The Fifth Act, Chapter 24
Title: The Fifth Act
Rating: T for violence.
Summary: FFVII Time-travel. Gen. Cloud has an accident with a Time Materia.
Author's Note: Heads up to the people I chat to online, internet has become crazy-temperamental and only gives brief ten-minute window connections before crapping out again, so I probably won't be available on chat very much until we get the phone company to sort it out. :(
In other news, I'm going to be travelling this Sunday and Wednesday, so no chapters then, sorry. Should be able to manage next Sunday though. Will keep you posted if that changes. ^_^ (Y'know, providing the phone lines don't quit altogether.)
Previous Chapter
__________________
The Fifth Act
Chapter 24
__________________
The monitor beeped. And beeped. And beeped.
With a sigh, Angeal turned the page, though he admitted he’d probably stopped reading about ten pages back. Literature was more Genesis’s thing. Strife remained still and unresponsive on the table. He wished they’d thought to put him on a mattress, at least. That metal had to be cold in the air conditioning. Good thing the blond was unconscious.
The monitor beeped.
He felt guilty over the whole ordeal, but they didn’t have a choice. Strife had been a tough bastard to lay flat, even with the element of surprise and the effects of a Haste spell on hand. There weren’t many SOLDIERs who could stay conscious after a blow like that, let-alone maintain enough presence of mind to use materia in that situation. That it took Angeal, a specialist in hand-to-hand combat, four hits to get him unconscious was something of a blow to his pride.
Then the blond had gone and broken the restraints.
Angeal frowned to himself, fingers stilling on the corner of the page and paper crinkling under his touch. He’d expected a bad reaction, sure, but thought that once Strife calmed down enough to listen, he would be more cooperative. What he hadn’t expected was the animalistic fear in those blue eyes upon awakening.
One look at that expression, and he knew there would be no reasoning, and no cooperation. It wasn’t the mild phobia of doctors he’d imagined it to be - they were working with primal terror. Nothing could be done about it. The kindest thing they could do was sedate the blond through the worst of it.
The monitor beeped.
Still, Angeal was beginning to suspect that he wouldn’t be able to ask forgiveness after all. Heck, he couldn’t even figure out how they could let Strife go without risk of bodily injury. Maybe dump him back in his quarters still drugged, and then take off to the West Continent before he woke up.
A clatter of activity near the doorway preceded Hollander’s entrance. He blinked slowly at the sight of Angeal, then resumed his bustle. “Good, you’re still here.”
“I only left to get a couple of hours sleep last night, and ducked out this morning to take care of some things,” he replied, watching as Hollander flitted about room like a very large, round needlebird. “Did something happen?”
In his distraction, it took the professor a moment to answer. “Hm? Oh, yes. It was absolutely unexpected. Absolutely!” He peered about for a moment, then pointed a sausage-like finger at an unused syringe near Angeal’s elbow. “Hand me that, would you?”
He complied, and Hollander started filling it with a pale blue liquid. “The sedative should be wearing off around now. Based on my findings, I had to readjust my initial predictions.” He rubbed a spot on Strife’s arm and slid the needle into the vein.
“What’s that?” Angeal asked. “I thought we were done with the tests.” This was all taking too long for his liking already.
“Just a numbing agent. Should hamper his reflexes and motor-control.” Hollander tossed a ration bottle - cold field soup, by the looks of it - into his hands. “I don’t have an IV arranged yet, and he needs to eat.”
Right. It had been twenty-four hours, and while SOLDIERs could go for some time without food, it didn’t mean it was healthy to. Angeal didn’t want to know how Hollander had taken care of the bathroom problem, either. They’d replaced the restraints, but unless they kept him at least partially drugged, he’d probably just rip through them again.
A finger twitched against the table. Their blond-haired blue-eyed demon would be waking up any moment.
The heart rate monitor sped up. Not the adrenaline-fuelled frenzy of the day before, but enough to know Strife was conscious. Sure enough, not a moment later Angeal found himself looking into a pair of bleary glowing eyes.
“Morning. You hungry?” He held up the bottle of soup. Not bothering to wait for a response, he cracked the lid, and took a sip, wrinkling his nose. ShinRa field rations didn’t taste great, but at least it was still fresh. “It’s not exactly fine cuisine, but it’ll have to do.”
Strife hardly paid any attention to him, frowning instead as he tried to flex his fingers, but the joints would only twitch in response.
“Sorry about that. Hollander applied a mild paralysis agent.” He’d prefer it if they could use materia, but Strife had that damn resistance to magic. “Can’t have you ripping out the restraints again.”
Those bright blue eyes fixed on him, but Strife remained silent. Compared to his frantic entreaties the first time he’d woken up, it was honestly a little eerie. Maybe the sedative hadn’t completely worn off yet.
With a sigh, Angeal stood up, placing a hand under the blond head and tilting it up. “You must be hungry. Drink up.” He put the bottle to Strife’s dry and cracked lips - they hadn’t thought to give him any water either. Thankfully, the SOLDIER didn’t fight him, parting them slightly so Angeal could slowly pour the soup down his throat. He grimaced as he swallowed, but drank down at least half the bottle before closing his mouth in a firm line and refusing to accept any more.
The First doubted the words would be worth much, but he needed to at least try. “I really am sorry about this. I couldn’t think of another way. But don’t worry, you’ll be out of here soon enough and able to kick my ass for it all you want.”
“What are you saying? We can’t possibly let him go!” Hollander interrupted.
Strife jerked at the voice, apparently unaware of the scientist’s presence in the room. The heart rate spiked again, but returned to a more normal pace a moment later. Angeal actually felt a bit proud of him for it.
As for Hollander, though… “Why not? You’ve got your samples, don’t you?”
Sputtering, the scientist complained, “But I didn’t expect results like this! I need more time! This is such an incredible discovery, you won’t believe it!”
“What are you talking about?”
“No,” Strife whispered - the first sound he’d uttered since waking. “Don’t-”
Gesturing towards the man strapped to the table, Hollander explained, “The ability to transfer foreign cells into a fully-grown specimen, and have the enhancements take without rejection-”
“Shut up!” The demand was urgent this time, voice cracking under the tension.
“Get to the point, Hollander,” Angeal prodded.
Hollander gathered himself importantly, as though he were about to deliver an announcement to the board of executives instead of a lone, dying SOLDIER First Class. "He has S-cells. And in no small number.” At Angeal’s blank expression, he expounded, “He’s a Sephiroth clone."
In disbelief, Angeal turned to stare at the trapped blond. He didn’t look like Sephiroth. But the abilities… “You’re a clone?”
"I'm not a clone. I'm Cloud Strife!" The mako glow in his eyes blazed in his anger. "And I am not a puppet!" Even with the drugs coursing through his system, the restraints creaked under pressure.
Hurriedly, Hollander began preparing another syringe of sedative. Angeal couldn’t do anything more than stare at Strife numbly.
“I’m not a copy!” he repeated, a little desperately now. “I never joined the Reunion! I’m not like the others!” His eyes were growing wild, disoriented. He was panicking again.
Hollander jabbed the needle into the exposed elbow. Blue eyes rolled to the side, and focused on Angeal.
“You can’t tell him,” Strife blurted, fingers flexing as though trying to reach out to him. “He can’t know! If he learns the truth… if he learns… Reunion will…” His eyelids began to droop shut, speech growing slurred. “He can’t find her, if he finds her…”
Strife fell unconscious again. Hollander had given him enough sedatives to knock out a behemoth.
“Others?” Angeal murmured to himself. Was he to believe that Hojo had been cloning Sephiroth?
It sounded exactly like the sort of thing the Science Department might do, though. The same Science Department he now relied on to save his life. The irony stung. It was their fault he was in this situation to begin with.
Hollander wiped the sweat from his brow, letting out a breath of relief. “That was dangerous.”
Angeal stared at the sleeping face, noting the lines of stress around the eyes. They’d spent all that time searching for the reason Strife hated Sephiroth so much, but never could they have imagined something like this. What was it like, to know you were a clone? No wonder he’d wanted to kill Sephiroth. What better way to prove himself better than the original? Maybe it had simply been a chase of self-identity all along, rather than a self-destructive impulse as they thought.
For all the questions it answered though, Angeal had gained a hundred more.
“We can’t keep him in Midgar,” Hollander continued, busying around the lab. “I haven’t been able to determine the exact nature of the phenomenon, but there’s an unusual resonance between the cells.”
“Meaning…?”
“There’s a possibility General Sephiroth might experience a sympathetic reaction when he returns. It could manifest itself in any number of ways. Communication might be possible. It could be as simple as a sense of awareness, or maybe no effect at all. Can’t take the chance.” The scientist unplugged the computer terminal, loading the heavy system box into his bag. The whirr of cooling fans died, leaving only the repetitive beep of the heart monitor for background noise.
“Wait a minute, Sephiroth isn’t due back for another two days at least!” Angeal protested. “Why do we have to keep him that long?”
The scientist stopped his scurrying long enough to blink owlishly at the SOLDIER, apparently perplexed at the question being asked at all. “What do you mean? Of course we can’t let him go yet! I’m definitely going to need more samples to test my hypotheses. And it’s not just the cells I need to study, but also what other factors in the body prevented rejection! None of you SOLDIERs were made in a day!”
Angeal felt his stomach sink. What had he agreed to? “How much longer?”
“Can’t say for sure. We'll move him first and then see. I have a hidden lab - it has the equipment I'll need."
Hollander's eyes shone with excitement, and Angeal was beginning to feel uneasy about the direction the whole affair was heading.
He didn’t have a choice but to go along with it, though. As a Sephiroth clone, Strife could very well hold the secret to saving his life.
In the background, the monitor beeped.
………………..
Sephiroth stormed through the halls like a thundercloud, if a thundercloud had legs, carried a katana taller than most men, and could actively plan to murder the next person to ask an asinine question. Orderlies dove out of his path, guards stepped aside with unusually textbook-perfect salutes, and the half-full elevator emptied at one displeased glance.
He arrived back from Junon at the crack of dawn, having flown through the night, and was then expected to attend all of the meetings that had been delayed during his absence, even though over half of them were at best only tangentially related to SOLDIER and could have been easily handled by Lazard. Now, all he wanted to do was to return to his office for some peace and quiet and maybe something to drink.
Luck was not on his side. No sooner than the door opened to the SOLDIER floor, did one of the Second Class SOLDIERs pounce. Quickly, he ran through a mental database of the lower classes. Round jaw, alto voice, wiry build… Luxiere, his memories supplied after a bit of coaxing, but he couldn’t recall the SOLDIER’s rank. “General, sir! Welcome back. I’m sorry to bother you, but you wouldn’t happen to know where Cloud is, would you?”
The mention of Cloud distracted him enough to forestall the scathing remark balanced on the tip of his tongue. Sephiroth paused and thought on it. “…No, I have no idea.” Why did that realisation bother him so much? “Perhaps he’s out on a mission.”
“Oh. I thought for sure you…” The Second’s shoulder slumped. “Sorry to bother you, sir.”
Sephiroth nodded, face drawn in a frown as he continued to his office at a more reserved pace.
“Sephiroth! General Sephiroth!” Another voice hollered from behind him.
His hand snapped towards Masamune’s hilt, until he recognised the voice as belonging to Angeal’s overenthusiastic Second. Zack Fair.
He turned around, but his hand didn’t leave the blade.
Waving frantically - as though somehow Sephiroth could miss him in the spacious, empty corridor - Zack bounded up to him breathlessly. “Sir! You’re finally back! Do you know where Cloud is?”
This again? “I have no idea. He is likely on a mission.” Sephiroth found his temper short.
Zack tugged on his black tufts with both hands. “But he isn’t! And I haven’t been able to find him anywhere the past three days! I thought for sure you would know, but-”
“How could I possibly know, Zack?” the General interrupted, patience running as thin as Masamune’s edge. “I only returned from Junon this morning.”
“Well, I dunno - the two of you have some weird radar going.” Slumping, Zack complained, “You were my last hope! And I can’t find Angeal either! I’m so boooored!” Seeming to remember his audience at the last moment, the Second laughed nervously. “So, um, I’ll go… do some training! Can never do too many squats! See you, General!” Zack hotfooted away.
Sighing, Sephiroth continued on to his office, beginning to keenly anticipate sitting down with a quiet cup of tea. He knew better by then, though, and wasn’t even slightly surprised upon opening his door to find Genesis in his office, with his red coat thrown over his chair, and steadily wearing a groove in his carpet. “Surely you can pace in your own office, Genesis,” he greeted wryly.
“Sephiroth!” He whirled on the spot, poised like a striking serpent. “Where have you been all day?! You were supposed to return this morning!”
“I’ve been stuck in meetings,” he growled, propping Masamune by the side of the desk, and ungraciously tossing the red leather coat desecrating his chair to the floor. The lack of complaint from Genesis disconcerted him enough to finally give his friend his full attention. The auburn-haired man’s face was lined with worry, and he wore faint bruises under his eyes from lack of sleep. “What’s the matter?”
“Cloud’s missing.”
“So I hear. Has anyone checked to make sure he’s not on a mission?” Sephiroth asked.
“He isn’t. I checked the database. None of his new mission requests have been accepted.” Genesis sank into the guest chair, hands clasped between his knees. “I can’t get I contact with Angeal, either.”
“Angeal?” Recalling that Zack had said something similar, Sephiroth swiftly withdrew his PHS, dialling the familiar number.
“You’re wasting your time. He’s not answering. I haven’t seen him for three days. It’s been nearly five since anyone’s seen Cloud.” He sounded haunted.
As Genesis said, the PHS rang out. Sephiroth frowned, and dialled Cloud’s number next. Same result. “Do you think he went to look for Cloud?”
“Angeal? I doubt it. No one thought Cloud was missing then.”
Hearing more of the story, Sephiroth found himself growing concerned. Angeal had been secretive lately. “Perhaps we should check with Lazard as well, just to be sure. Even if Cloud is not on a mission, it’s possible that Angeal is.” Two of his friends going out of contact without warning in such a short span of time? Working at ShinRa, one tended to become wary of such coincidences.
He didn’t miss the way Genesis’s gaze slid away, either. His friend was hiding something too.
That made three for three.
At least Cloud was honest about it.
…………………………..
Reality danced at the edges of his consciousness - little snapshots he fought to grab, clawing his way from the unreality of endless sleep.
"-desertion, if this takes much longer-"
Darkness. Dreams.
"The finding of a lifetime, this mako percentage would poison a person twice the-"
Dreams. Darkness.
“-all this really necessary? I thought you just wanted to-”
Everything sounded so far away.
A trilling ring. Zack, calling? No, that couldn’t be right. The dead couldn’t call. Tifa? That couldn’t be right, either. His arms were heavy, though. For some reason, he couldn’t move them to pick up his PHS.
For a moment, painful light.
“-calling a lot. They’ll be on to us, soon.”
“Don’t worry, I spoke to Lazard.”
“But if they come looking, surely it won’t take long before they think of-”
Angeal and Hollander. He shut his eyes quickly, but too late - he’d been seen. “He’s waking up again.”
A pinprick of pain in the crook of his elbow. “I’m going to have to adjust the dosages again soon. Body is developing resistance faster than I-”
The words trailed off into indistinct murmurs. Next time he needed to remember to keep his eyes closed. Ribbon could protect him from status materia, but it could do little about drugs continually pumped into his veins. Only mako could help there.
Next time, he reminded himself sluggishly, with what little lucidity fought its way through the haze of fatigue. Then… Where’s Zack? Did he…
He couldn’t carry the thought to completion.
Cloud slept.
Next chapter
Rating: T for violence.
Summary: FFVII Time-travel. Gen. Cloud has an accident with a Time Materia.
Author's Note: Heads up to the people I chat to online, internet has become crazy-temperamental and only gives brief ten-minute window connections before crapping out again, so I probably won't be available on chat very much until we get the phone company to sort it out. :(
In other news, I'm going to be travelling this Sunday and Wednesday, so no chapters then, sorry. Should be able to manage next Sunday though. Will keep you posted if that changes. ^_^ (Y'know, providing the phone lines don't quit altogether.)
Previous Chapter
__________________
The Fifth Act
Chapter 24
__________________
The monitor beeped. And beeped. And beeped.
With a sigh, Angeal turned the page, though he admitted he’d probably stopped reading about ten pages back. Literature was more Genesis’s thing. Strife remained still and unresponsive on the table. He wished they’d thought to put him on a mattress, at least. That metal had to be cold in the air conditioning. Good thing the blond was unconscious.
The monitor beeped.
He felt guilty over the whole ordeal, but they didn’t have a choice. Strife had been a tough bastard to lay flat, even with the element of surprise and the effects of a Haste spell on hand. There weren’t many SOLDIERs who could stay conscious after a blow like that, let-alone maintain enough presence of mind to use materia in that situation. That it took Angeal, a specialist in hand-to-hand combat, four hits to get him unconscious was something of a blow to his pride.
Then the blond had gone and broken the restraints.
Angeal frowned to himself, fingers stilling on the corner of the page and paper crinkling under his touch. He’d expected a bad reaction, sure, but thought that once Strife calmed down enough to listen, he would be more cooperative. What he hadn’t expected was the animalistic fear in those blue eyes upon awakening.
One look at that expression, and he knew there would be no reasoning, and no cooperation. It wasn’t the mild phobia of doctors he’d imagined it to be - they were working with primal terror. Nothing could be done about it. The kindest thing they could do was sedate the blond through the worst of it.
The monitor beeped.
Still, Angeal was beginning to suspect that he wouldn’t be able to ask forgiveness after all. Heck, he couldn’t even figure out how they could let Strife go without risk of bodily injury. Maybe dump him back in his quarters still drugged, and then take off to the West Continent before he woke up.
A clatter of activity near the doorway preceded Hollander’s entrance. He blinked slowly at the sight of Angeal, then resumed his bustle. “Good, you’re still here.”
“I only left to get a couple of hours sleep last night, and ducked out this morning to take care of some things,” he replied, watching as Hollander flitted about room like a very large, round needlebird. “Did something happen?”
In his distraction, it took the professor a moment to answer. “Hm? Oh, yes. It was absolutely unexpected. Absolutely!” He peered about for a moment, then pointed a sausage-like finger at an unused syringe near Angeal’s elbow. “Hand me that, would you?”
He complied, and Hollander started filling it with a pale blue liquid. “The sedative should be wearing off around now. Based on my findings, I had to readjust my initial predictions.” He rubbed a spot on Strife’s arm and slid the needle into the vein.
“What’s that?” Angeal asked. “I thought we were done with the tests.” This was all taking too long for his liking already.
“Just a numbing agent. Should hamper his reflexes and motor-control.” Hollander tossed a ration bottle - cold field soup, by the looks of it - into his hands. “I don’t have an IV arranged yet, and he needs to eat.”
Right. It had been twenty-four hours, and while SOLDIERs could go for some time without food, it didn’t mean it was healthy to. Angeal didn’t want to know how Hollander had taken care of the bathroom problem, either. They’d replaced the restraints, but unless they kept him at least partially drugged, he’d probably just rip through them again.
A finger twitched against the table. Their blond-haired blue-eyed demon would be waking up any moment.
The heart rate monitor sped up. Not the adrenaline-fuelled frenzy of the day before, but enough to know Strife was conscious. Sure enough, not a moment later Angeal found himself looking into a pair of bleary glowing eyes.
“Morning. You hungry?” He held up the bottle of soup. Not bothering to wait for a response, he cracked the lid, and took a sip, wrinkling his nose. ShinRa field rations didn’t taste great, but at least it was still fresh. “It’s not exactly fine cuisine, but it’ll have to do.”
Strife hardly paid any attention to him, frowning instead as he tried to flex his fingers, but the joints would only twitch in response.
“Sorry about that. Hollander applied a mild paralysis agent.” He’d prefer it if they could use materia, but Strife had that damn resistance to magic. “Can’t have you ripping out the restraints again.”
Those bright blue eyes fixed on him, but Strife remained silent. Compared to his frantic entreaties the first time he’d woken up, it was honestly a little eerie. Maybe the sedative hadn’t completely worn off yet.
With a sigh, Angeal stood up, placing a hand under the blond head and tilting it up. “You must be hungry. Drink up.” He put the bottle to Strife’s dry and cracked lips - they hadn’t thought to give him any water either. Thankfully, the SOLDIER didn’t fight him, parting them slightly so Angeal could slowly pour the soup down his throat. He grimaced as he swallowed, but drank down at least half the bottle before closing his mouth in a firm line and refusing to accept any more.
The First doubted the words would be worth much, but he needed to at least try. “I really am sorry about this. I couldn’t think of another way. But don’t worry, you’ll be out of here soon enough and able to kick my ass for it all you want.”
“What are you saying? We can’t possibly let him go!” Hollander interrupted.
Strife jerked at the voice, apparently unaware of the scientist’s presence in the room. The heart rate spiked again, but returned to a more normal pace a moment later. Angeal actually felt a bit proud of him for it.
As for Hollander, though… “Why not? You’ve got your samples, don’t you?”
Sputtering, the scientist complained, “But I didn’t expect results like this! I need more time! This is such an incredible discovery, you won’t believe it!”
“What are you talking about?”
“No,” Strife whispered - the first sound he’d uttered since waking. “Don’t-”
Gesturing towards the man strapped to the table, Hollander explained, “The ability to transfer foreign cells into a fully-grown specimen, and have the enhancements take without rejection-”
“Shut up!” The demand was urgent this time, voice cracking under the tension.
“Get to the point, Hollander,” Angeal prodded.
Hollander gathered himself importantly, as though he were about to deliver an announcement to the board of executives instead of a lone, dying SOLDIER First Class. "He has S-cells. And in no small number.” At Angeal’s blank expression, he expounded, “He’s a Sephiroth clone."
In disbelief, Angeal turned to stare at the trapped blond. He didn’t look like Sephiroth. But the abilities… “You’re a clone?”
"I'm not a clone. I'm Cloud Strife!" The mako glow in his eyes blazed in his anger. "And I am not a puppet!" Even with the drugs coursing through his system, the restraints creaked under pressure.
Hurriedly, Hollander began preparing another syringe of sedative. Angeal couldn’t do anything more than stare at Strife numbly.
“I’m not a copy!” he repeated, a little desperately now. “I never joined the Reunion! I’m not like the others!” His eyes were growing wild, disoriented. He was panicking again.
Hollander jabbed the needle into the exposed elbow. Blue eyes rolled to the side, and focused on Angeal.
“You can’t tell him,” Strife blurted, fingers flexing as though trying to reach out to him. “He can’t know! If he learns the truth… if he learns… Reunion will…” His eyelids began to droop shut, speech growing slurred. “He can’t find her, if he finds her…”
Strife fell unconscious again. Hollander had given him enough sedatives to knock out a behemoth.
“Others?” Angeal murmured to himself. Was he to believe that Hojo had been cloning Sephiroth?
It sounded exactly like the sort of thing the Science Department might do, though. The same Science Department he now relied on to save his life. The irony stung. It was their fault he was in this situation to begin with.
Hollander wiped the sweat from his brow, letting out a breath of relief. “That was dangerous.”
Angeal stared at the sleeping face, noting the lines of stress around the eyes. They’d spent all that time searching for the reason Strife hated Sephiroth so much, but never could they have imagined something like this. What was it like, to know you were a clone? No wonder he’d wanted to kill Sephiroth. What better way to prove himself better than the original? Maybe it had simply been a chase of self-identity all along, rather than a self-destructive impulse as they thought.
For all the questions it answered though, Angeal had gained a hundred more.
“We can’t keep him in Midgar,” Hollander continued, busying around the lab. “I haven’t been able to determine the exact nature of the phenomenon, but there’s an unusual resonance between the cells.”
“Meaning…?”
“There’s a possibility General Sephiroth might experience a sympathetic reaction when he returns. It could manifest itself in any number of ways. Communication might be possible. It could be as simple as a sense of awareness, or maybe no effect at all. Can’t take the chance.” The scientist unplugged the computer terminal, loading the heavy system box into his bag. The whirr of cooling fans died, leaving only the repetitive beep of the heart monitor for background noise.
“Wait a minute, Sephiroth isn’t due back for another two days at least!” Angeal protested. “Why do we have to keep him that long?”
The scientist stopped his scurrying long enough to blink owlishly at the SOLDIER, apparently perplexed at the question being asked at all. “What do you mean? Of course we can’t let him go yet! I’m definitely going to need more samples to test my hypotheses. And it’s not just the cells I need to study, but also what other factors in the body prevented rejection! None of you SOLDIERs were made in a day!”
Angeal felt his stomach sink. What had he agreed to? “How much longer?”
“Can’t say for sure. We'll move him first and then see. I have a hidden lab - it has the equipment I'll need."
Hollander's eyes shone with excitement, and Angeal was beginning to feel uneasy about the direction the whole affair was heading.
He didn’t have a choice but to go along with it, though. As a Sephiroth clone, Strife could very well hold the secret to saving his life.
In the background, the monitor beeped.
………………..
Sephiroth stormed through the halls like a thundercloud, if a thundercloud had legs, carried a katana taller than most men, and could actively plan to murder the next person to ask an asinine question. Orderlies dove out of his path, guards stepped aside with unusually textbook-perfect salutes, and the half-full elevator emptied at one displeased glance.
He arrived back from Junon at the crack of dawn, having flown through the night, and was then expected to attend all of the meetings that had been delayed during his absence, even though over half of them were at best only tangentially related to SOLDIER and could have been easily handled by Lazard. Now, all he wanted to do was to return to his office for some peace and quiet and maybe something to drink.
Luck was not on his side. No sooner than the door opened to the SOLDIER floor, did one of the Second Class SOLDIERs pounce. Quickly, he ran through a mental database of the lower classes. Round jaw, alto voice, wiry build… Luxiere, his memories supplied after a bit of coaxing, but he couldn’t recall the SOLDIER’s rank. “General, sir! Welcome back. I’m sorry to bother you, but you wouldn’t happen to know where Cloud is, would you?”
The mention of Cloud distracted him enough to forestall the scathing remark balanced on the tip of his tongue. Sephiroth paused and thought on it. “…No, I have no idea.” Why did that realisation bother him so much? “Perhaps he’s out on a mission.”
“Oh. I thought for sure you…” The Second’s shoulder slumped. “Sorry to bother you, sir.”
Sephiroth nodded, face drawn in a frown as he continued to his office at a more reserved pace.
“Sephiroth! General Sephiroth!” Another voice hollered from behind him.
His hand snapped towards Masamune’s hilt, until he recognised the voice as belonging to Angeal’s overenthusiastic Second. Zack Fair.
He turned around, but his hand didn’t leave the blade.
Waving frantically - as though somehow Sephiroth could miss him in the spacious, empty corridor - Zack bounded up to him breathlessly. “Sir! You’re finally back! Do you know where Cloud is?”
This again? “I have no idea. He is likely on a mission.” Sephiroth found his temper short.
Zack tugged on his black tufts with both hands. “But he isn’t! And I haven’t been able to find him anywhere the past three days! I thought for sure you would know, but-”
“How could I possibly know, Zack?” the General interrupted, patience running as thin as Masamune’s edge. “I only returned from Junon this morning.”
“Well, I dunno - the two of you have some weird radar going.” Slumping, Zack complained, “You were my last hope! And I can’t find Angeal either! I’m so boooored!” Seeming to remember his audience at the last moment, the Second laughed nervously. “So, um, I’ll go… do some training! Can never do too many squats! See you, General!” Zack hotfooted away.
Sighing, Sephiroth continued on to his office, beginning to keenly anticipate sitting down with a quiet cup of tea. He knew better by then, though, and wasn’t even slightly surprised upon opening his door to find Genesis in his office, with his red coat thrown over his chair, and steadily wearing a groove in his carpet. “Surely you can pace in your own office, Genesis,” he greeted wryly.
“Sephiroth!” He whirled on the spot, poised like a striking serpent. “Where have you been all day?! You were supposed to return this morning!”
“I’ve been stuck in meetings,” he growled, propping Masamune by the side of the desk, and ungraciously tossing the red leather coat desecrating his chair to the floor. The lack of complaint from Genesis disconcerted him enough to finally give his friend his full attention. The auburn-haired man’s face was lined with worry, and he wore faint bruises under his eyes from lack of sleep. “What’s the matter?”
“Cloud’s missing.”
“So I hear. Has anyone checked to make sure he’s not on a mission?” Sephiroth asked.
“He isn’t. I checked the database. None of his new mission requests have been accepted.” Genesis sank into the guest chair, hands clasped between his knees. “I can’t get I contact with Angeal, either.”
“Angeal?” Recalling that Zack had said something similar, Sephiroth swiftly withdrew his PHS, dialling the familiar number.
“You’re wasting your time. He’s not answering. I haven’t seen him for three days. It’s been nearly five since anyone’s seen Cloud.” He sounded haunted.
As Genesis said, the PHS rang out. Sephiroth frowned, and dialled Cloud’s number next. Same result. “Do you think he went to look for Cloud?”
“Angeal? I doubt it. No one thought Cloud was missing then.”
Hearing more of the story, Sephiroth found himself growing concerned. Angeal had been secretive lately. “Perhaps we should check with Lazard as well, just to be sure. Even if Cloud is not on a mission, it’s possible that Angeal is.” Two of his friends going out of contact without warning in such a short span of time? Working at ShinRa, one tended to become wary of such coincidences.
He didn’t miss the way Genesis’s gaze slid away, either. His friend was hiding something too.
That made three for three.
At least Cloud was honest about it.
…………………………..
Reality danced at the edges of his consciousness - little snapshots he fought to grab, clawing his way from the unreality of endless sleep.
"-desertion, if this takes much longer-"
Darkness. Dreams.
"The finding of a lifetime, this mako percentage would poison a person twice the-"
Dreams. Darkness.
“-all this really necessary? I thought you just wanted to-”
Everything sounded so far away.
A trilling ring. Zack, calling? No, that couldn’t be right. The dead couldn’t call. Tifa? That couldn’t be right, either. His arms were heavy, though. For some reason, he couldn’t move them to pick up his PHS.
For a moment, painful light.
“-calling a lot. They’ll be on to us, soon.”
“Don’t worry, I spoke to Lazard.”
“But if they come looking, surely it won’t take long before they think of-”
Angeal and Hollander. He shut his eyes quickly, but too late - he’d been seen. “He’s waking up again.”
A pinprick of pain in the crook of his elbow. “I’m going to have to adjust the dosages again soon. Body is developing resistance faster than I-”
The words trailed off into indistinct murmurs. Next time he needed to remember to keep his eyes closed. Ribbon could protect him from status materia, but it could do little about drugs continually pumped into his veins. Only mako could help there.
Next time, he reminded himself sluggishly, with what little lucidity fought its way through the haze of fatigue. Then… Where’s Zack? Did he…
He couldn’t carry the thought to completion.
Cloud slept.
Next chapter