRa and Meteor and AVALANCHE. By unspoken agreement, they’d skirted the topic of Sephiroth ever since their last conversation about him.
“Well?” Genesis prodded, impatient.
Belatedly, Cloud shrugged. Everyone had theories. He didn’t care for any of them.
“You said there were clones before though, correct?” Genesis prompted.
“Three of them,” he confirmed, paused, then added, “Plus the ones who went to the Reunion before that.”
“And how many were there of those?”
“…At least a dozen.” There could have easily been more, especially among the ranks of those Hojo considered ‘failures’, but the highest numbered tattoo he’d come across was a 12.
Genesis let out a sound of dismissal. “So few? I had far more than that.”
Not exactly something to be proud of, but Cloud didn’t comment.
They continued on in silence for another minute or so, the crunch of footsteps on gravel matched by the rhythmic whoosh of a single wing. Faint snarls carried on the wind from the west - two guard hounds, scrapping over a piece of meat.
Eventually, Genesis remarked, “I still fail to see why any remaining clones should be a threat if Jenova’s been completely destroyed.”
“Elena was killed,” he stated flatly.
“It hardly means the clone is dangerous. It simply means the Turks poke their noses in where they’re not welcome, and for once they got burned.”
There was an uncomfortable amount of truth in that. “It doesn’t change the fact that ShinRa’s not going to rest until they’ve found him.” The Turks had changed since Meteor. Once they wouldn’t have batted an eye over the death of a comrade, but now they possessed loyalty fierce enough to make Vincent look fickle.
It didn’t matter if the clone had only acted out of self-defence. They would spend the rest of their lives turning Midgar upside-down if they had to.
“Hm.” A gust of air swept over him as Genesis swooped lower to look him in the eye. "You know, Cloud Strife,” he mused, “ShinRa might be hunting down rogue clones, but you are the single greatest carrier of S-cells left around."
He turned away, and didn’t acknowledge the remark. That round, Cloud begrudged, went to Genesis.
…………………
Later that day, after they’d gone their separate ways, Genesis headed back towards the theatre. His boots hit the ground with a thud - his landing a good deal heavier than planned. The sort of low flying he did while conversing with Cloud Strife sapped his energy far quicker than he liked to admit - his shoulder muscles ached, and mild fatigue dragged on his limbs as though he’d been on a materia casting marathon. Shaking the wing out, he stretched, and then folded it against his back. It was late, and dark shadows loomed across the crumbling alleyways, but home wasn’t far. The rest of the journey could be comfortably made on foot.
Another day of fruitless searching. Not entirely a waste, though - he’d learned some more about the clone situation, and managed to rattle his companion’s armour, too. Cloud Strife possessed stoicism enough to make a seasoned drill sergeant look like a green recruit, but it made the moments when he succeeded in flustering him all the more amusing.
Thus he found himself in a surprisingly pleasant mood, humming the chorus from one of Loveless’s better musical adaptations as he walked.
Halfway back to the theatre, his steps stilled and the tune died in his throat.
Midgar was silent. A crescent moon hung overhead, along with the first of the evening stars sparkling in the sky, providing little light to see by.
Genesis turned anyway, glowing blue eyes searching the darkness. “Show yourself.”
Nothing. Not even the patter of loose grit tumbling in the wind.
“Do not make me repeat myself,” he warned, drawing his rapier and running a single gloved finger along the blade. It began to shine an unearthly red, casting a dull glow over the broken surrounds.
This time the flutter of a cape followed his words, and a crimson-clad stranger came bleeding from the shadows. “I expected your first demand to be a bluff.”
“I have spent many a year evading the Turks. I’m afraid you were rather too silent for your own good.” Genesis flicked a pebble with the tip of his sword, and it chittered across the cracked asphalt. “Hear that? No monsters. That can only mean there’s an even bigger monster about.” His lips twisted into a cruel smirk. If the cloaked stranger had been careless enough to even make the slightest of scuffs with those ridiculous golden shoes, Genesis might have dismissed him as just another prowling predator.
“A larger monster than you?” The words were delivered without tone or inflection, though the timbre and depth of the voice reminded him strangely of old friends and rivals. Blood red eyes shone in the darkness.
Genesis laughed - the sound echoed harshly through the abandoned streets. “Wings stripped away, the end is nigh. Such is... the fate of a monster.” He held aloft his glowing sword, pointing it towards the man’s neck. “Those are fine words, coming from a Turk.”
He could spot one a mile away - they all held themselves in a particular way, had a manner of studying faces instead of simply watching them. It was a skill honed by his many years spent hiding.
“I’m retired.”
“Once a Turk, always a Turk,” Genesis countered. Once a SOLDIER…
The stranger didn’t seem particularly bothered by the accusation. If Cloud Strife were made of rock, this man was made of mythril. “I’m a friend of Cloud’s. I don’t work for Neo-ShinRa.”
Genesis’s eyes narrowed. “Your name.”
There was a long pause, then, “…I suppose telling you will do no harm.” He moved further out onto the street, within the range of the rapier’s glow. His golden shoes and gauntlet glinted rose in the light, and his tattered crimson cloak gained the eerie illusion of flatness, as though he were a Wutai wood block painting brought to life. “Vincent Valentine.”
Vincent Valentine.
Every nerve went on alert - every sense tingling in anticipation of battle. It took all of Genesis’s theatrical skill to hide the trigger hair response and appear neutral.
This was the man who almost single-handedly infiltrated and destroyed Deep Ground. It was his fault Weiss became the way he did. Even if he knew little else about him, that one fact alone was enough to make Genesis wary. “If you are here to accuse me, allow me to inform you now that I did not kill any of the Turks, no matter how much they might have deserved it.”
“No,” Vincent agreed. “You would have used materia, or a sword. Genesis Rhapsodos was not known for hand-to-hand combat.”
“You know of me.” Annoyance - it seemed as though everyone knew more than he did these days - battled briefly with pride. It was nice to know his reputation had not been entirely buried in his old rival’s shadow.
“…I investigated,” Vincent conceded.
Genesis waved his free hand dismissively - his grip on his rapier, however, did not lessen a fraction. “Then why, pray tell, are you wasting your precious time following me?”
“It’s not you I’ve been tracking.”
His thoughts raced, turning swiftly to new scenarios and directions. “Cloud Strife? I thought you said you were a friend of his.”
“It’s highly probable any clone will eventually seek Cloud out. Following him provides him with backup he’d never accept on his own.”
“…And leads you straight to the clone.” Genesis scoffed. “No matter what you call yourself now, you truly are a Turk.” Thugs without honour or class, all of them. The man didn’t look the typical part, but his actions spoke louder than his attire. Genesis lowered his sword at last, though did not yet release the spell thrumming through the blade. “So you’re stalking him ‘for his own good’.”
Again, Vincent didn’t reply - quite rightly assuming no reply was necessary. Genesis began to believe he and Cloud might be friends after all - even Sephiroth hadn’t been quite so taciturn. Still, there were a few too many holes in the cover story for him to buy it outright. “This theory of clones seeking out other clones doesn’t appear to be holding up,” he pointed out, perhaps a little vindictively. “No clone has shown up.”
Vincent remained inscrutable, but Genesis imagined he could hear a troubled tone to his words. “…It’s unusual, certainly. We don’t yet know what that could mean.”
Genesis did know, but he thought it best to keep that particular tidbit to himself, especially if Vincent Valentine were involved.
“So.” Silence hung between them for a long moment, stretching over the dark, deserted street like a smothering blanket. When Vincent showed no sign of moving, or even talking, Genesis prompted, “If you believe I didn’t kill the Turk, and you’re following Cloud, why then are we here now? If it’s a fight you want, I am happy to oblige.” His blade crackled with power as he poured more energy into it. Vincent Valentine may have been the architect of Deep Ground’s deserving demise, but the best of the Tsviets still did not match up to the top three First Class SOLDIERs. The only one who’d ever had a hope was Weiss.
“Fighting you was not my purpose.” He waited a beat, then explained, “I need to know what your intentions are towards Cloud.”
The question came from so far offside Genesis was briefly struck dumb with disbelief. Then he laughed, loud and mockingly. “Are you his keeper?” he taunted. “Following him around, making sure he doesn’t break curfew?”
Vincent remained impassive, waiting out his mirth with sterling patience. Aloof, much like a silver haired menace he used to know. Abruptly tired of the conversation, Genesis snapped, “What business is it of yours anyway?” It wasn’t as though he’d been actively seeking the other out, after all - if Cloud truly didn’t want to his company, all he had to do was not turn up at the Church.
“If you’re looking to settle your rivalry with Sephiroth through Cloud, then it becomes my business.”
It took a long moment to process that statement. “Pardon? The presence of S-cells aside, he’s no Sephiroth.”
“Of course not,” Vincent replied, studying him for a long moment. “…Though I would have thought that being Sephiroth’s killer might have sufficed.”
“Sephiroth’s killer?” Genesis echoed. “Him?” The svelte blond experiment? The nervous, scrappy little trooper he’d once put down so easily as to not even warrant drawing his sword?
Vincent inclined his head the barest of fractions. “…Left that part out, did he?” he murmured.
Unbelievable. “He said AVALANCHE was responsible.”
“AVALANCHE played a part,” Vincent agreed. “In the end, though, it came down to Cloud.”
Impossible. He’d said nothing! Had not even mentioned crossing swords with Sephiroth! What kind of man would keep that a secret? Had he been mocking him, all this time?!
Vincent watched him with crimson eyes. “Does this change matters?”
It did. Enormously.
Had Genesis not been such a studied actor, he might have lost his temper and given himself away. However, the lie flowed smoothly from his lips, cool water in wake of burning resentment and fiery rage. “It’s surprising, certainly. But it doesn’t affect our objective. We’re primarily interested in exchanging information. This matter with the clone is simply a mutual goal.” He shrugged carelessly. “He’s not an altogether bad comrade, though his respect for the arts leaves something to be desired.”
Whatever he was looking for, Vincent Valentine seemed to find it. His stance shifted imperceptibly - not lowering his guard so much as presenting a less threatening front. “Then in the event of a clone attack, I can rely on you to guard his back?”
“Looking for a replacement nanny?” Genesis snipped.
“I cannot follow him all the time,” Vincent murmured. “My skills are needed elsewhere.”
Genesis sighed - a good deal more theatrically than necessary. “I would think someone who can defeat Sephiroth is more than capable of taking care of himself, you know.”
“…But even though he can, doesn’t always mean he will.”
Before Genesis could demand an explanation for that particular statement, Vincent walked onwards, his golden-plated shoes barely seeming to touch the ground and blood red coat curling in the cool evening breeze.
“Do this much, and ShinRa need not know you still exist.” Then he was gone - blending into the shadows like a ghostly apparition, threat lingering in the air.
Always a Turk, indeed.
Normally, Genesis might have toyed with the idea of killing Vincent Valentine, if only for the presumption that he could threaten him. His thoughts, however, rested many years away, in unfinished spars and lost friendships.
Cloud wasn’t even a real SOLDIER. How by the Goddess did he kill Sephiroth?
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