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The FFML Refugee List
Hi all,
Well here's the next chapter of my probably-forgotten Final
Fantasy VII fic. Since it's been so long, if you'd like to read
the prologue and 1st chapter, they can be found at:
http://www.akane.org/fanfiction/allbutblood
Feedback, public or private, is both desperately
craved and greatly appreciated. ^_^
This fic is told from Zack's point of view. If you haven't
played FFVII all the way through, and don't know who Zack is
(sometimes romanized as "Zacks" or "Zax"), you might want to
bypass this spoiler-filled fic.
Warning: This fic contains less-than-pristine language, violence,
and non-explicit adult themes.
All But Blood
Chapter 2
A Final Fantasy VII Fanfic
by Krista Perry
~*~
Cloud has stopped screaming. And still, I keep my eyes
tightly closed. I know what I'll see if I open them. I've seen
it before, too many times. The memory, the gruesome mental
picture floating in my head... of skin bled white, table and
walls dripping scarlet, broken, bruised limbs, and blankly
staring Mako-blue eyes...
That sight once branded into my brain is more than enough.
I don't want to see it again, not with my real eyes. Not when I
still can feel my own sanity skittering wildly along the razor
edge of the abyss, desperately trying to find purchase before
plunging into the depths.
Even within my sealed cylinder prison, I think I can smell
the blood. And the sudden absence of Cloud's screams of agony
leaves a ringing silence that fills the laboratory; silence so
electric, I can almost feel it dancing across the surface of my
bare skin.
And in the silence, I listen carefully. I always listen.
I always keep my eyes closed, and listen when the screaming
stops, because maybe, in whatever post-torture discussion that
follows between Hojo and his subordinates, I might discover more
about the true purpose of Hojo's crazy, inhumane experiments.
I have my suspicions. Over five years, I've gotten some
pretty damn good clues, even though Hojo tries to keep all his
cards close to his chest; even though he's got a poker face
better than any gambler I ever played against.
But this is no game. The stakes are too high, and my
suspicions are too crazy. Too horrible. Too terrifying to be
real. And I hope that I'm not yet so far gone as to not be able
to distinguish what is real... and what might just be the
paranoid delusions of a mind kept too long a captive, in
circumstances that would disintegrate the strongest man's soul.
Then the silence is finally broken by a shuddering, deep
breath.
"Is... is he..." The trembling voice belongs to one of
Hojo's flunkies. Simmons, the balding one, if I remember right.
He keeps swallowing hard. Probably trying not to throw up, is my
guess. "Is he still... alive?" he finally manages.
"Of course he is, idiot." Hojo's voice is the icy calm of
the blackest night. No surprise here. Only that cold-blooded
bastard could stand in the middle of a gore-splattered room and
remain unaffected. He snorts derisively. "And you call yourself
a scientist. If he were dead, the glow of Mako would have left
his eyes."
"Oh... right. Sorry, sir, I..."
"But look," Hojo continues abruptly, ignoring his flunky's
apology. "I do believe that's the brightest I've ever seen them
glow. You can barely see his pupils." He clucks his tongue
clinically. "As I thought. The Mako and the Jenova cells are
reacting to the massive physical trauma. His body won't *let*
him die. It's already working to heal him -- and look, the
shallow parallel cuts across his cheeks from the beginning of the
procedure are already closed up." Hojo's voice is growing more
and more excited -- the way it always does when he considers an
experiment a success. "See? Wipe the blood away, and there's
nothing. Not even a scar."
A gasp. "That's... amazing, sir."
"It is exactly as I predicted. At this rate, Specimen B
will be completely recovered within 72 hours, without the aid of
a Cure spell. The blood loss, the broken bones and internal
trauma -- everything will be restored without a trace of injury.
He'll be as good as new." He pauses. "*Better* than new."
So Cloud will live, in spite of being methodically sliced
and diced to the point of death. I'm not really surprised. Hojo
isn't so careless in his sadism as to kill off one of his prized
specimens.
I'm not really sure how to feel. Relieved, maybe. Cloud
is my best friend, after all. But Hojo's words leave me chilled
to the core, and I can't help but wonder if survival in this
instance is really a better thing than death.
And suddenly I hear the familiar scratch of a pen on paper.
Hojo's usual post-experiment ritual of scribbling pages and pages
of notes.
Damn. That means the conversation is over. So much for
learning anything new this time around.
Simmons clears his throat nervously.
"What is it?" Hojo snaps. "Can't you see I'm busy? Do
something useful. Put Specimen B back into his container, and
clean up this mess."
The flunky swallows. "Uh... by myself, sir?"
"Do you see me talking to anyone else?"
"N-no sir."
"Then get to it. Oh, and by the way, if you happen to see
that pasty-faced, weak-bellied Hadley before I do, tell him that
he's fired. Anyone who doesn't have the stomach for a simple
medical procedure shouldn't claim to be a scientist."
Ah. Hadley must have been the flunky that I heard puking
about halfway through. He must not have stuck around for the
rest of the "simple medical procedure."
Another swallow from balding Simmons. "Yes sir. But...
I've been meaning to ask..."
Even with my eyes closed, I can almost feel Hojo glaring
over his dark-lensed glasses. He doesn't like to be interrupted
when he's writing his post-experiment notes. "Spit it out."
"Well..." Simmons says quickly, "Specimen B has both Jenova
and Mako working as symbionts within his body, and I was just
wondering... How can you tell which part of his healing is the
result of Mako, and which part is the result of Jenova,
especially if both specimens are--?"
"They work in tandem," Hojo interrupts, his tone careless
and annoyed. "The Mako is the energy. The power source. Jenova
is the *will* that directs and focuses the Mako in the body and
accelerates the healing. If you haven't figured that out, you
*are* hopeless. Now stop wasting my time and get to work."
My breath catches in my throat, and my fists clench,
knuckle-white.
*The _will_ that directs..?*
I knew it. Shit. I knew it...
I hear the quick click of boot heels on the stone floor,
walking over to the cylinder next to mine. The hiss of the
cylinder door sliding open. Footsteps back to the table. The
scrape and snap of metal restraints being released. The flunky's
grunt as he hefts the deadweight of Cloud's limp body.
And all the while, Hojo is scribbling his secrets on that
notepad of his.
"I'll be down in the library," Hojo says suddenly. "When
you're done here, come get me, and we'll begin the tests on
Specimen A."
"Yes sir," Simmons replies with a gasp, and I hear a loud
thump as he clumsily deposits Cloud's broken, bleeding body in
the cylinder next to mine. A moment later the chamber door
slides shut, and I can hear the hiss of Mako gas once again
filling Cloud's prison.
So Hojo meant it -- I'm next. But not even the thought of
my own imminent torture is enough to keep the little pieces of
the puzzle -- the ones that have been dancing in my brain for
years now -- from clicking into place.
Sephiroth believed that he was the product of Professor
Gast's genetic experiments using Jenova's cellular material...
*Don't you get it, Zack?*
As if summoned, the ghost of Sephiroth from five years ago
emerges from the depths of my memory. I was standing in this
very room, this laboratory, watching in growing alarm as my
commanding officer paced the long hall to the library; a wild,
unbalanced gleam lighting his Mako-green eyes. *An Ancient named
Jenova was found in the geological stratum of 2000 years ago.
The Jenova Project. The Jenova Project wanted to produce people
with the powers of the Ancients -- no... the Cetra.* He looked
up at me then, his gaze piercing. *And I am the one that was
produced...*
That's right. Sephiroth was part of the Jenova Project,
and he had Jenova cells within him -- was possibly bred with
them, if my suspicions are correct.
And if Hojo was telling the truth...
*Jenova is the will that directs it.*
Shinra allowed the Jenova Project experiments in their
attempts to create a perfect soldier from the cells of this
monstrous Ancient, and Sephiroth was the result. But there is
something else going on here. Something that Hojo knows, that
he's not telling anyone else, not even his Shinra employers.
This injection of Jenova cells... it's *more* than just some
bizarre sort of genetic manipulation to create a perfect soldier.
The voices Cloud is hearing. It's not Mako poisoning at
all. And Hojo knows it.
It's her. Jenova. That weird monstrous creature that we
found in the Mt. Nibel Mako Reactor. The one that drove
Sephiroth off the deep end.
I don't want to be right, but I fear that I am. Too many
things over the past five years point to this conclusion. When
Hojo talks about Cloud "displaying signs of communication with
Jenova," he's not talking about the traditional theories of
telepathy.
Jenova is already inside him. It's part of his own body.
It's guiding his healing processes after the "massive physical
trauma" inflicted by Hojo.
And it's talking to him.
No wonder Sephiroth went nuts. He wasn't just "hearing
voices." He really was not alone inside his own head. Jenova
was there, a literal, physical part of him, like a cancer,
whispering her will to him.
And now, Cloud...
But not me. For some reason, not me. Which either means
that I'm immune to the Jenova injections... or that Hojo isn't
really giving them to me. I don't think I would be immune. But
I can't figure out why Hojo would claim to be using Jenova cells
on both myself and Cloud, when in truth he is only using them on
Cloud.
Then again, just because I don't know the reason, doesn't
mean there isn't one. If there is one thing I've learned in five
years, it is that there is *always* method to Hojo's madness.
The only voices I hear in my head these days are the ghosts
of my memories. They haunt me with a vivid clarity that can't be
normal. The memories of my former life are both my torment and
my salvation. A reminder of what I've lost, and my hope of what
I want back.
Trapped as I am, the only thing I can do is remember.
The minutes tick by with infinite slowness. I hear the
sounds of Simmons cleaning the laboratory. All too soon, he's
finished, and summoning Hojo from the library.
The soft tap of slow, deliberate footsteps comes from the
long hallway, stopping in front of my cylinder.
I open my eyes.
Hojo is smiling. His white lab coat is flecked with the
rust brown stains of dried blood.
"Specimen A," he says, looking at me as Simmons begins to
hook up the tranquilizer gas feed. "We're ready for you now."
"Hojo." The utter calm of my own voice makes me wonder,
briefly, if my hold on my sanity is even more tenuous than I
thought. "Who is Jenova?"
He blinks at me in a rare expression of surprise. No doubt
because he was expecting me to threaten to rip off his head and
spit down his neck again. But his surprise quickly fades, and he
ignores me, glancing down over his notes.
"Why have you been injecting Jenova into Cloud, but not me?"
Hojo's head jerks up, and he stares at me, eyes wide.
Heh. I thought that would get his attention. And from the
look on his face, I hit the nail on the head. Looks like I won
that bluff.
"Simmons, hurry it up, will you?" Hojo says, quickly getting
his poker face back in place. He's trying to act bored, but I
can tell that I've unsettled him. And Simmons can tell as well,
because he glances at Hojo nervously, before quickly averting his
eyes back to his task.
"If it's just because I'm a control, then I understand," I
continue, unperturbed at not being answered. "Every good
experiment needs a control, right, Hojo? So you can measure the
differences between someone who's been altered with Jenova, and
someone who hasn't. Right?"
Hojo isn't looking at me. That's okay, I'm used to his
"ignore the specimens" attitude. I know he's listening. And I
think he's angry. He seems awfully tense.
"What I can't figure out," I say, "is why you've gone
through so much trouble to make Cloud and me believe that your
experiments on the both of us are exactly the same. I mean, why
should it matter what we think? We're just specimens, after
all."
Simmons finally gets the tranquilizer feed hooked up, and in
moments, the gray gas is seeping into the chamber. My time is
running out.
"But it *does* matter, doesn't it, Hojo. It matters to
*you.*"
And suddenly, something else dawns on me. "I wonder what
Cloud would think if I told him that the reason I haven't been
getting as sick as him *isn't* because he's weaker than me, but
because *you* haven't been mucking with my insides in the same
way." And I almost smile as I see the muscles in Hojo's jaw
twitch violently, right before he lifts his gaze from his notes
to look directly into my face.
"It doesn't matter what he thinks now," he says tightly.
"And while your pathetic attempts to help him are admirable, I'm
afraid you're far too late for that."
I open my mouth to reply to his cryptic remark, but an
involuntary gasp escapes my throat instead, followed quickly by a
strangled curse as the tranquilizer gas touches my bare skin.
Instantly, the familiar cold fire burns through me, engulfing me
in an enervating numbness. As I thrash against it instinctively,
struggling to fight off its effects... I see Cloud, in the
cylinder next to mine, drifting silent and limp within a green
haze of Mako mist.
He looks dead. So pale, with ugly purple and black bruises
that stand out like ink splotches on his skin. His spiky blond
hair is matted with blood. But his eyes are partially open, and
in that brief moment, I catch a glimpse of bright glowing blue
under heavy eyelids, staring sightlessly.
The sight infuriates me. Futilely, I fight against the gray
fog that is trying to dull my thoughts even as it drains the
strength from my limbs. "Dammit, what are you doing to him?" I
demand, glaring at Hojo, though blackness is quickly swallowing
my vision. He is looking at me again, though his face is
unreadable. The tranquilizers are pulling me down, the drugged
sleep plucking away at the defenses of my fading consciousness,
but I force myself to meet his eyes.
"What is... Jenova... doing... to him..?" I ask.
But Hojo doesn't answer. He just stares at me silently, and
his cold, black gaze swallows me whole.
~*~
"NEXT! FILE IN!"
I winced and made a face as Heideggar bellowed practically
right into my ear canal. Quickly, I scooted my chair away from
him, getting as far away as the small table would let me.
"Jeeze, Heidi," I said, sticking a finger in my ear, as if that
would help ease the pain in my abused ear drum. I also knew that
he absolutely despised the nickname, and yet couldn't do a thing
to stop me from calling him that. "Do you think you could crank
it up a few decibels? I don't think they heard you in Wutai."
He ignored my jibe with a scowl as usual, but my comment
earned a few stifled chuckles from the cadets who were filing
obediently through the double doors of the practice hall.
Being one of the very few members of SOLDIER 1st Class, and
General Sephiroth's Second-in-Command to boot, had both its
benefits and its drawbacks. A big benefit was that I was
probably the only guy in Midgar who could get away with saying
something like that to the head of Shinra Military Intelligence
-- even if he was little more than a big fat bag of stinkwind.
But Heideggar was a fat bag of stinkwind who was in good with
President Shinra. And so one of the drawbacks of my position was
that, when it came my turn to help review SOLDIER applications, I
was forced to endure his repulsive presence for a bit.
Heideggar harumphed importantly, and straightened a few
papers and folders on the table in front of him. Some of the cadets,
who were nervously muttering to each other, immediately fell
silent when he fixed his beady eyes on them. Soon, lined up
before us with military precision were 20 young men standing
in two rows. All were younger than me, between the ages of
fourteen and sixteen, and I recognized many of them from the
cadet mess where I would sometimes go to hang out. A few of them,
when they saw me sitting next to Heideggar, looked immensely
relieved, and I grinned back at them encouragingly, knowing again
that it would irritate Heideggar. He didn't believe in being
friendly as a rule.
I, on the other hand, liked getting to know the new
recruits, and I hoped that, in the process, I could de-mystify
the SOLDIER program a bit. Some of these kids came into the
military so green that just the thought of seeing the great
General Sephiroth in the halls of the Shinra Building was enough
to send them into a catatonic fit of fear, hero-worship, or both.
So I did my best to help them get over that -- at least to the
point where, if they *did* see Sephiroth in the hallway, they
wouldn't panic and make complete fools of themselves in their
efforts to either get away, salute, or shake his hand. I also
often went to the gym to help where I could with their training,
sometimes even giving impromptu lessons in combat skills, or
just sitting down with them and talking tactics.
Consequently, I had a lot of friends among the new
recruits -- and the not-so-new recruits, who still remembered
and appreciated my help during their first few months in Shinra.
As the only SOLDIER 1st Class who would dare be seen with lowly
cadets, I had earned a reputation as a big brother of sorts.
When this reputation first spread to the upper echelons of the
military heiarchy, Heidigger was furious, saying that my chumming
with the grunts was undermining the work of the boot camp drill
instructors. His objections were silenced, however, when
Sephiroth pointed out that my involvement seemed to be improving
soldier morale, discipline and productivity, rather than
undermining it.
Heh. Not even Heideggar dared argue with Sephiroth.
Looking over the cadets, giving encouraging grins to
familiar faces, I realized that there was one kid at the far end
of the first row that I didn't recognize. I knew I had never seen
him before. With all that spiky blond hair (which looked like it
had defied countless attempts to comb it flat), I figured he'd be
hard to forget. He also seemed to be in the middle of a growth
spurt, if the too-short cuffs on the pant legs and shirts sleeves
of his cadet uniform were any indication.
Like the other kids, he looked nervous, and was doing his
best to hide it behind the military discipline that had been pounded
into him over the past few months. But, as I examined him further,
I realized that he also looked angry. As in, severely pissed off.
His expression hid it well, but his jaw was tight, and his fists at
his sides were clenched so hard that his knuckles were white. Upon
closer inspection, I noticed that he was sporting a black eye, which
he was trying to hide under a few errant locks of hair dangling over
his face. He must have felt me watching him, because he glanced
briefly in my direction, without moving his head, before jerking his
gaze back to staring straight ahead.
Curious, I glanced down at the files on the table, picked
them up, and thumbed through them. Each file had a record of each
kid's Enterance scores thus far, comments by the examiners, and a small
head-shot photo paperclipped in the corner. I found the kid's file
quickly.
CADET: STRIFE, CLOUD
AGE: 15
I blinked. *Cloud*? What parent would name their kid
something like that? Talk about automatically consigning your son
to an eternal purgatory of harrassment by his peers. Hell, the name
alone would account for the black eye.
Skimming over his scores, I saw that he had tested moderately
high on nearly all of the physical tests, but that he had bottomed
out in the psychological profiling.
I blinked again. That score had to be a typo. Nobody was
*that* psycho. Except maybe Heideggar.
While I was distracted with Strife's file, Heideggar began
the drill by shouting "ATTENTION!" Immediately, the cadets who weren't
already standing at attention snapped upright. Heiddegar quickly
began barking orders, which the cadets followed instantly and
simultaneously. I grant Heidi that, at least -- if there's one
thing that he knows how to do well, it's shout at the top of his
lungs.
As per my duty, I watched each cadet in turn, and made notes
in their file on their performance. I was very pleased to see that
all the guys who had taken pointers from me were excellent.
So I turned my attention back to Cadet Strife, more curious
than ever, especially since he was the only kid I hadn't worked with.
I wondered if, during the drill, he would give me any clues as to
why his psychological profile score was so bad.
But as I watched him, I couldn't see anything that would
qualify him for the scathing review he had received. He was good.
Focused. The anger I had seen in him initially had given way to
determination, which was a good sign if you asked me. It meant
that, when it came down to business, he could push personal feelings
aside and focus on the matter at hand. He followed each bellowed
order with snap precision. The drill went on for a good half hour,
and Cadet Strife didn't miss a step.
I was impressed. And a bit disappointed at the same time.
It was obvious that he wanted to join SOLDIER badly. His file said
he was from Nibelheim, which, if I remembered correctly, was a small
mountain town on the West Continent, northwest of my own hometown of
Gongaga. Like me, he had come a long way to join SOLDIER. Like me,
his file said that he had signed up at age 14, and had worked as a
conscript until he had enough experience to try and join the SOLDIER
program. And like me, I could see the hunger for it in his face; in
his eyes. I recognized it.
But with that psychological profile score, there was no way
in hell he was going to get into the program.
Hm. This was going to require further investigation...
~*~
To be continued.
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