Hello, friends. This is my second Final Fantasy X story, and probably the darkest piece of literature I've ever thought of or put to paper. Originally, I had started this story with no clue as to the direction I wanted to take it, and had intended on abandoning it long ago. Then, the idea for the story sort of took on a life of its own in my mind, and thus its now one of my current obsessions, and I am immensely proud of it. I hope that you'll join me in sharing the experience of the Full Circle.

I wasn't able to include enough information about the story in the summary, so the full summary is below.

Welcome to Zanarkand, the City of the Far North. A thriving icon for tranquility and prosperity. A place where anybody can make anything of themselves. A place where anything can happen, and does.

However, this fairy tale is soon to end . . . for Zanarkand is also . . .

Shrouded in secrets and deceit. Threatened by corruption and terrorism. Doomed to descend into chaos. Very soon, twelve people will be forever changed:

-KINOC -
the director of the Spiran Intelligence Agency with his own ulterior motives and the former boss of . . .

-AURON -
a cynical bartender, marred by a cruel and haunting past, who often chats with a regular customer named . . .

-WAKKA -
a Yevonite and a professional blitzball player for the Zanarkand Abes, who is good friends with . . .

-TIDUS -
a rising star for the Zanarkand Abes who drinks and sleeps with whomever he wants, until he meets . . .

-YUNA -
a political icon who wants to escape from her own life and its future, and is the daughter of . . .

-BRASKA -
the world-renowned mayor of Zanarkand with a very soft heart, who is good friends with . . .

-CID -
a jovial man who escaped Bikanel Island to become the Deputy Mayor of Zanarkand, and is the father of . . .

-RIKKU -
a happy-go-lucky Al Bhed girl, and living proof that bad things can happen to good people, when she meets . . .

-PAINE -
a sociopath and a skilled assassin whose jobs take her all over the world, and attract the interest of . . .

-LULU -
the very talented and ambitious District Attorney of Zanarkand whose ambition is to convict . . .

-SEYMOUR -
the ruthless mayor of Bevelle whose only goal is the destruction of the Al Bhed, covered by . . .

-LEBLANC -
lead achorwoman of the Spiran Internaional News Network whose stories include . . .

KINOC, AURON, WAKKA, TIDUS, YUNA, BRASKA, CID, RIKKU, PAINE, LULU, AND SEYMOUR . . .

This is Zanarkand, where the world comes Full Circle.

THIS STORY IS RATED M FOR THE FOLLOWING:

STRONG LANGUAGE
STRONG GRAPHIC VIOLENCE
SOME STRONG SEXUAL CONTENT AND REFERENCES
DRUG AND ALCOHOL USE

IF THERE IS ANY CHANCE THAT YOU'LL FIND ANY OF THE ABOVE MENTIONED CONTENT OFFENSIVE, LEAVE NOW. I WILL NOT BE HELD RESPONSIBLE FOR ANY OFFENSE TAKEN BY THE STORY'S CONTENT.

YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED.

The first chapter introduces only four of the characters: Auron, Wakka, Leblanc, and Tidus. You'll find out what each does as you read. The same goes for the rest when I introduce them.

Ha. Glad I got that out of the way. Oh, and I don't own Final Fantasy X or anything associated with it.

So, give it a shot. On with chapter 1!

Part One: City of the Far North

The delicate balance of the world that we see proceeding as normal can be disturbed by the most subtle, yet unprecedented of events. We take great comfort in the mundane, the normal and the expected. The flow of life is serene, yet unique to one person and insignificant to the rest. Perhaps that is why we are so appalled when life reminds us that we are at its mercy. Circumstances can forever change in an instant. We don't know when to expect it. Sometimes, we're caught completely by surprise.

All it takes is one moment of time. And even though a clock continues to tick . . .

. . . sometimes we don't.

Chapter 1: Fifth and Jefferson

_
Zanarkand, Highway 33.
23:58.
Wednesday, November 20.

If one were to view Zanarkand from the sky, they would have to marvel at just how unique the city was. Surrounded by water, at the base of a dormant mountain, full of different people, different things, and one of the best Blitzball teams from all the land. One would admire how the whole city seemed to sparkle, like gold dust scattered about the ground. The city was its own entity, a body of sorts with all its different parts working together to function effectively. For most, it was a pleasant place to live, albeit large. It was Zanarkand. Only respect could be given for its sheer proportions and its immense size. The entity, spreading out and consuming all surrounding land as a plague would take over a body.

Enter Zanarkand. Vibrant neon signs, advertising everything from the bar and club on Union Street to the latest Hybrid SUV, on sale with an employee discount for only 25,121 gil. People crammed like sardines on the sidewalk, talking, laughing, conversing on cell phones, window-shopping . . . all overlooking the occasional homeless man sprawled out against a grimy building, wearing dirty, faded clothes. Cars strolled the streets of the mammoth city, stopping occasionally for a jaywalker or a red light. All behaved the same, yet were different upon closer examination.

Yes, Zanarkand was truly a unique place. A famous philosopher, sitting with a five-gil coffee cup in hand, had once remarked to the person he was sitting with, "Zanarkand is immortal. It will live on forever, an entity never to rest, never to sleep." This philosopher died soon afterward, but the people of the city loved his analogy, and thus Zanarkand was dubbed, "The City that Never Sleeps." People from as far away as Luca had heard the pseudonym, but could only truly experience it when they paid the expensive airfare to get to Zanarkand.

Naturally though, it was well worth the trip. Many people who had flown to Zanarkand commented on how majestic it was to see the city just slowly materialize from behind Mount Gagazet, which bordered the city on the south. Those who took the red-eye flight to Zanarkand were the most rewarded, for as mentioned before, Zanarkand was at the peak of its beauty at night. Whether it be a starry night or night when the whole city was blanketed in thick fog, Zanarkand was always renowned for its unwavering beauty. The night-life of the city was also world-famous. There was something for everybody after the sun set, from the opera to nice restaurants to the red light district.

With a population of more than nine million people, Zanarkand ranked second among the major cities in Spira in terms of population and geographical size (Home being the largest). Those who lived there often lamented over its size, but said it was a fair trade compared to other major cities. When asked, the typical response would be the fact that there was more to offer in Zanarkand than in other cities. There were more people, and there was more diversity. But with all these advantages came the usual traffic jams, the feeling of clostrophobia, and the sky-high crime rate. But the people of Zanarkand had acquired a reputation, like the city itself, as some of the most hardy and eccentric people in the world. They were what made the place so wonderful and exciting.

Of course, there are those who would disagree.

In the northeast section of Zanarkand, a lone car streaked along the otherwise deserted side streets, fearlessly entering the 'seedy' part of town. The corvette was barely visible, black as the darkest night and detectable only because of the street lights reflecting off its body and its headlights shining in front of it. It owned the road tonight, as it did almost every night when there was very little traffic. Indeed the digital clock on the dashboard of this car read 12:01 a.m.

Inside the car, the air conditioner was blowing, droning in the monotonous tone that few actually appreciated for the white noise. It bathed the car in its frigid air. The driver of the car reached over and absentmindedly flicked the little lever to increase the power of the air conditioner. More cold air blasted forth, cooling the driver's face. Soft and soulful music played through the speakers of the car, classical opera that was the man's favorite genre of music. The driver turned up the volume on the stereo system in compensation for the increased amount of sound put forth by the air conditioner. As he tapped one gloved finger on the stereo system in tune to the orchestra, he couldn't help but steal a glance at what he and the car were passing by.

As the car progressed along the street, the buildings became increasingly dilapidated. Garbage littered the sidewalk and the sides of the street, and the occasional plastic bag suddenly spiraled off the ground and into the air, carried by the cold and gentle night breeze. The street light in front of his car flickered, as though the wire that powered the bright bulb was frayed and couldn't keep a constant connection. Steam rose from a manhole cover near the opposite side of the street, and the man's nostrils were greeted by the unpleasant smell of raw sewage. He wrinkled his nose and flipped the switch on the dashboard so that the car was recycling the cold air instead of drawing it in from outside. He opened the window as well to vent out the air. Soon, the pungent odor disappeared, and the smell of new leather returned.

The car stopped for a red light. But as there were no cars coming in any direction at the four-way intersection, he glanced around and made a left with the light still red. He was late for work already. The man sighed. Good, he thought to himself. There were no cops hanging around in the shadows. He had been busted more than once by the sneaky police department. Rightly so, because he was, in truth, entering the most crime-ridden section of Zanarkand. He wouldn't go so far as to call it a ghetto, but it was quite close.

In the distance, behind him and to his left, he could see the industrial part of the city. The round skyscrapers , so tall that one of them obscured part of the moon, by now high in the sky. The lights of the buildings illuminated the sky so that barely any stars were visible. If there was one of the many things about Zanarkand that this man didn't like, it was the light pollution. He always found it soothing to just lay under the stars at the end of a stressful day and gaze at them, wondering, thinking. So, instead of the stars, the man could see the smog and haze that had been previously belched into the air by the paper mills and other such refineries.

Zanarkand, in the man's opinion, wasn't all it was cracked up to be. Maybe it was because he had lived there for so long. The people were often rude, the skyline was riddled with man-made creations that distracted one from the natural beauty that was present. Everything was material now. The simple things in life, once treasured and now forgotten, were a very prominent presence in the man's life. Even though he did drive one of the most desired and expensive cars on the road today, the man still lived relatively poorly. The car was the one thing he had wanted for many years, and through a decade of strenuous saving, he was finally able to purchase the sleek black corvette.

He rounded a corner, where on the other side he could see a young woman leaning against a wall. She was wearing red fish net leggings, a very short black miniskirt, and a white blouse tied into a knot at the bottom so that her stomach was visible. In addition, the blouse was half-undone at the top, showing off her more than ample cleavage. Black high heels glinted in the light conferred by the headlights. A lit cigarette was gripped tightly between the girl's left index and middle fingers, the wispy smoke from the outward-facing end dancing in the wind. Her eyes lit up at the sight of such a nice car, and lit up even more when she saw the driver. He slowed the car to a stop and rolled down the window.

"Need a ride?" He asked coldly. He was late for work, and here was this young girl standing on one of the most gang-ridden street corners in the whole city. Some people had absolutely no common sense.

She sauntered over to the car, her hips swaying in a titillating manner. "I was going to ask you the same question," she whispered. "Do you need a ride?" She slid sensually onto the hood of his car, smirking at him.

The man knew that by 'ride', she didn't mean one in a vehicle. "No," the man said shortly. "If you are content to stay here, than please get off my car. I'm late for work." He had to admit that he really didn't go out of his way to persuade them to get away from here.

The girl took a long draw off her cigarette and blew it out the corner of her mouth. "Sure?" she asked, her red lips turning up in a smile. "I'm more than free."

"I'm sure," he said, not able to hold back the disdain resonating on the tip of his tongue. "Now, get off my car." He said it slowly, dangerously, and with a tone of unmistakable finality.

The girl pouted, but complied and rolled herself off the car, so that the man could see . . . well, more than he wanted to see. He rolled up his window and gunned the engine, roaring away from the street corner. It was the same almost every night. Whether it be her or some other girl, he always stopped to offer them assistance. But all they were focused on was the job. In a way, the man felt sorry for them, but in others, he couldn't help despising them. How one could give up their bodies, to be used like a tissue before being discarded, was beyond the man's bounds of thinking. He didn't dare to hypothesize why a whore became a whore without asking one. Which, the man sighed, was quite unlikely.

He had reached his second turn, a right turn. The light was green, so he went ahead and turned onto Jefferson Drive. Since Jefferson Drive was a main street that came from the industrial section of Zanarkand, the buildings here were a little more kempt than the others in the area. The man continued to barrel through the intersections, not caring whether the light was green or red. There were no other cars around anyway. And he was ten minutes late for work. He hated being late. It was one of the things he couldn't stand in other people, and he hated it even more when he was guilty of it. A man of schedules, this man was.

Now, his corvette was facing away from the city. The sky was blocked out by the enormous Mt. Gagazet looming over the city. The whole mountain was blanketed in snow. It was late in the year, and impending snowstorms dominated the news to such a degree that the man grew sick of watching it (and since news was virtually all he could stand to watch on TV, that ought to give one an idea just how big a deal this was). Very heavy now was expected for virtually a week straight. Zanarkand had vicious winters for as long as the man could remember, and this year was forecasted to be no different. In fact, most weather experts were predicting a winter so severe that all traffic, whether it be air or by ground, was going to be halted due to the snow accumulation. No traffic in, and no traffic out. A winter of that severity had happened only twice in Zanarkand's recorded history. Indeed, the man could see clouds snaking their way around the mountain, obviously bound for the city.

The car made its final turn of the night, onto the corner of Fifth Street. He pulled into the small and rundown parking lot of his place of employment: the Blitz Bar and Grill. He had worked there for the past seven years, after quitting his previous job in the inner city. It was a high-pay, high-risk job that involved often-extreme circumstances. He shared an apartment with a teenager named Tidus, his God-child. He was a professional blitzball player for the Zanarkand Abes. Though his salary was ample and several times larger than the man's, Tidus successfully managed to squander it all on gambling, drugs, booze, and women.

The man shook his head as he walked toward the front entrance of the bar. Tidus was a lost soul. He had no direction in his life, he would become a drunk and an outcast, he would throw away the one talent he had . . . just like his father. The man knew Tidus's father well, as he was a good friend of Jecht in his younger years. But Jecht was an irresponsible man and a poor father. It was no wonder Tidus turned out the way that he did. The man couldn't wholly blame Tidus for his behavior, even though the boy had no respect for anybody else.

He had reached the entrance to the bar. The windows in the front glowed with numerous flourescent signs, all advertising different things. Naturally, there was the classic, bold OPEN sign, whose letters glowed reddish-pink while the border was flourescent blue. In addition, however, there were signs advertising all kinds of beer: Lucan Mist, Mountain Ice, and others. Despite being in a poor and rundown section of the city, the bar looked like one that could be found almost anywhere.

That is, until you walked inside.

The man opened the faded, peeling wooden door to the bar and entered. The bar was extremely dim, lit only by a couple of lamps on the bar and light bulbs hanging off a thin string from the ceiling, spaced every few tables. Booths and small tables lined the windows facing the street as well as the wall opposite the man. The light bulbs over the tables were covered with an assortment of dust and cobwebs, so that the light cast by the already feeble bulbs was even dimmer than normal. Little light was also thrown by the neon signs that hung on the wall behind the bar and the counter: one of a blitzball and one of a generic beer. Signs were littered around the bar, most with humorous blurbs on them. A big aerosol can was situated at the cash register, with a picture of a bull on the front of it, and underneath, the words "Bullshit Repellant" declared the purpose of the can.

The bar was constructed entirely of old and dark wood, much of it rough oak and other assorted local wood. A thin layer of grime had built up on the side walls and in the corners over the years; a mixture of sap and whatever else was floating in the bar. The floor as well was constructed of wood, though it wasn't polished. Instead, the floor was oiled to resemble an old-fashioned pub, but the only effect it personified in this bar was yet another one of dilapidation. Cobwebs hung everywhere. In addition, the occasional spider could be seen descending into a guest's dinner, which accordingly sent the customer screaming for whoever was close by that could handle it. And that was usually the man, who was currently standing in the doorway.

Tonight, smoke hung in the air like a fog. As it always did. Though smoking was frowned upon by the man, he could do nothing to change policy as he was not the owner. Few people remained in the bar tonight, but the two who were there were smoking away and watching the dusty television mounted over the bar. One was smoking an old pipe, the other clutched a cigarette in his withered hand. The man coughed slightly, the pungent and foul odor of tobacco hitting his nostrils. He turned away and walked along the wall a ways until he came upon the log book hanging against the wall for employees. The book had hung there for the last five years, and it was faded, dirty, and covered with grease stains. He picked the book off the hook it was hanging on, flipped to the correct page, and wrote down his name, date and the time he arrived.

'Auron - 12:13 a.m. Thursday, November 21.'

"Yo, Shady!" a call from the kitchen rang out, startling Auron as he replaced the book on its hook.

At this, the customers in the bar turned their heads, and saw Auron standing near the wall. He was looking in the direction where the call came from, but he could instantly feel the eyes of the customers on him. He turned to them and gave a curt nod, and the customers murmured a hello in return. To them, he was a mysterious man who never liked to socialize much. Most knew him only by his nickname: Shady. The owner of the bar had coined it the instant Auron walked through the door for his job interview seven years ago. Auron disapproved of the nickname as well, but felt there was no need to fight it off. So, for the last seven years, he was known by the Bar-folk as Shady.

Auron sighed irritably and toward the kitchen. The customers didn't watch him; they were concentrating on their drinks or else watching the championship boxing match on the TV. Walking along the wall, he went back into the kitchen where Tony was gathering his stuff. Tony always worked the evening shift, the shift where it was busiest, and the shift with the most women. He thought of himself as a 'player', and Auron disliked him for that very reason. In addition, he was quite egotistical and arrogant; perhaps it had something to do with his charm with women. He vaguely reminded Auron of Tidus.

"Shady!" Tony came up to Auron, backpack slung over his shoulder. Auron gave only a nod in return. "Where the fuck you been, man? I had a date at quarter past!" Tony spoke with an annoying drawl, a mixture of laziness and sarcasm.

"I was simply late," Auron replied. "Did you call your date and tell her you'd have to cover for me until I arrived?"

"Why the fuck would I want to do that?" Tony asked, scratching his head. "No man, I didn't call her."

"Then don't complain," Auron said coldly, straightening up the kitchen. "If you lack the courtesy to tell her you'll be late, then it doesn't matter if I am or not."

"Lighten up, Shady," Tony said, shaking his head. "Damn, people these days . . ."

"Goodnight," Auron called as Tony lit a cigarette and walked out the door.

Auron put the conversation out of his mind and walked slowly out behind the bar. The bar was probably the most used and frequented part of the whole place, as the majority of the customers ventured in only for the alcohol. Though the place was also a restaurant, Auron spent more time behind the bar than behind the grill. As he walked, he glanced around. The small section that was the bar was really like his second home. He knew the bar like the back of his hand, and all the customers complimented on his speedy, yet efficient ability to mix drinks. Though it was a compliment of little merit, Auron took it for what it was.

"Yo, Shady," the man with the pipe rasped. "A White Russian, if you would, sir."

He was a wizened old man who looked thirty years older than he really was. Most of his teeth were missing, and the few that remained bore a strong resemblance to charcoal. He wore a dirty, blue plaid T-shirt with an equally dirty white undershirt underneath it. He also wore faded jeans with numerous holes in them, and his feet were protected only by old and tattered sandals. Auron, if he had been a more nosy and curious person, might have asked how he managed to afford such expensive drinks as White Russians. But it was neither necessary nor polite, so Auron said nothing.

Auron nodded and took a minute to mix the drink. Ice in the cup, mixed with milk, Kalua and Vodka. He placed it in front of the wizened old man.

"Here, Frank."

"Thanks, Shady," Frank wheezed. "So, how you been? Haven't seen you 'round here for a long time." He dragged the word 'long' for at least two seconds.

"I've been," Auron replied curtly, busying himself with dusting off the counters. "You?"

"I'm still breathin'," the man said. "S'far s'I'm concerned, that's gotta count for something, eh?" Here, he laughed, a wheezy laugh that sounded oddly pathetic.

Auron nodded. "How's the drink?"

Frank burped. "Pardon me," he said, taking a draw off his pipe. "S'alright, as usual Shady."

Auron nodded again, and continued to wipe down the bar. Tony had not cleaned off the last customer's glass, which was still half-full of beer. Auron took the glass, dumped the beer down the drain, and began to wash the glass at the tiny sink behind the bar, used for just that purpose. Finished, he hung the glass on one of the pegs in the dish rack to dry. Auron then took his rag and wiped down the area where the glass had been. In addition, Auron noticed that Tony had also forgotten to collect his tip, so Auron took the three quarters and pocketed them. The way he saw it, he wasn't responsible for Tony's irresponsibility.

Frank took a gulp of his drink. "You shoulda been here earlier man," Frank piped up. "One helluva brawl, I'm tellin' ya."

Auron wasn't interested, but decided to humor the old man nonetheless. "Is that so?" he asked.

"Oh yeah, man," Frank laughed his wheezy laugh again. "Tony was gettin' a little outta hand with the ladies."

Auron grunted, his famous grunt to those who knew him. "Hmph," he said. "No great surprise."

"No shit," Frank said. "He was hittin' on 'em, gropin' 'em, all sorts o' nasty shit." He coughed, a cough that Auron could tell was ridden with tarlike phlegm. "Anyways, this chick fought back. Slapped the bajeezus outta him. Tony's buddies and the girl's buddies got into it real bad," he continued. "I chipped in, o'course. Gave some guy who threw a chair at me a little one-two, eh?" Frank finished his story with a hint of pride in his gravelly voice, making fisticuffs and swinging his arms slightly, as if boxing.

Auron's perceptive side kicked in. This man must have no excitement in his life, he thought. A lonely guy, probably similar to a hermit. The bar was the only thing the man had. Auron had felt that way before as well. A long time ago, of course. Auron didn't want to even dredge up those memories. Forcing them out of his mind, he forced a smile onto his unshaven face.

"It sounds very exciting," Auron lied.

"Oh yeah man, it was intense," Frank said. He picked up his drink and downed what little was left of it. Then he reached his dirty and leathery hand into his pocket and slapped some change on the bar. "Keep the extra," he said, swiveling on his stool. "Time to go back to the shack."

"Goodnight," Auron said, briefly wondering if Frank's use of the word 'shack' was literal.

"See ya Shady." Frank walked out of the bar.

Auron found himself already eyeing the clock. He noted, to his irritation, that only twenty minutes had passed from the time he arrived to now. Only eight hours and forty minutes to go . . . it was gonna be one of those nights. The other customer seated at the bar had already exited, a few tattered and crinkled bills in addition to a couple of dimes lying still on the bar's surface. Auron moved over to collect the glass and the money. In the next couple of minutes, he washed the glass and put the money in the till. For now, it was just him and the babe posters on the wall.

Smirking slightly as he looked around the dingy bar, he grabbed a bottle of sake and a small shot glass. Meandering his way around the bar, he sat on the bar stool directly in front of the TV and poured himself some of the alcohol. Auron was perfectly aware that it was illegal to drink while he was on the job, but the owner of the bar trusted him to drink responsibly and only when nobody else was around. He sipped the drink and started flipping through the channels on the TV, anxious to get away from the racing that was on. He was looking for the nightly news. Quickly finding it, he rested the remote on the bar and began to watch a re-broadcasting of an earlier story where Leblanc, lead anchorwoman of SINN (the Spiran International News Network), briefed viewers on the feud between Bevelle and Luca. Leblanc wore the typical anchor's outfit. It consisted of a navy blue skirt with a small slit down the back and a white dress shirt. Very plain, but nevertheless professional.

"In an expansion of its agenda, and utilizing its newfound power on the world stage, the emboldened city of Bevelle has submitted its most recent statement to Luca, threatening Mayor Shelinda and her city that if they don't respond and comply with the wishes of Seymour Guado regarding their trade relationship with Home, they will be forced to impose unprecedented sanctions against the city," she said professionally. "Representatives of the Seymour administration were not available for comment on the matter, nor did they return our calls regarding the new laws passed by Seymour.

"In a related story, Mayor Shelinda of Luca has issued a response to Bevelle, stating that any action taken against the city of Luca and its inhabitants will be countered by a swift and, quote, 'crippling' response. Linda of the Lucan Press reports."

Right then, the picture shifted to Luca, right inside the town square, where the camera just took a look around at the surrounding buildings. A woman's voice resounded in the background.

"Mayor Shelinda issued a statement yesterday that responded to Mayor Seymour's threats against her city. The full transcript from which the statement was taken actually lamented for pages and pages, including an in-depth analysis on the proposed sanctions' effects on the city's economy. In full, it was basically another response in what has become a war of words between the two cities. The main issue is Bevelle's insistence that the Al Bhed's religious blasphemy is not to be economically condoned, versus Luca's claim that Seymour is attempting to hijack the position of Lucan Mayor by threatening a vital part of the city's economy. Peace talks between the two cities have failed miserably in the past couple of weeks, and some fear that the threats issued by both cities could eventually escalate to include military action."

Auron snorted and sipped his drink "What a waste," he scoffed at the TV. "These politicians have too much time on their hands if they're arguing about this moral nonsense."

"Nearly all independent experts agree that this rapidly-expanding diplomatic crisis stems not from Seymour's desire to exert a sphere of influence over other major cities, but from Luca's increasingly public alliance and friendship with Home. The Al Bhed metropolis has been viewed as a thorn in Bevelle's side for generations, an economic disruptor and 'moral antagonist'. The government in Bevelle is no doubt crying foul over Luca's preference to supporting Home's economy over theirs. This newfound boldness by a city that, for much of history, has been neutral territory in nearly all things diplomatic, has taken sides economically in such an obvious fashion has infuriated Seymour.

"Zanarkand has been a vocal supporter and close ally of Home for generations, especially in recent years with Cid, an Al Bhed politician, as the Deputy Mayor. Zanarkand and Bevelle have been at war more than once in the past over issues relating to the Al Bhed, but so far, Seymour has shown little interest in publicly criticizing Zanarkand's Mayor Braska and his administration.

"Though Bevelle's friends seem to be dwindling at a rapid pace, Seymour Guado, a native of Guadosalam, doesn't seem to mind. Indeed, he has little reason to. Aside from his foreign policy, he has completely reversed Bevelle's stagnant economy, made its military a force to be reckoned with, and put the city back on the map in the international community. As such, public opinion polls within Bevelle show Seymour Guado doing extremely well. According to a poll conducted a week ago by SINN, 71 percent of the population support and agree with his decisions, while 26 percent do not. From Downtown Luca, Linda Bronstein, Lucan Press."

Auron picked up the remote and flipped off the TV in disgust. Every day he would hear about this conflict between Bevelle and Luca, and every time the media would just reiterate how nearsighted and reactionary people could be. Fighting over such petty things as religion in politics, when there was much to be done around the world. Poverty in the smaller towns, injustice toward the Al Bhed, security of their city, but all that went unnoticed. Auron was thankful that Mayor Braska, Zanarkand's mayor, was taking an official stance on the sidelines in the escalating war of words.

War. Auron shook his head and snorted, sipping his drink. It seemed as if Spira was always going to war, at war, or recovering from war. There was never any peace, never any prosperity. There was never any development into science. There were never any new peace treaties being signed. No, man would always be aggressive toward one another, using whatever means possible to get their way. And, Auron figured, that was the way it would remain until the end of time. Sad though it was, Auron didn't see any light at the end of the tunnel, so to speak. It was primal.

"Yo, Auron!"

Auron slowly swivelled on the bar stool, and saw a friend of Tidus's stroll in the door. Wakka, also a professional Blitzball player, was currently wearing bright flowered shorts and a button-up white shirt with the buttons undone. His toned and tan chest was visible to Auron, not that the older man cared. Wakka was much cleaner and better-behaved than Tidus, serious with his relationships and moderating what he drank. Which led Auron to wonder how they could remain such good friends. Wakka, however, wasn't the sharpest knife in the drawer, and would often engage Auron in conversation about the conflict. And, the basis of his opinions were not usually correct.

"Wakka." Auron said, nodding. "Want a drink?"

"I'll take what you're having," Wakka replied, sitting down next to the man.

Auron wordlessly shoved the half-empty bottle of Sake at Wakka. "Suit yourself," he said dryly.

Wakka always had whatever Auron was drinking at the time. It was his way of trying something new every time he visited the bar. He unscrewed the cap on the bottle and took several gulps of the liquid. It cascaded like a cool waterfall down his throat, and Auron could see his Adam's apple bob up and down in rhythm with Wakka's swallowing. Auron knew he wasn't an alcoholic like Tidus, but watching somebody drink like that made the gruff-looking man slightly uneasy.

"You hear the news?" Wakka piped up. From their prior chats, Auron knew what Wakka was talking about. He nodded. "It's intense, ya? Bevelle's getting really serious," Wakka commented after a few minutes of silent drinking. "Tired of Luca's blasphemy, I guess. Seymour's got every right to be fed up, but . . . military force? That's going a little too far, ya?"

Auron groaned mentally. Here we go again. "The whole thing is pointless and unnecessary," he said scornfully. "It doesn't matter what is right and what's wrong anymore. All that matters is who's right and who's wrong. The principles of everything have been ignored for so long, until the reason why we fight now is totally different from what it started out as. Always a distortion and manipulation of the truth."

"Seymour's right," Wakka cut in. "Luca and the rest of the world should follow the ways of the Temples. It's what's kept us at peace all these years, ya?"

"Peace?" Auron snorted. "How can you do what you do and say something so ignorant? Peace?" He repeated the word, pausing for an incredulous grunt. "Are threats of annihilation peace? Terrorist attacks against the Al Bhed is peace? Religious persecution is peace? Holy wars are peace? Or is peace granted only to those who cower under the correct veil of false security and deception?"

Wakka knew what he was hinting at. "There are millions of people who believe," He argued back. "Are we all ignorant? I'm sorry if life hasn't exactly been a picnic for ya, Auron, but there's no need to call all of us fools, ya? It's damned insulting."

"Hardships in life affect everybody. The world isn't selective about who receives its mercy and who is denied it. Whether I believe in Yevon, Mother Nature or nothing at all, I will eventually die after a short and frivolous existence. There's nothing I can do to change that, and unquestioningly taking the word of a collection of proverbs, stories and fairy tales and mistaking them for fact is a huge and consequential mistake."
"I don't understand it, Auron," Wakka said. "If you don't believe, if . . . if you have no faith, how can you make it through life?"

"I'm doing just fine," Auron said with such finality that Wakka was stunned into silence. "I cast away faith many years ago because it betrayed me. Because I let it control me. My life has been considerably better since then." Wakka still remained silent, so Auron continued. "And last I checked, Yevon's teachings have been the source of much of our wars in the past. More people have been killed in the name of Yevon than for any other reason." He emphasized this last sentence in particular. "I ask you: what will change, come the future?"

"I . . ." Wakka could not reply at first. Then he said, "I'm not a crystal ball Auron. I dunno what's gonna change. There. Happy?" Auron did not answer, and chose instead to down his shot of sake before pouring himself another. Wakka continued. "Everyone has to have something that they call a faith, ya? Something they believe in. I refuse to believe anything different. So . . . what do you believe in?"

Auron did not respond immediately. "Everything happens for a reason," he finally said. "And if that reason is unknown to me, even after much time spent searching for the answer, then I'm not meant to know. And I'm fine with that. I don't need the reassurance that religion provides. I don't need to know all the answers. And neither does anybody else."

"So you say," Wakka retorted. "But you believe what you want, ya? I just don't understand it."

"Regardless, it is futile arguing," Auron stated. "I will not change your mind, you will not change mine. This discussion is over."

Neither said anything for a few minutes. This night was going much the same as previous nights when Wakka and Auron were in the bar by themselves. Wakka would always try to preach the values of Yevon and spirituality to Auron, who wouldn't hear a word of it. But then again, for Auron, arguing back was like trying to tell his Sake bottle to pour itself. It didn't work, and Wakka would always find some clever way to revert back to Yevon. Auron of course knew that in principle, he was correct. But he didn't feel that it was right or even necessary to rub it in anybody's face. And he certainly didn't like somebody else's opinions shoved down his throat.

Nevertheless, despite their political and religious bickering, Auron and Wakka were still friends. Or, that's what Wakka thought of it. Auron, if he had been a different man with the same feelings, would have called him a 'friend' as well. But to him, it didn't seem the correct term. Acquaintances seemed more appropriate. They got along well enough, but they hadn't known each other for long. Nor, admittedly, had Auron made the effort. Then again, Auron was Auron. Introverted, always second to act, and always getting right to the point.

"I tried talking to Tidus about this whole thing, but he just ignored me," Wakka said glumly.

Auron suddenly became more alert to the conversation at the mention of Tidus's name. "Where is he?" he asked sharply.

Wakka looked up, eyebrows raised. "You live with him, ya?" he said. "Not me. I haven't seen him in three days."

"I haven't seen him in a week," Auron said. "I win." He gave a half-smirk, half sad smile.

"He did tell me . . . that he likes being home when you're not," Wakka said cautiously. "Doesn't want you around, ya? Says you're an asshole."

Auron chuckled. "Yes, I imagine he does think that," he said. "But he's out of control. When I'm there . . . he's in control. I guess he's caught onto the idea that I can't do anything when I'm not there."

"He's probably there right now," Wakka offered. "You should call him, ya? See if he picks up. You got caller ID?" Auron shook his head. "Yeah man, do it. He'll probably think it's one of the chicks he gave your phone number to."

Auron thought for a minute before saying, "Stay here. I'll be right back."

Auron got up from his chair and walked around back to the kitchen. He could see fried food sitting on the grill, stuff Tony had obviously neglected to clean. However, he continued right on past the kitchen and into a little room off in the back, next to the door leading out to the back alley. Inside was a tiny green and grimy folding table cluttered with various papers. Auron sat down in the plastic lawn chair, shuffled a few insurance papers and payroll sheets aside, and unearthed the dirty and grimy phone. He reached for the phone, hesitating for just a split-second, before he picked it up.

~~~~~ ZFC 1.1 ~~~~~

He was drowning in turmoil.

So many thoughts swam in his head. All fighting, beating, screaming to make sense. He was numb. Numb to everything his brain was trying to tell him. The beer had locked it up and thrown away the key. The drugs had been beating it senseless. The rap music blaring from the stereo system confusing it. And the two girls, wearing nothing on the bed next to him, distracted it. Distracted it from what was awaiting on the other side of that imaginary cell. The monster that was his reality. He could never find his way out of that cell and confront the monster. He was afraid . . . he didn't know how . . . he didn't want to. Not yet.

riiiiiiiing

The bass pulsed, making everything in the room vibrate. One flat, never-changing beat. Boom. Boom. Boom. Boom. In. Out. In. Out. When would the euphoria come join the swimming party in Tidus's head? It hadn't yet. But he kept waiting, hoping, expecting it to arrive. So, he kept thrusting in, out, in, out. In tune to the bass on the stereo. One could almost conduct it . . . one, two, three, four. But the screams, the moans . . . they were off-key. She needed to work on that. Match the beat, come on. Match the beat!

riiiiiiiing

He could feel the physical delirium rising to the back of his head, as it always did. Just trickles of it, as though he were hesitant. Tidus knew that once it peaked, his escapade would be over, and he would have to deal with the after-effects. The horrid after-effects. But that is then, this is now. For now, sex drove away the monster, and even booted the side effects of his protectors: liquor, marijuana, and music, and the girls. The beautiful girl, moaning in physical ecstasy . . . a harmony to the melody that Tidus was making when he thrust in and out, over and over again. He had an orchestra going here. The other girl was sitting on the first's stomach, her glistening sex vulnerable to Tidus's pleasures. He thrust his fingers in, out, in, out, matching the motion he made with the other girl. He didn't want the music to become too distorted.

riiiiiiiing

The waves of pleasure flowed up to the back of his head with increasing intensity, like water flowing through a riverbed. The tightness he felt made the notes sharper, astringent in some weird way. No . . . the bass was starting to change. It sped up. He compensated. In. Out. In. Out. Faster, faster, faster! Increased speed meant increased feelings of pleasure, and Tidus could feel himself on the verge of climaxing. Ecstasy, to Tidus, was just another drug. He would get high off the feeling, drown his pain, doubt, worry, and fears in nightly sex-fests similar to this one. Anything to escape the pain. If he couldn't drink or smoke them away, he would fuck them away.

riiiiiiiing

And there it was. That final, intense, overwhelming feeling of cascading, unsorted and unfathomable emotion that made him convulse and throw his head back. So many things took place in Tidus's mind in those few seconds . . . the monster had been sedated. He could think, breathe, and feel alive without fear. All he felt was the pleasure, the drug of no substance being pumped into his head like the heart pushes blood through the body. It was wonderful! He was, for once, in control. The girl lying on the bed was screaming in pleasure because of what he was doing. He was in charge . . . in charge of her, in charge of his feelings. Pounding into the girl . . . in, out, in, out. It would end now.

riiiiiiiing

He gave one final thrust, stronger than any of the others beforehand. He grunted one final time before releasing himself into the girl. And with every wave, the feeling slowly began to disappear, as quickly as it had come. Like a summer breeze lifting the leaves of a tree before moving on, leaving them limp once again . . . before the next breeze would come. His feelings of delirium were leaving. No! Come back! The monster was waking up again. But wait, there were the drugs and alcohol that protected him in the cell still, away from the monster. Yes, that would have to do for now.

The turmoil would continue.

riiiiiiiing

*beep*

"You've reached apartment 202. I am unavailable. Leave a message and I will return your call . . ."

~~~~~ ZFC 1.1 ~~~~~

Auron sighed and roughly replaced the phone in its cradle, neatly replacing all papers as he had found them. When all was as organized as it could be, he put his head in his hands, thoughts of many unpleasant unknowns running through the tortured man's mind. Any ill effect that came from Tidus's behavior was partially his fault. He knew that he was a poor guardian; why Jecht had chosen him to look after his son was beyond Auron's scope of logic. In a way, Auron was angry at his friend for bestowing him with such a responsibility that he was ill-suited for and uncomfortable with. He was never really comfortable around young people, especially teenagers and one as screwed up as Tidus. Jecht was not without many of his own faults as a father. Tidus was one to feel sorry for, having gone from one poor parent to the next. Auron knew that Jecht would want him to be a better role model than he was, despite Tidus's arrogance and rash behavior. But what was Auron to do? There was nothing he could do, nothing he knew how to do. However . . .

. . . he would start small. Auron shoved the papers aside, picked up the phone, and dialed again.

The first few chapters of this story are more about character introduction than anything else. This story will be a thriller, but only after most of the main characters have been established. This process will take up chapter two as well as most of chapter three. Then, you will begin to see some elements of the main plot coming in. So, I will admit, the story starts off a little slow. However, if you like what you read, I urge and beg you, please read on! I assure you it's worth it.

Anyway, I hope the beginning was okay. Hopefully it piqued your interest.

REMEMBER: Be sure to check my bio for regular updates. I'm pretty vigilant in keeping information posted at reasonable intervals there, so if anything is in question regarding my stuff, check there. You'll likely find the answer. And as always, you can Private Message me for anything else, even if it's just to chat.

Reviews and/or constructive criticism are much appreciated. Tell me what you think. I am always open to possible suggestions and your opinions.

SirGecko