A Sorrow of Magpies
Spoilers. Disclaimer: Based purely off KH1, CoM, and KH2. At this time, the manga and bonus material where the Organization may get more development have not been made available locally.

The first and last thing that Even remembered was darkness.

The labs spat smoke as he pushed through the doors, swallowing him whole in a gout of black fog. For an instant, he could not breathe. Heat rose up to slap across his face in a wave. It withered his lungs; he gasped like a fish, open-mouthed, and just as disoriented as if he'd been plucked from a cold river. The rooms pulsed with color. They were luminous, they were pitch-black, they were both at once - Even could not find his bearings as light pitched a feverish battle against darkness, changing noon to midnight in the tight confines of the labs.

Another body stumbled against him and he reacted on instinct, flinching away before he could see its face. Then it groped for him again, and he recognized Ienzo underneath a mask of soot that had been streaked from ear to ear.

"He's back," the younger man was coughing, clinging to his arm for a split-second before being ripped away. Further in, Even could hear the sounds of Braig howling for more ammunition, that he couldn't see clearly, that his guns were jamming. Elaeus was bellowing for them to run, his giant's voice gone hoarse from flame.

Between waves of smoke, Even could see the walls burning.

When Even turned back, fumbling blindly for the door, his hands plunged into warm, black tar. He tore free with a curse; the gooey material stuck to his fingers, dripping off his wrists like long strings of taffy. Flecks of light began to glimmer in the muck, two by two, until heads began to bulge out of the darkness, birthing themselves from fat blisters that swelled in the syrup clinging to Even's palms.

In his panic, he spat the first words he could find. Ice spells burst snow across the air. Crystal shields sparkled like razor-glass. The summoned cold melted almost instantly under the withering heat, but not before shattering the tar off his hands and freeing him of the shadows.

He did not waste any time trying again. That exit was blocked to them now; there were no windows this deep underground, no emergency portals that could lead him outside. At best, he could only hope to flee further into the labs, into the machinery of the great computer, and hide there until the danger passed.

Electricity licked across the room, a blue wave that danced over racks of lab supplies but left them untouched - whose spell, Even did not know. His hip crashed into a samples cart. Claws fastened on his jacket; he staggered beneath the additional weight, lashing out with a palm until the coat ripped and let him stumble free.

The thick canvas that had protected him from numerous chemical spills and late-night dinners was scant armor against the beings which were rampaging through the labs. None of the mechanical safeguards were responding either. Backup routines had been installed into the computers of the Bastion, just in case the experiments went wild, but Even saw no evidence of any defense procedures being activated.

Ienzo had completely vanished. Deeper in the room rang the crash of Dilan's lances, the smell of crisp ozone fluttering through the smoke like a breath of lightning. Elaeus's bulk was briefly visible through an equipment rack, his fists battering against a monstrously large hound whose mouth was a zig-zag line of teeth. Instead of eyes, hollow pits of gold were sunk above its muzzle.

A Heartless, Even thought wildly, but none of Elaeus's commands seemed to be working, and then the two figures were swallowed by another wave of fire.

Three of Dilan's lances were impaled in a table as he stumbled past, looking helplessly for the doors to the computer rooms. One had been struck so hard that it had split down the middle, its metal cross guards snapped clean off. Over the shouts came a symphony of rapid snicks, a click click click that Even recognized with a hiccup of dread: Braig's guns were empty.

One of them began to scream.

Then hands were pulling him down, burying his strength beneath their own. Dozens of hot, hungry mouths fastened onto his skin. He tried to struggle free, but the shadows had transformed into unimaginably strong leeches, flexing and wriggling against his torso. They dragged him to one knee; he caught himself on his hands, bowed in an arch of flesh that did not dare to break.

For one brilliant second, it seemed as if he would be able to fight clear. Then one of his elbows wavered; weakness collapsed him like a house of cards, pitching him against the tiles of the floor. One shoulder smashed into the ground. Even had barely enough time to realize that he would not be able to keep from cracking his skull open before he was caught in a pillow of black ooze, one that cradled his weight like a child before enveloping his body whole.

Darkness crawled into his mouth. He couldn't move. He couldn't breathe.

Even closed his eyes.

It was the ache that woke him. Slow blossoms of pain were breeding in his joints, crawling up his arms, down his legs. Unconsciousness slid grudgingly away from his limbs, like the ocean spitting out a lost sailor. A heavy weight had been laid across his chest. When he took a breath, it came back flush with cinnamon.

Only one person reeked like that. Only one person believed the nattering herb-women from the countryside with their folk-tales of how certain spices helped with digestion; one person who was obsessed over how people smelled.

Even blinked, and discovered he was blind.

Then a red star glimmered, far in the distance. Turning his neck, Even felt dozens of silken threads tickle his face. The ground was cold. His lab coat did not insulate him against the cobbles. The only warmth came from the man lying on top of him - a mixed blessing, since it also prevented Even from being able to move.

What he could see of Ienzo's features consisted of one cheek and a thin mouth, perfectly composed as a doll. The black veil across his vision turned out to be the other researcher's hair, scattered like a grey dandelion puff in silhouette. Judging from the slight rise and fall of Ienzo's chest, the younger man was still alive.

"Ienzo." The name brought no reaction. "You're heavy."

"I'm allowed to be heavy," the other researcher mumbled back in monotone, not bothering to open his eyes. "I'm dead."

Even pushed at him with a hand, feeling the slow grumble in his bones. "Then we are dead together, and you're still crushing the air out of me." Another shove. The flaccid muscles of the smaller man refused to move. "Get off. I can't see."

Ienzo groaned against his neck.

Feeling exhaustion threaten to drag him back into sleep, Even tried to squint past the other man's ear. There was no moon in the sky. What he had mistaken as a star was only a crimson glow, swaying like a drunken crescent before it vanished and was replaced by green. Even's brain watched dully as the colors cycled through yellow to red to green three times before he registered what he was looking at.

A stoplight.

He gave another push. This time, Ienzo relented, sliding off with an unhappy moan. Even ignored it as he forced his body to sit up; blood rushed out of his face at the motion, leaving his ears humming. There was a strange pain in his chest, like the hidden bruise of an old wound, but he could see no scars on his body. No clawmarks - not even lines scored on the skin where open cuts should have been, or faint scabs from healing.

"How long were we unconscious?" he wondered aloud.

The man beside him shrugged, levering himself upright and nearly falling over again in the process. "I don't know." The voice was tired. "I remember the labs. Something exploded near the synthesizer - that's what it sounded like, but when I went down there to look, I thought I saw Xehanort. Only twisted."

"What do you mean?"

"His expression was crazed." Ienzo frowned. Looking at him, Even couldn't shake the impression that there was something wrong about the set of the other man's shoulders, his bones, as if the fires had seared the flesh away and left only brittle casings behind. But it was Ienzo's sourness, Ienzo's grumbling, and Even let his mind fasten onto that familiarity. "His skin looked like he'd been through a furnace."

Memory of heat washed over Even's mind, and he suppressed the urge to shiver. "We all were being baked alive. What happened to your hair?"

Ienzo straightened, lifting fingers to his temples. The braids had been an old-standing pride; his hair had grown even longer than Even's, and Ienzo had been forced to tie it back to keep it out of the way during work. Several small plaits used to ring his face, leading to a single long tail in back. Now only ragged strands remained. Severed without order, they hung over his face in a fan of disheveled bangs, and made his features look even younger than usual.

"It must have burned off. After that fight, I'm lucky that's all that I lost." As the other man spoke, he grimaced, pressing a hand to his chest. The fabric of his lab coat had been shredded until it was barely fit to be called a rag. He sat quietly and let Even part the ruined material; blood crusted the white cotton of the shirt underneath, flaking away in chips of brown ash as Even touched it, but the flesh of Ienzo's stomach was smooth and unbroken.

"Your wound," the older researcher murmured. Streetlights flashed. "Is it already healed?"

"I have a better question - what happened to you?"

Even froze as Ienzo's hand touched his jaw. He turned his chin obediently towards the intersection lights, slitting his eyes against the flare of neon colors. A walk sign blinked on and off in a corner of his vision. "Is something the matter?" he forced himself to ask, perfectly still under the scrutiny of the Ienzo-who-wasn't.

The younger man's brow furrowed. "Your chin looks strange. Like you've lost half your weight in the wrong places. And the shade of your hair - it's funny in this light. I need to see you clearly under the sun."

Even cast a helpless look at the pitch-dark sky above them. "There's small chance of that. Let's get our bearings first."

The statement was easy enough, but as Even got to his feet, he realized just how lost they were. Not a single vehicle had passed through the intersection since their waking. No motors reverberated down the streets; these roads were empty of all evidence of traffic. The longer they sat in the middle of the road, the longer they waited for disaster - but every sign that Even could see was blank, lacking any names or directions to identify what was where.

The buildings seemed normal enough, homes and storefronts mixed together in unified rows, but the district looked like no part of Radiant Garden that Even had ever visited before. Even in its quieter towns, the Garden favored open windows and lanterns to show the way. This city was shuttered and dark. If there were people inside the buildings, not a single one had lit a candle to see by.

When Even touched one of the lampposts, curious, his fingers came back clean. No dust. No grime from motor exhaust, or simple daily living.

"You said you saw Xehanort." When Ienzo nodded confirmation, Even continued. "The attack must have been his device. Do you think this is revenge for what we did?"

"And what's that, precisely?"

A multitude of betrayals ran through Even's head, but he settled on the most obvious: "We convinced him he was Ansem."

Ienzo brushed that off with a disdainful snort. "He would have believed anything by the end. Looking for his memories so desperately that he was willing to accept whatever the Darkness offered - he would have believed anything." The younger man leaned his weight forward onto a knee, and then got to his feet unsteadily. His first step wobbled. "It wasn't our fault. We only nudged him a little."

"He might not have seen it like that."

"Believe me." Ienzo stopped trying to walk and closed his eyes, swaying faintly. "The nightmare I saw didn't care about blame. All it wanted was to feed."

They found Dilan hiding on a restaurant patio, perched on a metal-wire chair that had been slid back against the locked doors of the building. The stubble on his face had grown into shaggy, dark streaks on either side of his cheeks; strange, for the man who had once taken such pains to keep himself clean-shaven. Empty plates were scattered across the tables around him, forks and spoons lined up neatly for a dinner that would never come.

They would have overlooked him - a motionless, fixed blot of muscle wrapped inside the shadow from the doorway - but as they were about to walk past, he made a small cry.

It was a sound like nothing human: an animal's wordless call, bereft of language, stripped of thought. He fell silent again to stare ahead into some private misery, but Ienzo shook him by the shoulders, saying his name over and over again until Dilan blinked and seemed to recognize himself again.

"Xehanort," he gasped, grabbing Ienzo's wrists like a lifeline. "Xehanort, is he here?"

Ienzo frowned, and did not answer.

Elaeus and Braig had taken refuge together when they were found, collapsed into the mouth of an alleyway as a crude shelter. Elaeus was the more distinctive of the two, his lion's mane of hair singed down to ruddy tufts. He stood guard over the crumpled gunner with his fists loose at his sides, ready for any form of attack.

Even remembered a man bronzed by the sun, who would swing laughing children onto his shoulders so they could better see the clouds. Now Elaeus was a pale specter, solemn as he watched them approach. Braig looked no worse than any of them; there were no open wounds on him either, but he complained of weakness and collapsed when he tried to walk.

While Ienzo was examining Braig, Elaeus beckoned Even over to the alleyway. He gave no explanation as he led the way past plastic garbage bags, heading directly for a cluster of metal cans that had been nestled together at the far end of the cul-de-sac. When the taller man lifted the lid off the nearest trash bin, Even took an instinctive step back, wrinkling his nose against the stench he was sure would come.

But the air remained fresh.

Without pausing, Elaeus shoved his hand directly into the trash itself, heedless of any filth he might come in contact with.

Even took a step closer despite himself. "It's not garbage?"

"Look closer." The redhead sorted through a top layer of paper, sifting it aside as he tilted the bin in Even's direction. "Everything's clean. The pages are blank. There's nothing broken or filthy here. Most people throw out drink cups, old wiring, muddy clothes - food wrappers at the very least. But there's nothing," the man emphasized, prodding the metal can with his toe, "here to rot. There's not even dirt."

No living beings, Even concluded, seeing the same wary realization on Elaeus's face. It looks like trash, but only on the surface. It's just a pretense. It's not real.

They did not share this knowledge with the others, rejoining them just in time for Braig to regain enough balance to stand. Elaeus slung one of the gunner's arms around his neck without complaint; the redhead had supported them all at one point in their lives, whenever they had become sick off cherryspring wine or had overslept for a test. It had been years since they were students, but some habits had not disappeared entirely.

As they walked, it began to rain.

It was a punishing downpour, one which overflowed the gutters into lakes. The researchers were forced to huddle together as they limped through the torrent, shoulder to shoulder against the elements. Awnings were few; doorways that could fit all five of them were even fewer, and they moved from shelter to shelter in hopscotch efforts. The wind was unpredictable, battering them from one direction before twisting suddenly around to snap at their heels.

Dilan took the lead, bracing one arm in front of his face as he served as a living windbreak for the rest of them. After him came Elaeus, tugging Braig along; then Even and Ienzo, both staggering under the fury of the storm.

Grown men lost like city urchins, Even observed sourly, and then had to brace himself when Ienzo lurched into his side with a mumbled apology.

"Not much further," Elaeus kept muttering to Braig, over and over like a litany. Those small encouragements were the group's only conversation until finally Dilan stopped with a bitter laugh.

"Not much further until what?" Ignoring the storm, the lancer looked back at the exhausted cluster of wet jackets and misery. Rain streamed down his face. The winds had snapped his hair into wild curls, pasting loops upon his cheeks; he did not bother to wipe them away. "The labs were destroyed. None of us even recognize where we are right now. For all we know, we're standing in the Bastion's underground right now, endlessly traveling in circles until we die."

"Everything was broken," Braig agreed, his voice more subdued than they had ever heard it before. He stirred, lifting his head from Elaeus's shoulder, one eye squinted shut against the fat raindrops which pelted his cheeks. "The experiment went wrong. Xehanort came for us."

Ienzo had crossed his arms across his chest, palms up against his neck as if doing so could save his body heat from being sacrificed to the rain. "We were trying to turn him into a Heartless," he commented sharply. "I don't think anything could have gone right."

"Calm down." Elaeus's boots made a wet squelch as he shifted Braig's weight, hefting the gunner more firmly by the waist. "We don't need you getting worked up, Ienzo."

"I am calm," the younger man retorted, and then blinked, his mouth going slack into a round 'o' of surprise. A look of puzzlement traced across his face, between the lacing of water. "I... I'm fine. I'm not as upset about this as I seem. I'm sorry. It's cold."

Ienzo had always been the most easily excitable of them all; Even chalked the lack of energy up to exhaustion. Elaeus gave the smaller researcher a long, scrutinizing stare before apparently concluding the same. "Are we all sure it was Xehanort? There's no chance it was a simulation?"

"I had just finished practice with the knights in the main yard," Dilan interjected, slipping his hands into the tattered sleeves of his coat. The gesture did little to stop the man's shivering. "I wanted to visit the computers and see if there had been any quantity changes in the local concentration of Darkness. On the way, I met up with Braig. We were just walking through the reserve labs when he appeared."

"Xehanort was there," Braig confirmed. "He came out of the wall, and the Shadows followed."

Above them, the streetlights clicked from green to yellow.

"It could be," the gunner continued, wrinkling his nose against what looked to be a sneeze, "that we're dead, and trapped in some dream of Xehanort's. That would explain all this strangeness."

It was Even who broke the gloom, leaning against the slick stone of the nearest building for support. "Then I would question why his dream included Dilan. Keep moving. No amount of punishment is worth watching him mildew."

The jibe was tired, but familiar. It served its purpose, eliciting a scowl from the lancer's direction. Braig made a choked bark in lieu of a laugh, but it was enough, and they all began to walk again.

Having only blank street signs around them, they picked the widest roads to follow. Their guides were store canopies that served as temporary shelters. No matter where they searched, the rain harried them, driving them out of every alleyway and arch.

Even's toes started to numb. His nose was a forgotten dot of ice; his feet moved on mechanical orders. He had lost track of how long they had been marching. He felt like he was made of water, that he breathed rain - they were swimming forever, lost in eternity until they drowned on solid land. Beside him, Ienzo stumbled, and then coughed.

It was the umbrella that they saw first.

A single yellow dot in the middle of an empty town square, it stood out like a jaunty spot of sunlight. Dilan changed direction towards it as unerringly as a magnet; the rest of them trailed behind, lifting their heads in dull curiosity.

The person holding the umbrella was facing away. They, too, were robed in white, a pale length of cloth that had been streaked by puddles. None of the researchers had the energy to call out a greeting; none of them even tried. When Dilan stopped at the rim of the square, the rest of them also came to a slow, wordless halt, and waited.

Then the man turned around and saw their faces.

The umbrella tipped gently, sliding like the hand of a clock until its point rested on the ground. Rain flattened the figure's hair down into a skullcap of grey.

And the ghost of Xehanort stared at them before offering five soft words:

"I thought I was alone."