DISCLAIMER: Final Fantasy belongs to Squaresoft and various other interested parties, not me. I'm not making any money from this, and no infringement of copyright is intended. This is a work of fandom, intended as appreciation of the original work.

WARNINGS: Death, Profanity, Otherwise Disturbing Content

Chapter Thirteen

Newest Blood

Zack had begun to think his captors were going to leave him here, in this wretched freezing cell, until he froze or starved to death. He'd tried to think of ways to escape, but gave up, as he'd decided the door looked far too solid. He had, however, managed to maneuver himself into a comfortable position. No longer lying flat on his stomach, he was able to breathe so much easier. He had also given up on sleep long ago, as, every time he came anywhere close to drifting off, one of his limbs would go achingly numb.

Thus, there he lay in a ruffled heap on the cement floor. He'd begun to think something terrible had happened to Sephiroth and Cloud. What if they were both dead? Then he was dead! His anxiety at having no way of knowing what occurred outside these walls had convinced himself by now that they had both been devoured by the spiders up on the ridge, but despite all of the sorrow he felt for his possible loss, he had yet to truly feel the pain. The hope was still there, one mere pebble holding off the emotions behind a dam of resolve that threatened to crumble with each passing minute that he let his thoughts linger on his friends.

He found it so much easier to pretend that they were somehow still alive and focus on his own dilemma instead, but the focus would never come. His mind persisted on wandering back to the outside. If only he had a little more information . . . and maybe a bite to eat . . . and a toilet. His stomach and bladder had been traitorously torturing him for hours. Desperate, he decided to annoy his guards again. He knew there was at least one man standing outside his cell. He had heard him coughing and, at times, pacing.

I'll bet he's as bored as I am.

"Hey! I hope you have a mop ready out there, 'cus your cell's about to smell like urine if you don't give me a break soon!" He waited . . . no reply, just like his countless other attempts. "Hey! I know you're out there! Coward! Afraid to let a bound man out of his cell long enough to piss! Come on!" He waited again . . . nothing. "Pleeease?" He was whining to himself now, and he knew it . . . or maybe not! Had he just heard voices?

He strained his ears, holding his breath. Yes, there they were again, and more than one. He struggled to make out what they were saying, but the conversation was low and indiscernible. However, his heart leaped at the unmistakable jingle of keys, and it took flight, flapping in his chest like a song bird as he heard the click of a heavy lock. The thick steel bar slid out of place with a metallic clang, and the titan door gave a lazy groan as it peaked open. He couldn't bring himself to care if they had come just to kill him or not. The door was open!

A lanky Turk stepped in, wearing the navy blue uniform that Zack had truly grown to associate with annoyance during the past week. A pistol trained on him for security, and then another man backed inside, hunched over for some reason. As the man advanced farther into the cell, Zack's minuscule bubble of relief burst, and his song bird of a heart spontaneously combusted and its shriveled ashes fell ironically from the sky like charred black confetti.

. . . oh . . . no . . .

The Turk was, with some effort, dragging an all too familiar blond by his cuffed hands, obviously uncaring about the sharp metal edges chaffing into the tender flesh of the pale wrists. He let the unconscious Cloud fall roughly to floor.

"Enjoy your company while it lasts." The bastard smirked and both of the slight men turned to leave. The door was heaved shut, the lock clicked, and the bar returned to its imprisoning position as if it had never even budged to begin with.

But Zack didn't care at the moment. Cloud was alive! . . . but the fact that he was here did not bode well at all for either of them. And why was he alone? Where was Sephiroth?

"Cloud? Cloud!" His young friend was motionless as Zack's eyes lighted on the fresh splash of red marring his temple, and from there to the random spatter of the same stains decorating various areas of his clothing, hinting that previous bloodshed had occurred prior to the blond's capture. Concern rippled up into his chest.

At least Cloud has an excuse not to reply . . . unlike someone.

Zack tried in vain to move himself to Cloud's side, in flickering hopes of perhaps waking him up. After several exhausting and unsuccessful attempts, he floundered in exasperation and slammed himself against the concrete a lot harder than he had intended. He grunted in futility and gave up, panting ungracefully.

He supposed, for now, the satisfaction of his panic would have to settle with watching the slow rise and fall of his injured friend's chest. As long as the blond was still breathing, Zack would refrain from hyperventilating. He was not having a good day. Where was Sephiroth?

. . . . . .

He still had to pee!

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He had been struggling against the thick chains around him ever since they been put in place. He had also been struggling against the three sets of hands that had been wrestling to lift his weight, making their cumbersome load even more difficult to bear. Most prominently, he had been struggling to hold on to his consciousness. His treasonous body, however, was making this rather difficult. As every second passed, his precious energy slipped away along with the steady dripping of his wounds, causing the dark haze around his vision to grow thicker.

He could no longer feel the pain in his leg, although he remembered that it had been terrible at first. His body had begun to drift into a state of numbness, threatening to drag his mind down with it, but he refused to give in. He had to . . . the haze strengthened again . . . what was he doing? His mind raged. There was something he had to remember, something vitally important. He fought the darkness with all of the willpower he had.

Up ahead another Turk carried his own load, dragging the limp individual along the ground by the chains of his handcuffs as they neared a small building.

Cloud! Yes, he had to make sure he stayed with Cloud! He could not let the blond out of his sight. He might never see him again.

His love was not moving, having been stricken in the temple with quite some force. Even from here he could see the rivulets of blood trickling through Cloud's spikes and down his face. Anger tried to fight its way into the forefront of his mind, but it was immediately bogged over by his growing weakness. He groaned and chanced a look at his leg, trying to ascertain whether or not the bleeding was likely to slow any time soon.

The mako was not helping. This wound was too great. All that met Sephiroth's eyes was the horror of glistening red, and nothing else. But at least he was still alive. Cloud, his Cloud had saved him and even managed to maim Krall's arms at Gaia knew what cost to himself. Tseng had always treasured his veterans, the Turks that had been around for over ten years at least, and Krall had definitely been in service for at least twenty.

This was sure to send Tseng even further over the edge.

Sephiroth would not let that bastard hurt Cloud again, of that much he was certain, but, even as he thought of his desperate need for the strength to protect the blond, the haziness returned with vengeance. It was like drowning in a forever-shifting sea of black waves, Sephiroth not recovering from the last dousing before his thoughts were submerged in another. It had caught him by surprise this time and he hadn't been prepared for the strength of the darkness that threatened to overpower him. He pictured the brilliant cerulean blue of Cloud's eyes, trying to force some color back into the blackness that had currently consumed his mind.

Sephiroth could feel his wits slipping away with each drop of blood that fled his veins. The blackness began to pull Cloud's image away from him, but as soon as the first was gone he stubbornly replaced it with another.

A gorgeous smile, rare and hesitant. The awed blond lifting his new katana from its case in restrained excitement. Cloud took nothing for granted. He growled in frustration as the haze returned yet again. This was no enemy that he could decapitate with Masamune, neither could he intimidate it. He, Sephiroth, was utterly helpless to fight this foe, which kept growing progressively stronger as he grew weaker. It did not take a seasoned General to realize that his loss would inevitably come eventually.

He blacked out.

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Rozz stood behind his superior, ignoring the itch on his temple that had become rather urgent. Normally, he might have chanced a quick scratch while no one was looking, but Tseng had been in a decidedly irritated mood ever since this morning, when he'd learned that the scientist would be arriving a full week early in some sort of sick excitement to commence with even more experiments in the area. The basement had already been prepared in Hojo's advance, having been stocked with all manner of instruments and holding tanks that made the crippled man's nerves lurch in chilling dread.

His brother, Warren, had been one of Hojo's guinea pigs. He'd volunteered under the impression that the experiments were meant only to increase his strength and agility . . . Oh, he was powerful, no doubt . . . but a heavy weight squeezed around Rozz's heart every time he allowed himself to remember that . . . he no longer actually had a brother.

An empty shell . . . barely even human. A slave . . . forever . . . but he's already gone, isn't he?

The screams, the seizures, the cold sweat . . . Warren had been one of the first to go insane, held in his older brother's arms. The feel of losing someone he was supposed to protect . . . knowing that there was nothing he could do to ease the agony, to save his little brother from . . . no one knew exactly what Hojo had done to them, aside from turn them into monsters. And there were so many others aside from Warren. Rozz would rather not think about that night, almost ten years ago, unless he absolutely had to.

He abruptly forced his mind onto another subject. Rozz knew Tseng had deployed some of their best men in a rush operation to accomplish what he had come here to do before his command was taken away. As far as Rozz knew, nothing had been heard from the dispatch in hours.

He stole a glance to the leader of the Turks. His boss had been waiting anxiously for news all afternoon, growing more furious with each tick of the white clock situated lonesomely above the back wall. Now, he sat upright in his chair, knuckles white against the maroon leather as strained muscles clenched the arm rests. Rozz was nervous, and he had the right to be. The last time Tseng had worked himself into this mood, his kneecap had been reduced to a mass of gnarled muscle and tendons with a revolver.

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"There were no problems getting him Rozz?" Tseng turned to him with a triumphant grin.

"No sir." Rozz feared his superior might be angry with his tactics, the manner in which he had retrieved Strife, but hoped that, perhaps, Tseng's pleasure in finally having his quarry in his clutches might assuage that anger.

"Sephiroth didn't interfere?" Oh no . . . He wanted a detailed briefing, then. He swallowed the building mass in his throat.

"No sir, I waited until he was out of the apartment." Nerves standing on edge. Let him stop the questioning there.

"Good, good." A sigh of relief.

"You left no evidence behind?" SHIT! He could not choose to leave the question unanswered. He could not lie. Tseng would know! He always knew!

"Answer my question Rozz." The voice was quiet and threatening, dripping with potential violence.

"Yes sir, there was blood." He it comes. Cold.

"Blood. I thought I told you to make it clean." Tseng was shouting now. Then, one of those mood swings that seemed to be becoming more common lately.

His superior turned from him and crouched in front of Strife's weak form. Rozz did not have to see the glare that he knew would be on Tseng's face to feel Strife's fear. He already had plenty of his own.

"Blood . . . How much? Elaborate." This was it.

"My tranquilizer jammed. I had to disable him physically. Please forgive me sir, I . . . it's not my fault he bled so much." He watched, frozen, as his boss turned on him. That had been the wrong thing to say.

"Yes, Rozz, it is your fault. You and I both know there are ways to disable a target without leaving so much as a scratch. I knew I couldn't rely on you in Rude's absence. I should have sent the rookie. I bet Reno would have done it right! But no, I chose you, and you fucked up." He flinched at the insult and had no time to react as Tseng pulled a gun on him.

Rozz was sure he was dying as agony exploded from his knee. He could not hold back the scream that escaped him, nor the whimpers that followed after he had realized just what had happened.

He'd known . . . but not this badly . . . shattered trust for good . . .

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Thinking of his bad leg brought the ache to the forefront of his mind. The cold of The Hollow seemed to make the pain even more noticeable than usual. He wondered if it would ever heal completely, or if he might become one of those old men that one saw in the streets hunched over a cane. The injustice of his superior's decision made his blood heat. One small mistake, nothing more, and he had suffered a punishment that had crippled him forn a lifetime.

. . . but no one could leave. Once in, always in. There were no ex-Turks, and Rozz knew why. If anyone ever showed the smallest doubt of his life-long allegiance, their life was suddenly not so long anymore.

Thus, here he was, stuck in a society where he was cursed to stand behind a man he hated and leap at the chance to perform his every bidding or be punished. It hadn't been like this before. The scientist had changed Tseng too, into a man that hardly anyone could like. He inhaled sharply as a pressure budded in his chest. He had been his superior's friend, once.

Now, however, Tseng seemed to have become obsessed with killing Sephiroth and, more prominently, Cloud Strife. Rozz did not know much about his boss's motives, but, one thing he did understand, was that Sephiroth was no going to let them have the boy without a fight. It was like trying to take a cub from a tigress. It just wasn't worth the trouble, no matter what the boy had done.

Rozz explored his memory for images of the young man. He remembered feeling sorry for him as he had hefted his light body out of Sephiroth's kitchen window. The blond's weak state had reminded him of his last few moments with Warren. He had not seemed a threat to the Turks in the least, quite the opposite really. Rozz's soft brown eyes alighted on the back of Tseng's head now.

So why the obsession?

He looked up from his polished shoes as there was a commotion from behind the door, shifting his weight to accommodate for the pain in his bad leg as he did so. A young man he did not recognize burst in with a pleased grin on his face, orange hair plastered flat onto his skull by sweat as he delivered his message with a prideful salute.

"Sir, both Strife and Sephiroth have been contained, and both are still alive."

Tseng stood from his chair with a delighted sneer on his face. "Excellent. Have Sephiroth prepared for when the good professor arrives. As for Strife, tell Krall to accomplish his own purposes with the brat if he pleases and then prepare him for the shooting range."

Rozz's eyes widened in nervous horror as Tseng produced his handgun from his belt and fired a loose shot into the ceiling, dust snowed from the damge sight. The last time Strife had been captured, Tseng had surmised that the quickest and most painful way to kill the boy before Sephiroth had arrived on the scene would have been by fire. Now, on the other hand, Sephiroth had been captured too, leaving Tseng with all the time in the world to exact his revenge.

By giving him to Krall?

He had heard many rumors about their senior officer that always made his upper lip curve into a snarl whenever he man entered the room. Krall liked them young, and liked them whenever he pleased. As one of Tseng's favorites, of course, Krall got them young, and he got them whenever he pleased. Rozz also knew that most of the boys were rarely ever seen again.

You couldn't have thought of a more painful way to dehumanize him before you killed him could you?

Tseng had definitely changed into a man he did not like.

Rozz combated with himself on whether to voice his protests aloud to his boss, when his thoughts were interrupted by the next sentence that came from the young messenger's mouth.

"Sir, there is also . . . some bad news, I'm afraid."

Tseng strapped the weapon back to his side, paying barely any attention to the young man. He looked up languidly, a wide sneer still on his face. "I have both Strife and Sephiroth. What bad news could possibly dampen this victory?"

"Senior Officer Krall, my Lord, he's . . . in the medical ward. His condition is critical, Sir. They say it's likely that he won't live."

This did catch Tseng's attention, Rozz noted, but not in the way the former news had, not at all.

"What do you mean his death is likely?" The Turk's face was turning red.

The messenger visibly flinched. "He has lost both of his arms above the elbow, Sir, by the backfire of his own shotgun. I don't think they have been able to staunch the bleeding"

"This is not acceptable!" The dark-haired man's teeth flashed as he swept his arm across his desk in rage, knocking off many important papers along with what Rozz knew to be a very expensive and irreplaceable lamp. The lamp hit the floor with a splitting shatter and an electrical snap as the bulb burst, the documents floating in the air like autumn leaves

The messenger looked frightened and looked as if he wanted nothing more than to leave the room and pretend he had never come, a drastic change from his previous prideful demeanor. Rozz decided to intervene and attempt to calm his former friend before any more antiques were obliterated, or, more specifically, before the young messenger suffered the same fate he had back in the prison when Tseng had ruined his leg.

"Tseng." He stepped forwards to meet the man's growl. Before, in Midgar, he had feared Tseng's wrath, but now, he had become numb to the thought of death. His brother, whose love and dependence had once been his only reason for life, had been stolen from him by science. His youth had been stolen from him the moment the leader of the Turks had pulled the trigger. "See reason. The lad's had nothing to do with this. He is only following orders, presuming his superiors were not up to the task of bringing you this news themselves. Dismiss him to go about his business."

Tseng reeled on him and raised his hand, as if preparing to strike, but paused, hand wavering in the air. The Turk exhaled and brought the hand down slowly instead, leaving it to rest on Rozz's shoulder.

"You're right, Rozz. This isn't the lad's fault at all." He turned to the boy and waved him off with a hand. "Leave us."

It seemed as though the redhead could not exit the room quickly enough as he backpedaled out the door, leaving Rozz with a grateful communication that passed between their eyes.

When the boy was gone, Tseng returned his attention to Rozz, patting down his blue suit that had become ruffled in his angry outburst.

"Indeed, you are right. This is no one's fault but Sephiroth's."

This had not been the result that Rozz had quite wanted from his intervention.

"I sent Krall and his best to bring me back the Strife boy, and he returns an amputee. You see, Rozz? Sephiroth has taken his affection for the little murderer to the point of killing off other ShinRa employees in order to shelter him from his just dues."

Rozz had nothing to say to his superior's unbalanced statement. Murderer? Surely General Sephiroth knew the situation, even if Rozz himself did not. Although he had only met the man twice, he had seemed rather reasonable. Hell, he must have been to acquire such an intimidating rank. If Sephiroth had deemed Strife innocent, then, perhaps, he was correct.

. . . but he did not dare to say so.

Tseng continued. " The boy will die today. Sephiroth can't stop his death this time, neither can he cut my time short, thus I can choose any method I so see fit."

Rozz did not fail to catch the maniacal gleam in the man's eyes.

What has Hojo done to you?

Rozz had known that Tseng had become unstable, but to take it to this level? To kill someone so young without giving him a chance to so much as plead his own case? His face darkened. The Turks might not have been established on the foundations of being a just and noble organization . . .

. . . but surely we still have some honor left in our miserable ranks.

He watched Tseng pace the study, hands held neatly behind his back, no doubt trying to fabricate a new agonizing way in which he could take Strife's life.

"Sir?"

Tseng paused and grumbled in irritation, as if he had truly been concentrating on his morbid train of thoughts.

"You said you would pay our dear friend Krall a visit?" Rozz played up the pleasantries, hoping to make the visit to the medical ward seem more personally appealing to the deranged man. "I am positive it would lift Krall's spirits to know that his services are still appreciated, especially after accomplishing today's mission at a great personal sacrifice."

His superior's eyes lit up with recognition as if he had forgotten Krall completely.

He's progressively getting worse, Rozz mused to himself. Would Hojo not stop this madness until there were no sane men left on the Planet? Or maybe he couldn't stop it. Maybe his experiments had gotten out of hand. No. The last time he had seen one of them, it had bent totally to his will, even going so far as to shower him with titles such as Lord and, most disturbing to Rozz, Father. Hojo dominated them absolutely.

Thinking of the horrors that occurred in the scientist's labs made him feel sick. The chilling part was that he knew for a fact that his knowledge of the underground labs barely sampled the surface. He didn't know where they had come from, how they were made. If their devotion had not disgusted him so, he realized, me might even feel sorry for them.

He had been waiting for Tseng to speak. Finally, after he had allowed his mind to dwell on darker matters for too long, his superior moved to his cherry-wood desk and removed a single metal object that Rozz knew to be the master key to the entirety of the compound and held it out for him to take.

Rozz hesitated. Tseng's current madness lead him to suspect more sinister motives. "And what would you have me do with this, Sir?" He held out his hand and felt the cold of the metal drop into his palm.

"I will go see Krall. While I am away, you, Rozz, will retrieve Strife from his cell, number eighteen if I'm not mistaken, and tow him down to the lab area. He may not be the type Hojo usually goes for, but surely our master of pain can find some useful purpose for him . . . spare parts, perhaps."

Rozz took a quick intake of breath. The lab. The last place he had been with his sane brother . . . the last place he ever wanted to go himself, much less take someone else, knowing the horrors that would occur due to the action. This was even worse than Tseng's last scheme. He must voice his objections this time. "But, Sir, I don't think . . . "

"No, it's quite alright. I know I won't take as much pleasure from it if I don't execute it myself, but, I suppose, if I get to watch the boy tortured into madness instead, then it might be up to my standards."

Rozz felt like retching as Tseng's words pieced together a mental image in his brain, Hojo's needles, sterile steel operating tables and the unbendable rods meant to bind any unfortunate victim until Hojo had finished playing with them, or until death. Although, he knew, sometimes even the ceased beating of a heart failed so save them from the horror.

He's still so young. What he did is nothing in comparison to that, surely.

Then, it suddenly dawned on him that he literally had the key to prevent this atrocity. At least one soul could be salvaged. He started when the voice of his boss interrupted his track of thought.

"Well then, Rozz, I suppose I shall meet up with you in the lab. When you get him down there, I'm sure you're intelligent enough to find a place for him. The professor is due around 1400, so we shouldn't have to wait long."

We?

Did Tseng honestly expect him to watch too? Had he forgotten how much Rozz loathed the laboratory? Had he forgotten . . . why?

There would be no watching. There would be no torture. He was not going to let this happen. He would set Strife free and then he, too, would leave soon after.

Hojo is tearing this organization apart. Or, rather, he's knocking it down one column at a time. Eventually the whole structure will fall.

He and Warren had joined the Turks eleven years ago. He, at the age of twenty-six. his brother only seventeen. At that time, it might actually have passed as a respectable way to earn a salary, but it slowly changed from bodyguard work, to assassinations in Wutai War One. Then, from that to darker dealings in the economy and ShinRa's Science Department. He had realized what was going on, but he had made himself a career and was reluctant to back out. Now things had grown far too crooked.

Rozz nodded his superior out the west door. Once he was alone, he heaved a shaky sigh and allowed his now-throbbing leg a rest. He would not show his weakness in front of his peers. He took a few moments to work the growing tension out of his upper thigh before setting off out of the exit opposite to the one his boss had taken.

He fingered the thin key nervously in his pocket, wishing he had more time to formulate a more sensible plan. He would most likely be found, no matter where he went into hiding, and then silenced.

. . . but this is what Warren would want.

Honor did indeed mean a lot to Rozz. His father had always told him that, if a man had no honor, he could truly have nothing. And letting a sixteen-year-old boy be subjected to agonizing experiments until he went mad or died was not only dishonorable, but also as immoral as one could get. No more.

. . . I pray this works.

With scenarios on how to get both he and Strife out of this in one piece, Rozz precariously limped his way to the cells. He knew this would definitely be considered treason . . .

. . . but to what loyalty I wonder?

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Cold.

He felt cold . . . and . . . heavy.

. . . yet, there was something . . .

Sephiroth opened his eyes and growled when an blinding white light stabbed into his irises like hot needles. He closed them, of course, to spare himself the unnecessary pain. Or was it necessary for him to fight it and open his eyes? He thought on such a simple decision for what he knew was longer than he should have. No . . . He wouldn't bother. His lids felt just as heavy as the rest of his body. A warm, numbing haze had settled over his arms and legs.

. . . but his chest was cold . . . like a chunk of ice had lodged itself where his heart should have been and deemed Sephiroth's chest its new home.

He could feel his own slow pulse inside himself . . . The rhythm created a tingling feeling throughout his fingers now. For the time being, Sephiroth found himself content just to lie here in this place of comfortable heat. He felt as if he could lie here forever.

Speaking of which . . . where, exactly, was 'here'?

"No! You can't . . ."

". . . Can't stay here!"

"You must return . . ."

"Go back!"

What? He was hearing voices now? No. He was dreaming.

Funny . . . Doesn't feel like I'm sleeping.

"Not a dream!"

"Real . . . We are real."

"Hurry! Open your eyes."

"No. Hear us, but you cannot stay . . ."

I do hear you! Where am I? He was shouting amongst the mantra of voices, feeling claustrophobic as so many seemed to be within the same place.

So many voices . . . Some shouting desperately . . . Others, calm and strong . . . They couldn't seem to agree on anything rather than the fact that he had to go away from this place.

How do I leave?

"Open your eyes . . . but don't go just yet."

"Please. Listen! You must!"

Who are you?

"We are . . . "

"We know the truth."

"You have to help us! And save the rest!"

"It's almost too late . . . for some."

The last and more solemn voice did not seem to be speaking to him this time.

"He can still help those few who are left!"

"He can free us . . . "

"He can prevent others from suffering this fate."

These voices were beginning to give Sephiroth an annoyed headache. If they were in such a hurry, then they should all agree on something and let him go. As if they could hear his thoughts, the wiser voice spoke.

"Very well. Let me explain."

I'm listening.

"The souls of many are trapped here . . . For as long as She remains here, in the lifestream . . . No one of us can rest."

She? Sephiroth wondered if this information were credible or if perhaps he was going insane.

"The Calamity. She has help, back in . . . your world. As long as he lives, he won't stop . . . giving Her what She wants."

What does she want?

"The Planet . . . Slaves . . . Cloud . . . and all else that can be taken from you."

Sephiroth had to stop himself from flinging open his eyes. Cloud! Tseng! Tseng had Cloud!

"Your love is safe . . . for now."

Who are you? How do you know Cloud is safe?

How did they know about his love for Cloud?

"I told you . . . We are trapped. We are what remains of Her slaves . . . What stays behind after she has destroyed our bodies' minds beyond the habitation of our souls. We could not stay in our bodies. We cannot pass into the lifestream . . . We must wait here, just outside the gates . . . until She is gone. The Planet will not let us in. Her presence is . . . still inside us. We can see both worlds from here. I can see your body. You are recovering. Cloud . . . He is with Zack. Safe, for now."

Why does she want Cloud?

"She wants them all. She will complete her collection if She is not destroyed."

Why does she want Cloud? He is a human being, not something to be . . . collected!

Again, Sephiroth had begun to lose patience. He was getting angry, and worried.

"She wants everyone who . . . has the blood of those who originally walked the Planet. She wants you, too . . ."

. . . originally walked . . . ? Me?

"The Ancients . . . are not completely gone . . . However, our lineage is draining. Slowly . . . she is destroying our legacy. She is winning. Soon, the Planet will have nothing left to combat Her with."

What? Sephiroth had begun to wonder if he were dreaming again. The voice was getting more difficult to understand. The numb warming sensation was fading. He could feel his hands now.

How? How do I help you? How do I keep Cloud away from her?

"The answer . . . "

More voices were breaking into this calm abyss from what Sephiroth assumed to be the real world.

The answer? Quickly!

"The answer . . . lies . . . within the . . . "

What? Within what?

Sephiroth was struggling now to hold on to this world. He thought he could feel the strong voice fighting to reach out to him. Stroking his very core with warmth.

"The answer lies within the newest blood of the last generation!"

Sephiroth did not understand.

Last generation?

"The youngest of what is left of our posterity."

Sephiroth felt the strange sense of vertigo that accompanied the transition from that warm world to the next. He was slipping!

"No. No, don't go yet!"

His eyes flew open and he was immediately met with a number of confused stares. He counted six. Six very young men. Each and every one of them dressed completely in navy blue.

He shot up instantly . . . and groaned as the movement caused muscles in his injured leg to contract.

What just happened to me? The Calamity? The newest blood? Youngest of their posterity? Those who originally walked the planet? He had heard of the Ancients. The guardians of the Planet back when the darker side of mankind had yet to be born. They were said to have had great powers. According to the voices he had just heard, however, they were not completely extinct. Apparantly they had not thought themselves superior to humans quite so much as was thought.

He didn't know if that had been real or not. Neither did he have time to worry on the subject of his . . . out of body experience?. . . for long. Tseng had Cloud. How long had he been unconscious?

Sephiroth glanced frantically around the room. No clock. White. Everything was pure, unblemished white. It was all too familiar. He gritted his teeth to fight off the childhood memories. He was back in a lab once again. The only thing he had ever truly feared.

Except losing Zack . . . or Cloud.

Dammit! He was a grown man now . . . yet he still could not make himself get over those old feelings of not being in control of his own life, not being able to move. Sephiroth knew he could move this time. He shifted his arms and legs just to prove the point to himself. He was not bound. The only security that kept him in place was the group of blue-suited Turk gunmen standing around him. There were more than six, as he had counted before.

Six or sixteen. I could kill them all if I had Masamune.

That was the only true safety measure these poor troops had been given. Sephiroth could take out a few with his hands . . . but not before at least one of them got off an accurate shot. Turks were well known for their marksmanship.

He sat up slowly and noticed that his coat had been removed in order for someone to gain access to the bloody mess that had been his leg. What was left of his combat pants still clung to him, his drying sweat having become an adhesive. There was a clean bandage there too, but Sephiroth knew that, once the bleeding had been stopped, the mako in his body had most likely finished the job as soon as it was given free reign. There was still an uncomfortable pang residing within the thick muscle.

His eyes roamed over the guards, who all seemed as nervous as he had known they would be before he had even acknowledged their appearance.

"Why am I here?" Perhaps the question he should have asked was Why aren't I dead yet?

The youths all flitted their eyes to one another, praying that they would not be elected as the speaker for their group. Some backed farther away as if to hide. Sephiroth almost groaned at the disorganization of it all. Instead, he growled and stood up quickly, ignoring the slight ache in his thigh.

"What? Is there no leader among you?"

Some visibly cringed, others had brought their guns up quickly. Sephiroth continued to ignore the weapons, best not to show that the abundance of assault rifles made him uneasy.

He clenched his fists impatiently, wanting to get out of the cold sterile lab as soon as possible. The next words that came out of his mouth were biting, meant to further intimidate. "I don't care who answers the fucking question, but, I assure you all, if none of you has the balls to speak then I'll pick one of you myself and wring it out of you whilst you watch your comrades' blood stain the floor!" Sephiroth had never been more thankful for his ability to paint vivid scenes of death with his tongue. A short brunette standing near the front lowered his weapon a fraction and opened his mouth as if in preparation to speak. Sephiroth waited, quirking an eyebrow expectantly. The young man faltered and closed his mouth again.

I don't have time for this! Cloud could be dying! He remembered now that the blond had been hurt and bleeding. Agitated, he stepped forward with the feigned intent of doing just as he had threatened. There was a shuffle of guns being raised and a terrified whimper from the brunette, but Sephiroth didn't care. He was headed straight for the door, not the man's throat. Not a single shot was fired, and Sephiroth had begun to realize that fact was strange when the door that he was so near to escaping from opened to admit the one man that he had ever feared in his life.

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One would have thought that by now Cloud would be used to waking up with a headache. He groaned. This one, he thought, had to be the worst he had ever been graced with. He opened his eyes to near darkness. He was on his side, lying on something harshly cold and solid. Feeling resigned that he would not like what he might find when he sat up, given his current state of pain which hinted that he hadn't been in a pleasant place or situation when he'd fallen unconscious, Cloud rolled with difficulty onto his stomach, noticing the biting chains around his wrists. Blood seeped from fresh lacerations against the veins visible beneath his pale skin. He hoped the lines did not go too deeply. Cloud's body was stiff and every movement caused a wave of pressure to pulse through his skull. He placed his bound hands beneath himself and pushed up onto his knees.

"Spike? You okay?"

The masculine voice that traveled from behind him made him scramble to face the master. He had moved on instinct, but the pet name that was used had brought an image to mind of disheveled brown hair, glowing eyes, and a smile that was rarely displaced. His heart lept with hope.

"Zack!" It had been so long since he had seen the man and thought him alive without any doubt. He was so elated that he momentarily forgot his aching joints and head and threw himself at his friend. "I'm so glad you're alive!"

Zack chuckled lightly. "Me too, Spike. Me too. I thought maybe you'd been eaten."

Cloud's joy at finding Zack intact was dampened when he noticed the heavy chains around the brunette's wrists as well. He looked down at both pairs of shackles with disdain, wanting to embrace the friend that he had missed so. That's when he truly remembered where he was and how he had gotten here. The Turks had captured Sephiroth and him, and apparently Zack too. Although, he noted, Zack seemed to have been given a more gentle treatment, despite being chained in a cell.

He remembered the blood, Sephiroth's blood flowing freely from the various gunshot wounds he had taken under Krall's firearm. He just knew that no one could take a wound like that and be alright. The sudden rush of emotions that assaulted his chest spilled out in a sudden ragged sob. He put his head between his elbows, barely aware of Zack's concerned inquiries.

"Spike? Cloud, what's wrong?" The SOLDIER wriggled closer to him, and Cloud knew Zack would be holding him right now if he were able to. Cloud took a deep shaky breath.

"Sephiroth's been shot!" He felt Zack tense beside him.

It's not alright, then. Not if Zack is worried too.

"How bad was it?" Zack prodded gently.

Cloud didn't want to say it aloud. Giving Sephiroth's plight a voice only made it all the more real, and, therefore, all the more serious . . . painful to accept, but he knew he had to. Zack had been locked up in this cell for days. He needed to be told.

"A shotgun . . . to the upper leg." He swallowed a sob. "Oh, Zack! There was so much blood! I don't even know if he's here or not. I was hit in the back of the head and I blacked out!" He awkwardly wiped his tears on his sleeve and made a valiant attempt to reign in his panic and anguish. Besides, his head had protested strongly to each wave of tears.

"Hey, Kid. Seph's strong. I'm sure a hit to the leg won't be fatal. He's a tough one and he wouldn't let something like that take him out. I promise you that, Spike." The brunette leaned into him. "I know he cares about you. If anything, he'll hang on just to make sure you're safe."

It then became apparent to Cloud that Zack had no idea concerning the events that had taken place between the white-haired man and himself. Zack was trying to console him even though Cloud's hurt went deeper than a simple caring relationship could entail. He loved Sephiroth. His pain was far greater than the brunette could gauge. His pain was that of someone in love.

"Zack, I . . . a lot happened while you were gone."

"I know, Spike. You gonna tell me how you and Sephiroth got away from those big-ass spiders?"

His good-natured friend wasn't catching on.

"No, I . . . I mean . . . a lot has happened . . . between us." He looked up to see Zack quirk an eyebrow.

"Us? You and me? What? Spike, I like you and all . . . but . . ."

Cloud's expression was one of patient annoyance. "No, Zack. Not you and me. Some things have happened between me and Sephiroth."

Some of the short-lived tension eased from the brunette's shoulders and Cloud would have smiled at the comedy of his friend's previous confusion if not for the darkness currently hovering over their situation.

A sudden devilish grin broke out on the restrained man's features. "Good things, I hope." He nudged Cloud in a teasing way while working his eyebrows in a suggestive manner, causing the blond to blush eminently.

"Zack!"

"What?" His friend feigned innocence. After a second of silence, things went serious again. "As quiet as you usually are, Kid, I'm surprised that you even told me. Thanks. It means more than you know." He shrugged. "After all, I knew the two of you would end up closer than friends anyways. It was obvious to the third party."

This shocked the blond a little. "R-really?"

"Mmm hmmm."

Cloud had no reply to this, thinking that it must have been true. He thought back on how Sephiroth would look at him sometimes, as if he would do anything in the world for him.

And I never understood why until . . .

That kiss up on the windy ridge. He hadn't even felt the cold wind because of the older man's warmth. He had temporarily forgotten his fears completely because of the man's gentleness.

I think I love you.

I . . . think I love you too . . . Cloud.

His heart lurched and he almost started crying again. He breathed a shaky breath and he leaned himself fully against Zack, needing the warmth and comfort. They sat like that for a while, Zack humming to him quietly until Cloud's mind wandered elsewhere.

"Zack?"

"Hmm?"

"How long do you think we'll be in here?"

The brunette sighed heavily. "I've been in here for two days, I think, and the only time they've opened the door was drag you in. Taking that neglect into consideration . . . my answer wouldn't be optimistic."

Cloud digested this forebodingly. "Do you think Sephiroth's in a cell like this, if he's here?"

Zack glared at the heavy iron door. "I hope not. I don't think even he could break out of one these bitches."

They both went into another spell of silence, their thoughts descending into hopelessness as they further dwelled on their apparent condemnation. Cloud was considering the actions of lying his head on Zack's thigh and attempting a nap to ease his headache when the brunette sat up with interest.

"What is it?" Cloud inquired.

"Footsteps! I can hear footsteps!"

Cloud strained his ears, holding his breath. Yes, he could hear them too, now, as they grew slowly louder. The rhythm was a bit off, however. Perhaps the owner of the stride was limping?

Sephiroth!

Sephiroth had been wounded in the leg. He could be limping, right? Hope welled up in his chest.

Ignoring the protests that his headache was sure to make at the sudden change in altitude, Cloud excitedly leaped to his feet. A spell of vertigo fell over him, but he only stumbled a little and shook it off, too preoccupied with the new sounds coming from beyond the door. A metallic jangling reached both of their ears. He turned to Zack and offered the man a hand, seeing as his feet were tied together. Zack struggled to stand, but between both Cloud and the brace of the wall behind him, he eventually managed.

The key had been inserted into the deadbolt, and it turned with a sturdy click. Cloud's heart leapt with joy as the steel bar was slid out of place and the door finally began to swing inward.

Cloud's heart fell back into a state of dread as a tanned hand and a polished dress shoe made themselves visible. That was not Sephiroth's boot, and that was definitely not his beloved's pale skin. His hands dropped along with the corners of his mouth. When the door opened fully to reveal a raven-haired man in a blue suit, Cloud shook his head in denial and backed behind Zack.

A Turk.

"No . . . " Cloud felt as if he might cry and it was apparent through his shaky defeated voice.

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Zack growled low in his throat, clenching his fists. With the efficiency of someone sizing up a potential opponent, he quickly took in every detail of the man's appearance. The Turk was in his mid-thirties, Zack estimated, with short-cropped black hair, light almond skin, and piercing blue eyes that spoke of a strong will. Most importantly to Zack at the moment however, was that the man seemed to be unarmed at first glance.

. . . At first glance.

Cloud was behind him now, head lowered in obvious disappointment that Zack unquestioningly understood. He had thought than perhaps Sephiroth had come after all. Taking in the blond, he firmly placed himself between the Turk and his friend, although he had no idea what protection he could provide, bound as he was.

"If you came here to take him . . ."

The man in front of them held up his hands in a gesture of peace. "I mean no harm, I swear on my dead brother's soul."

This set Zack back a bit. He considered thinking it over, but didn't have the patience or the initiative at the moment.

"Do I look like I just fell out of a chocobo's ass this morning? You're one of them! You're going to take Cloud to that son of a bitch, Tseng, so he can kill him!"

The man's hands were still up. "No, you're wrong. You don't understand. Please, let me explain."

Zack grimaced and backed himself up so that his back rested against Cloud. He didn't know what good the gesture would do. Perhaps his only means of making sure that the blond wasn't swiped from behind him. He glared calculatingly at the Turk.

"Fine, explain yourself then."

The man heaved a sigh of relief and lowered his hands. He stuck his head back outside into the corridor and looked down both directions, as if checking to see if they were still alone. He then proceeded to step further inside the cell, still holding the door open in case it might lock.

"My name is Rozz."

Zack felt Cloud tense behind him. He hesitantly turned his attention from the Turk to and gave Cloud a concerned look.

"Zack . . . He's the man who took me from Sephiroth's apartment," he whispered.

Zack's glare turned to fire. "You mean us no harm, do you?"

Rozz pinched the bridge of his nose. "I will admit that my past is a shameful one . . . "

"I'll say!" Zack interrupted.

Patiently, the man continued on. " . . .and I do regret what I did, greatly. When I followed Tseng's orders that day I had no idea for what purpose he was aiming." He leaned to the side for a better view of Cloud. "Strife. I apologize greatly for the suffering my actions led to. That is one of several reasons I am here negotiating against my superior's orders rather than escorting you downstairs as I was told."

Zack was losing patience with this man. "You mean you're risking death simply because you're on a guilt trip?"

Rozz finally seemed to show a break in his will and sneered slightly. "Do not make me change my mind!" He reached up a hand to rub his eyes, which were underlined by dark circles, making Zack wonder just how much stress the Turk was under. Not that he cared. Finally, the raven-haired man lowered his hand and hummed in the back of his throat, contemplating something. At last, he spoke, "No. I can't go back to the way things have become. I am not here simply because of my guilt. After all, I have lived with my actions for years. There's no use in stopping now." He looked up into Zack's eyes, a pain so visible there Zack couldn't stop the shiver that ghosted down the nape of his neck. "Tseng . . . has been getting worse."

Zack had to bite his bottom lip to stop a rude comment. He was well aware of Cloud's warmth shifting from behind him to stand by his side.

Rozz pressed onward. "At first the experiments were only on lower-ranked grunts and guards . . . "

"Ex-Experiments?" Cloud intoned from his side.

"Ah, yes." The man nodded glumly. "I suppose I should have started there to begin with." He took one quick glance between the two of them. "Years ago . . . I'd say it's been about thirty, or so I've heard, one of ShinRa's scientists was on an expedition in southern Wutai, during the first war. I am not sure what exactly occurred down there. The discovery was well-hidden, top secret. It was some creature of an alien sort, I believe. They knew it possessed a great power, thus they deigned to bring it back with them." He shrugged. "I'm no historian, but I do know that it must have been deemed too dangerous for experimentation by ShinRa authorities. It was ordered to be destroyed, and, until recent years, everyone thought it had been."

Zack felt Cloud slide down to the ground next to him. It crossed the brunette's mind to do the same, but, remembering his bonds, he decided it would be too much trouble to bother.

"So . . . this thing," Zack questioned, "if it was deemed dangerous . . . "

"I'm getting there," Rozz grumbled. Zack almost laughed at the man's indignance from having the flow of his story impeded.

"Anyways. No one suspected that the calamity had not been destroyed as ordered. However, during my later years as a Turk . . . around five or six year ago . . . Tseng began to offer promotions to anyone who would grant the science department their consent to be experimented on, using cells extracted from the discovery itself. It took a while before the idea became popular, but after seeing the increase in strength and abilities that the experimenting gifted to those foolish enough to try it first, it actually became a popular practice amongst the Turks. I, personally, was suspicious as to why it hadn't spread to any other divisions, such as SOLDIER. My brother on the other hand told me I was being paranoid, that I should make the best of a good thing myself. We got into an argument over it, I remember. Even after I had tried hard to dissuade him, he signed up that very day."

Zack felt a horrible sense of foreboding when Rozz's speaking came to a quiet halt. He watched as the man seemed to be struggling with his emotions. In an attempt to give the him some privacy, the brunette turned to Cloud.

"You okay down there, Spiky?"

Rozz continued as the blond was nodding, and both of them turned their attention back to him.

"After a couple of months, though . . . after most had simply begun to accept the experimentation as a regular means of improving one's body . . ." The man swallowed and avoided Zack's gaze. When he spoke next, his voice was thick with dark emotion. "Everyone reacted differently. Some went into comas. Others were lucky enough to die . . . The worst ones . . . They went insane, eventually. One thing they all had in common though was the pain. My brother Warren's started out as a splitting headache. The headaches progressed to the point where I would come home and find him screaming on the floor. They even caused him nosebleeds some times . . . and his eyes would glow red." A lone tear slipped down the Rozz's cheek. "After a week or so, Warren didn't even recognize me anymore. He . . . he tried to kill me, even. And his eyes didn't even glow anymore. They were just . . . dead . . . and the color of blood."

Rozz stopped speaking and Zack was about to break the awkward silence by clearing his throat when Cloud spoke from his side. "Did . . . Warren die?" The blond's tone was cautious, as if he were afraid of probing too deeply into a subject that obviously caused the older man no end of regret and pain.

Rozz looked up at Cloud and seemed to deliberate his response within the confines of his own head a long time before answering. "No. Not the last time I checked. He was still alive last October. Or . . . as alive as he'll ever be again. You have to understand, Strife . . . He is no longer truly my brother. His body lives, but his mind is gone. Warren is gone, just like all the others that bastard injects with his volatile mixtures."

The raven-haired Turk paused and appraised them both, as if to be sure his explanation had been accepted. "That's why I'm doing this. This madness has to end before it spreads further. Tseng accepted the injection months ago. He has lasted longer than most, but the changes are there. I'm doing this because I don't want to see another young man turned into a monster by Hojo."

Zack's head snapped up in a frenzy. "HOJO!"

88888888

HOJO? No! NO! It can't be! He's dead! He's dead! I'll kill him! He's dead!

Sephiroth was stricken by a cold wave of nausea at the sight of the man smirking at him from the threshold of the disgustingly white door.

The threshold of HELL!

Not again! Never again! Sephiroth's eyes darted to the young guards around him. He would kill them all before he relented to any of their demands where the greasy bastard was concerned. He would kill them all. Then, perhaps, he would strap his sorry excuse of a father to the cold hard table and leave him to rot.

It's not enough. Not compared to what he did to me!

Sephiroth had sworn he was over his childhood. He was over the experiments. He was a man now. He had been recovering from everything, even been able to go to a few doctors without breaking out into cold sweats. He had gotten over his greatest fear . . . but the man was standing in front of him now and it took every fiber of will in his body not run in the opposite direction. He knew he was strong now; strong enough to break the machines, even, if he tried. He could crush the bastard's skull if he wanted.

. . . And he did want to. His fingers twitched in anticipation at his sides as he stood half naked within the circle of guards. Nothing covered his upper body aside from the shoulder straps cris-crossing his chest. When had his armor been removed?

More importantly, why wasn't the bastard speaking? From what Sephiroth remembered, he had never been this quiet. If he wasn't ordering some sort of torture or displaying his morbid sadism by grinning that sick smirk of his and encouraging a victim's screams, he was ofttimes muttering disturbing mantras to himself in that unnaturally silky drawl of his. Why was he standing there now in complete silence?

He's doing it to unnerve me. Sephiroth clenched his fists until blood seeped from his palms. He was glaring icily at the scientist, who was wearing the same white floor-length lab jacket that Sephiroth remembered from all of his torture sessions as a child.

I had all but forgotten those . . . I was healing. He was frustrated, and the sick man's silence only made it worse. Sephiroth watched anxiously as Hojo's eyes raked up and down his body. When the man finally did open his mouth, Sephiroth grimaced.

"Hmmm . . . Don't be so tense, Sephiroth. I'm only admiring my greatest creation in its prime. And, yes, you're more perfect than even I imagined you would be. Yeesss." Lank strands of slate-colored hair escaped from the tie at the back of Hojo's head and slipped into the scientist's eyes as he hunched forwards and took another step into the bright lab. Sephiroth instinctively followed suit and moved back, only to jump slightly when his exposed back came into contact with the cold table behind him. He had never wanted Masamune in his hands so badly in his life.

As Hojo entered the room completely, another man slipped in behind him, but Sephiroth had eyes only for the former. He paid the latter not so much a calculating glance. Every rifle in the room followed his movements as he side-stepped the table and continued backward. He was cornered now.

"Perhaps . . . " Hojo continued, "it's time for a check up. After all, it's been, how long? Too long. Have a seat on the table." The scientist's wide toothy smile spoke only of the same insanity that Sephiroth still remembered from so long ago.

The smile . . . That smile always meant the same thing . . . He would never be able to completely erase it from his mind. The white-haired man's breathing sped up as visions of a smaller more fragile Sephiroth flashed through his head. He was a child again. He was being backed into a corner again.

Be a good lad now and climb onto the table.

Sephiroth was sane enough to realize the voice had been in his head alone, but it was still so vivid. His mind ran circles around that nightmare until he had almost hysterically convinced himself that it had been real and part of the present. He closed his eyes hard.

That's in the past! He can't hurt you any more! You're stronger than him!

"Sephiroth. I said get on the table."

Hojo was growing angry . . . never a good sign. Things always hurt more when the man was angry. More memories riled through Sephiroth's mind, converging with his current surroundings. His eyes were still closed. He knew he had to find something to anchor himself to reality before he slipped into a panic attack, or worse.

Reality . . . nothing had ever seemed more real to him than . . .

"Cloud . . . " He had whispered the name aloud.

"What was that?" Sephiroth was able to ignore the man this time, thinking only of the blond.

The feel of soft pliant lips against his own, moving with him in shy acceptance. The muscles of a lithe frame moving beneath his hands. The touch of feather-light spikes tickling pleasantly across his face. The blond's own fingers exploring cautiously along his sides. And that rare smile. Precious . . . so precious. The powerful urge to protect what was his, even from himself. Gentle.

Sephiroth wanted the blond there with him now, so he could wrap his arms around something tangible, but he could never be so selfish as the wish his love into Hojo's presence. Besides, the memories were enough. No one could forget even one small detail of something so special. He could even recall the blond's scent easily. His blond. His Cloud. Sephiroth didn't even stop to analyze the strong wave of possessiveness that washed over him, being accustomed to it now.

He needs me . . . He couldn't protect Cloud if he was cowering in a laboratory.

His eyes snapped open with determination, boring into the man that he would never stop hating. He didn't care about their blood relationship. The two of them looked nothing alike and Sephiroth had questioned that fact for years. But, his father or not, Hojo would die here today. The man had been a constant shadow looming over most of Sephiroth's life. He was supposed to be dead! What right did he have to suddenly disprove them, to live?

I won't go back to living in fear of him. I have my own life now. I have a future, and it doesn't include that bastard.

"Sephiroth, " Hojo's voice was really beginning to grate against his nerves, "if you cannot obey my orders than perhaps these guards can assist you." The scientist's hand motioned to the armed Turks surrounding them. The stocky man behind Hojo fidgeted a little.

Sephiroth smirked. Obviously the idiot still expected him to be as complacent now as he had been when he was younger, when he had been Cloud's age. That's why, when Sephiroth strode forwards with the air of an aggressor, the man startled, but held his ground, which Sephiroth thought curious indeed. Yes, Hojo had a lot to learn when it came to dealing with a twenty-eight year old Sephiroth rather than the teenager. The white-haired man would not be ordered around anymore!

"Sephiroth, don't make me . . . "

"Don't make you what, Hojo?" The words erupted from between his clenched teeth in a snarl. His fingers itched to be tightening around the scientist's throat instead of into their current fists. "Don't make you order them to fire? Is that all you can say?" He was seething now. "You won't have them kill me. I'm too . . . invaluable to you." He spat in disgust. Then he added, "And if you think a few bullets will be enough to salvage your miserable hide, then you greatly underestimate me." It was a bluff without a doubt. Sephiroth knew he was just as human as the next man and did not cherish the idea of being mauled by a barrage of bullets . . . again. He hoped, however, that his mocking had been enough to prevent that from happening.

His words had rebuffed the man slightly, but Hojo recovered, jutting his hooked nose into the air in indignation. Sephiroth knew he had been shaken. Like a predator, he could practically smell Hojo's fear . . . or maybe that was just the stink of his unwashed hair. The white-haired man had to admit, Hojo could show a little feigned backbone when trying to look unafraid in the eyes of those foolish enough to believe him anything more than a craven.

The scientist's eerily dilated eyes lowered slightly, as if trying to display his own ability to lay a feasible threat. Sephiroth saw passed the feeble facade, however, and his smirk widened at the uncertainty he saw there.

"Sephiroth . . . You are correct in estimating your value to the scientific community, but you are incorrect in assuming that I would attempt to convince you without my own plan of action, which does not involve bullets.

He snorted, "Convince me? I don't know if you've gone senile over the years or not, but I don't recall you mentioning any negotiations that you might try to convince me of." Sephiroth set himself like stone. He would not be goaded into doing anything by this pathetic man, bullets or no.

Hojo's lips twitched at the off handed insult. "I recall ordering you to get on the table. There are a few tests I would like to conduct to delve just how much you've improved."

A quick jolt of panic washed over him, from the pinnacle of his spine to his toes, but Sephiroth had become an expert in concealing any discomposure he might feel. Therefore, this went unnoticed by the other occupants of the room. Inside his head, however, it most certainly had not been disregarded. He travailed to soothe his own fears once again as the nightmarish memories of Hojo's tests from long ago returned to the forefront of his mind at the man's mentioning, as if summoned like demons from the underworld.

He calmed himself in an instant this time with the knowledge that Hojo no longer had any control over him whatsoever. "Ordering? What happened to

convincing?" He retorted. The man acted unperturbed, fueling Sephiroth's already accelerated anger.

"Sephiroth . . . "

"Shut up, you worm, and listen to me!" His voice rang out loudly with his tempered confidence. "If you think you still have any control over me, then you are irritatingly mistaken." His lips curved into a smile as he decided to voice the thought that had been hovering inside his consciousness during the entirety of the conversation. "In fact, I would sooner decapitate you with my bare hands than comply with anything you think you might have the right to utter from that repugnant mouth of yours." He growled, growing restless. He had definitely not come all this way to contest in a worthless verbal spare with, in his highly shared opinion, the most loathsome being on the planet. The spirits from the lifestream had told him that Zack was here, and Cloud was with him. He would deal with Hojo, reunite himself with his friends and finish off Tseng.

Then we can return to Midgar, Zack can see his girlfriend, and Cloud and I can sort out our feelings together. Yes, he and the blond would definitely have a lot to discuss. Things like Cloud's future, and what he wanted to do with it once everything was behind him. And Cloud would need time to heal fully. Not to mention, Sephiroth was beginning to question whether he wanted to remain an employee of ShinRa, or not. Judging by what he had seen of the Turks, he was currently leaning towards the negative aspect of that decision, the new war be damned.

Hojo's response to Sephiroth's rebellion was almost instantaneous. He clenched his thin fists until the knuckles could scarcely be differentiated from bones and his thin colorless lips gave way to disgustingly demented sneer. When he spoke his voice had risen an octave and his fury was so tangible his body had begun to shake. "How dare you defy me!" A string of spit spluttered from his mouth in his effort to further express his outrage in amplitudes higher than his lungs could bear.

Sephiroth's only counter was a smug smirk.

The white-haired man lifted his right eyebrow slightly as Hojo's livid face turned red and the large vein in his temple strained arrantly against its confines. Sephiroth idly wondered what the guards surrounding him would do if he managed to kill Hojo without once touching him but by making him have an aneurysm instead.

"I created you, Number One! If it were not for my aspirations than you would not even exist!"

"That is not true." The sudden voice inside his head that did not belong to him sent Sephiroth blinking several times. What? It had sounded familiar. That sounded like . . . Yes. The voice from his . . . out of body experience? It had been the wiser, stronger voice. The one that had tried to answer all of his questions. Sephiroth shook his head lightly. Benevolent or not, he did not think these new developments were healthy. Even so, he appreciated what masculine spirit had to say. After all, he seemed to know far more about the happenings of his life than Hojo.

Taking what the voice had said into consideration, he ignored what would normally have been a very cutting statement. Even the detriment of being referred to as a number rather than any true identity barely managed to irk him. He continued to listen to the mad scientist's angry words in aloof silence.

"I created you!" Hojo had stepped forwards some time during Sephiroth's lapse of full awareness and was now accenting each of his proclamations with a sharp jab of his pointy index finger into the white-haired man's naked chest. Sephiroth did not like this one bit.

"I made you strong!"

Jab!

"I made you intelligent!"

Jab!

"I made you superior!"

Jab!

"You!"

Jab!

"Belong!"

Jab!

"To ME!"

Jab! JAB!

Sephiroth may have been able to restrain himself during Hojo's previous verbal barbs. However, he had never been able to remain calm with someone's finger pointing aggressively at his face to make a point. Each time Hojo's invasive digit came into contact with his skin, it had been equivalent to a gallon of fuel being thrown onto a stoked fire. Sephiroth's anger flared and grew exponentially with every annoying prod. By the time Hojo's statement had been shouted fully and the fury of its meaning converged with the torrent already raging within his chest, Sephiroth was, indeed, seeing red. No one touched him like that! He belonged to no one!

He finally snapped in his rage and acted on the thought he had been entertaining ever since the scientist had set one foot into the room. With frightening speed he thrust out his left hand and growled ferally as his fingers alighted at last upon the thin throat of his defenseless prey, which emitted a choked scream. He didn't care about the circle of guards who had all simultaneously leaped backward and the clicks of their assault rifles. They would not kill him. Hojo had said as much himself. Besides, he'd already been shot once today and did not truly give a damn any longer if it happened again or not.

As long as he finally got the pleasure of squeezing the life out of the bastard.

Honestly though, his anger had been so palpable that he marveled at the fact that his unchecked strength hadn't snapped the rat's neck on impact. Sephiroth was by no means a sadistic human being. However, as the hands of the man who had tortured him to unconsciousness during his childhood scrabbled desperately at the corded muscles in his bare arm, he did receive a sickening sense of grim satisfaction, revenge of the sort that he most certainly would not regret later in the least.

Hojo's face had turned a dark red by now, but his eyes were still open and he was still resisting, albeight pathetically. He would not last much longer, not under Sephiroth's gradually tightening vice.

The white-haired man was not allowed his gratification however. From the corner of his peripheral vision, he detected a slow movement, moving in the patterns of attack preparation that he had grown so keen in detecting. His emerald eyes flashed away from Hojo's wilting form to glare daggers at anyone who would dare interrupt this moment.

Before he had time to react, a high whistle whirred from a gun barrel and through the small space between himself and the man that had followed Hojo into the lab. He felt a sharp sting as a tiny feathered dart penetrated his bicep with a light thump. Horror struck him at the realization of what had just occurred. The guards around him seemed nervous, and the man who had darted him was loading another round into his weapon.

No . . . no no nooo . . .

He should have payed more attention. His focus had all been centered on Hojo, not the guards that he had mistakenly thought harmless. The bastard had planned his tranquilization from the start! He should have known! He grew angry with himself for ruining his own chance of a lifetime. However, even through his frustration he still held the knowledge that it would take the drugs a while to set in on his enhanced body. His grip retightened from where it had gone slack in his minute distraction.

. . . but I don't have time for this . . .

He knew he was running out of time. He would be out soon, not doubting that Hojo had indeed accounted for his strength in choosing a drug to sedate him with. His bloodlust would have to be sated in a quicker manner. As long as Hojo was dead by the time he lost consciousness, he had nothing to fear, knowing he could easily escape anything the Turks could put him to without the scientist's knowledge of him. Then he would find Zack and Cloud.

Zack . . . Please, keep him safe for me until I can do it for myself. He felt inadequate, as if he had failed Cloud in his selfishness to avenge his own pain by staying in the labs long enough to finish off Hojo. He may have been able to escape if he had not been a stationary target.

But this needs to be done before he can hurt someone else . . . A wave a drowsiness washed over him. Yes, he would definitely need to do this quickly.

He removed his hand from the scientist's neck, but as soon as it was gone it had moved to the collar of his starkly ironed white shirt. He fisted the fabric and easily lifted the man into the air, letting him dangle inches above the white tiles.

Looks like I'm going to snap your neck after all. He raised his other arm in preparation to do so when another haze washed over him, causing him to unwillingly hesitate.

His minute pause had given the guards enough time to pick up on his intentions and he groaned mentally as he heard the clamor of several weapons being aimed at once. Luckily, the grunts had been given enough training to know not to blow him to smithereens with an unorganized barrage of bullets. Instead, only one shot was released deafeningly within the insulated walls. The guards all seemed to hold their breath. The newly wounded man's ears rang in the piercing silence that followed.

Sephiroth's only visible reaction as he had felt the lead enter his raised arm was an annoyed growl. The muscles spasmed as the projectile struck a nerve and he let the limb fall regrettably back to his side. This pain was nothing compared to what his failure to finish off Hojo in time would entail. He would be strapped to the table again, back in his own personal hell again. He closed his eyes hard against the emotions that came with those thoughts. When would he next see his best friend and the one he loved?

He had now begun to feel the full effect of the drugs, no longer having the strength or initiative to maintain his grip on the slumped scientist, who was still breathing, deplorably. He allowed the man to collapse unceremoniously and none too gently back to the floor, hoping vaguely that perhaps he would suffer some tragic mishap on the short journey. He could not possible get that lucky, though.

His vision swam and, seemingly in slow motion, he backed away from the fallen body, not wanting to lose what little control he had left and fall anywhere near the loathing thing. Reserving what dignity he had been spared, he elected to lower himself to the floor on his own accord rather than collapsing ungracefully. The white-haired man leaned himself against an adjacent wall. His last thought as his eyelids became heavy and slid shut, was that he would like to run his hands through Cloud's soft gold locks just once more before he was condemned to more pain and injections. His hand flexed slowly as he imagined the lingering sensation of the warm body cradled against his own.

Then, with a bittersweet smile, he lost himself to blackness.

*88888888*

Author Notes:

Don't kill me.

I know Sephiroth does not deserve this, but I had to do it. It was either this, or something much worse that my horrible mind concocted while I was planning this story for the first time . . . probably in the shower or lying awake on a sleepless night. I had to do it to spur on the greater scheme of things.

I gave a previously minor character a bigger role, as you can see. Well, originally I only needed him to open the huge door behind which Cloud and Zack were imprisoned. However, I have ended planning more for him than I had intended in the beginning. Rozz shines in Chapter Fourteen.

Tseng's insanity is getting worse. But, hey, at least now you all know that it isn't his fault, because Hojo just can't seem to stop being a bastard. Trust me, no matter who's fanfiction you're reading, Hojo isn't worth a sack of shit.

. . . I guess I have to credit him for being a nice antagonist, though.

Hmmm, I believe I have moved to yet another new house since my last posting. I think that makes three within the time I've been working on this fic. And, I finally have my internet back! WHOOO!

And here's some more good news for you. I had considered making Chapter Fourteen a Chapter Thirteen Part II . . . but I didn't. Yes, Thirteen and Fourteen were originally supposed to be one gigantic whopping monster of a chapter . . . but I think they are long enough separate. I gave Fourteen it's own name and everything! And it's plot is already written in cement and paraphrased. Heck, I've even already written some of it!