This story belongs to me and my creative mind. However, many of the characters, names, and places all belong to their respective companies, so don't yell at me for copyright infringements! Remember, italics represent a person's thoughts or the telling of past events.

Enjoy...

: The Past Concluded :

Segment One: The Hunters

February 8th, the 99th day post-Meteor,

The past week has been weighing heavy on my mind. The resurrection of Midgar has gone smoothly with the last of the sector four plate cleared and slated for recycling, but the work has gone slower than the previous two sectors. It may be that since this was a dense residental sector that the people are taking the time to recover the dead and find their living relatives. I don't remember the last count on bodies found on the plates, only that each one could have been saved if I had been stronger. If only I had warned them sooner.

No. I can't let myself be burdened by the past. I did what I could, and now I have to look ahead so that this tragedy can never be repeated.

The industry leaders are clamoring for additional manpower to be spared for their private works, adding to an already strained workload for the population. A final census hasn't even been made yet, but I know that only a few ten-thousand of us remain in Midgar. Outside help has been limited, most coming from Kalm and Junon Harbor in shelter and monies for temporary homes and medicine. Junon was kind to send their entire engineering corps to help us out, bearing most of the hard work with their heavy equipment. Wutai hasn't made a descision, not that I expected their help. I haven't recieved word from Dio about my proposal to include a tax on tickets to the Gold Saucer to help the recovery efforts. I doubt that he will agree to it.

But, money is one of my lesser concerns. Crime tops them all.

With the loss of the Shin-Ra corporation as a functioning entity, the financial stability in the streets is out of control. Price gouging is happening everywhere, and we don't have the manpower to correct it. People have been volunteering to clear the streets and to repair existing homes for shelter, but some are starting a labor union and demanding salary and health coverage for every man who picks up a shovel. Worst of it is finding those willing and honest enough to be deputized and work for the police division and help control this dilemma. People are literally fighting one another over ownership of materials, and some say that certain blocks are too dangerous for anyone to be in because of street gangs. Monster sightings get more frequent with every week that passes. This lack of coordinated security is making it hazardous to live in this city.

Now something terrible is hiding in those dark corners of Midgar. One of the lieutenants acting chief of police has told me that he suspects a serial murderer is on the loose, evidence a part of his proof. Nine bodies in two weeks were found in sector three. The pattern is what scares me. Each body is found propped against a wall out in the open with no clothing on. There is no discrimination between men and women, age or physical appearance. The two constants in these murders are that the bones in the victims hands and feet are violently broken, and that their bodies have extremely localized third degree burns. One officer, an ex Shin-Ra security guard, testifies that only materia could cause that kind of damage to human flesh. He also said that it matches rumors he heard about the Soldier program, how to effectively torture an enemy combatant to get information without risking death or lethal shock. Clearly this was the practice taken too far.

If those statements hold true, then it may be possible that an ex-Soldier has gone insane and began hunting his own people as if it were wartime.

This, I suppose, is the only thing that would make me unearth the Shin-Ra Registry to contact some loose aquaintences.

May the Planet have mercy on these people for a while longer.

- Reeve

---A Deeper Green, Sector Four

The inside of the bar was threadbare and sterile, lacking in any sort of personality that bars usually kept as a matter of pride. The liquor racks behind the counter were woefully empty, only stocked with cheaper drinks and local brews from nearby towns and cities. A dozen tables with mismatched chairs were scattered in a lower section of the establishment, candles and bare lightbulbs illuminating the surfaces. At the corner on a raised platform were the grooves and marks of where a piano used to be, where it was a mystery to all. Nails were naked on the walls, no longer holding pictures or memorabilia or shelves. A solitary clock above the door clicked to six in the evening, a mechanical chime alerting to the change in the hour. The door to the kitchen was missing, a bedsheet lazily nailed in the jamb acting as a barrier to whatever was in there. The smells coming from it weren't appealing, but none of the occupants were ordering food. Stale pretzels and peanuts sat in unused ashtrays, flimsy coasters supported worn glass mugs filled with beer, and shot glasses lined the bar proper with people scrying fortunes from their contents. No one was concerned with anything but getting away from reality as often as money allowed.

"Hey."

The barkeep, busy with something below, stood at the voice. He cocked an eye at the stark red hair of his customer. "What?"

"What's with this place? It looks like a mess."

The keep huffed, putting his hands on the counter. "Look, bud, this place's only been officially here for six days. Gimme a break."

"Well, that's what I mean! Why open if you aren't prepared?" The redhead motioned around himself. "The place works, yeah, but it has no style! No culture! It isn't even very green."

The keep leaned forward an inch, eyes dark. The wrinkles and sun darkened skin made such a glance even more threatening. "I'm workin' on it. Keep runnin' your mouth off and you can find somewhere else to go."

"I'll just keep running my tab, then. Another shot of whatever I had last."

"You got money?"

The redhead reached into his blue coat and pulled out a thick fold of gil, wiggling it to the owner. "Plenty."

The keep nodded and poured another three fingers of watery vodka, sliding it over to the customer. The redhead took the small glass and inspected it quietly, trying to see through the blur; he wondered if he could see the future on the other side. He tossed it back and stood the glass down next to his others, feeling the warmth linger down his throat and to his belly. The future, he mused, wasn't worth investing in anymore. Ever since Midgar was ruined and Shin-Ra became broken apart, nothing seemed worth his time except to drink and enjoy what was left of his money. What could a professional murderer hope to accomplish without the legal authority behind his every move? What was life without friends or family?

Shin-Ra. He had tried to find out what happened to the giant corporation after the Meteor disappeared from the sky, but it was no use. The evacuation orders cleared the building out, and for some reason, no one ever returned to the shattered remains of the tower. Power was out, even the emergency reserves, so it would be mad to hike up the fifty floors to reach the executive offices. He did it anyway. Nothing was functional, nothing was moving in the deathly quiet cubicles and hallways, only the howling wind accompanied his jaunt to the farthest stairwell that wasn't blocked by rubble. The stairwell to the fifty fourth floor was too choked with debris to clear, so he went back down the stairs and left for the sectors. Ever since then he had wandered from bar to bar, drinking his retirement away while looking wearily at the forbidding tower with a morose expression. He sighed, tired. When the money ran out, if the company wasn't alive and needing him, or none of his co-workers ever found him, then it might be a sign to move on.

A figure took the stool next to his, leaning on the counter with their elbows. The barkeep looked to the newcomer, and the figure simply tapped the coaster and said. "House tap."

Those two word sent a jolt down the redhead's spine, memories blown back to the surface. He looked at the person with hope pounding in his heart, defeatist logic souring his mind. Surely enough, a familiar face and blonde bobbed haircut smiled back at him.

"Long time, Reno," she said, voice betraying emotional turmoil.

"Elena!" Reno stood and wrapped his arms around her in an awkward embrace, her arms circling him in return. He patted her back and chuckled, sitting down. "Where the hell have you been? Wait, is-"

"I'm here," a third voice spoke up from behind him.

Reno looked back and saw an imposing figure standing with his arms loosely crossed. Sunglasses hid the man's eyes, but a smirk on his face told all the redhead he needed to know. He grinned and stood once more, giving the taller man a brief clap on the back. "Rude! Good to see you, man!"

"We thought you might be taking in the new colors," Elena spoke, taking a sip of her beer. "Where have you been?"

Reno looked back to his collegue and couldn't help but smile at her. "Been dreaming about your pretty pace, 'Lena."

She scowled, but broke into a fit of laughter a moment later. She seemed determined to be angry at him, but it wasn't working. "You bastard. We've been looking all over Midgar for you, and you've just been drinking! Why didn't you call us, or go to headquarters?"

He sat back down in his stool and shrugged. "I went back to the tower, but no one's been there."

Elena looked surprised. "You don't know?"

"Know what?"

"About the new headquarters! Mayor Domino has been taking select people from Shin-Ra and giving them new jobs as city workers."

Reno was partly surprised. He knew that Domino had been using his title of Mayor to bring control back to the city, but he wasn't exactly forgiving of how the Turks kept his loyalty by threats or worse. Frankly, he figured Domino wouldn't even grant Shin-Ra employees a second chance, not after they screwed him out of his power for so many years. Now that he thought about it, what would Elena and Rude be doing with them at all? Elena wasn't in uniform, and Rude was always dressed in slacks and button down shirt. She looked at Reno from the corner of her eye, hands around the mug.

"Hasn't he called you?" Elena asked.

"Don't have my phone."

"W-What? Why not!?"

Reno shrugged. "Lost it. Besides, they don't work."

"PHS service was established in all sectors four days ago," Rude said, still standing alongside the two. "That is how Reeve contacted us."

"Reeve?"

Elena nodded. "He's been trying to get order in the streets. You've seen how things are, haven't you? It's almost like a war."

Reno rolled his eyes. "People will be people."

"Don't be an ass," she growled. "We've been helping to rebuild the city ever since day one, and you've just...wasted it like this! Don't you see that everything's changed? We can't just sit and wait for assignments, Reno. We can't...live like we did back then. People need our help!"

"Don't get preachy with me," he snorted, avoiding her eyes.

The silence stretched uncomfortably, and Elena sighed in frustration. "Look, since you aren't aware, we have a job to do."

"A job to do? Says who?"

"Reeve. He want's-"

"He ain't our boss, 'Lena."

"So what if he isn't!" She snapped. "Why are you being like this? You can't hang out in bars forever. We aren't going to get a call to kill someone and wander into headquarters to collect a paycheck every two weeks for being intimidating. No one is going to hire you for a bodyguard. We need to get ourselves settled and start helping rebuild Midgar!"

"Don't lecture me, Elena! I don't have to do anything I don't want, an' that includes rebuilding this hole in the ground. Hell, we aren't even employed. If it's so bad out there, let 'em fend for themselves for once."

"But it's important!" She continued.

"So's a lotta other things."

Elena slumped in defeat. She looked at him with pleading eyes. "...What's wrong with you?"

"Nothing."

"Will you at least her me out?" She waited for him to speak, and took his silence to mean okay. "Well, Reeve said that there's a murderer somewhere in sector three who has been torturing people. He's been trying to bring the sector police back to strength to help with the crime, but they aren't any use. He said that the person might be ex-Soldier with a fire materia in his possession. None of the officers have a lead, and few of them want to even get near the guy. Reeve asked us if we could lend a hand in the investigation and the arrest when it's made."

"And you agreed," Reno added.

"Yes."

"You too, Rude?"

The man nodded.

"Reeve said that we would get paid," Elena went on. "He even found a place for us to stay at."

"Us?" Reno's lips curled to a racy grin. "You and Rude together, us?"

"It's not like that!" She blurted, face blushed red. "Honestly, Reno..."

The redhead laughed at her flustered expression. For the moment, he forgot about how the world had changed and felt like it was just another night out after work, throwing back shots and playing cards and pool. Elena was snickering at her own reaction, and even Rude had cracked a grin over his stoic expression. After so many weeks of wandering the sectors, he finally found the future that eluded his grasp. Reno leaned over to the occupant to his right and gave him a not too gentle pat on the shoulder. "Yo buddy, move it. My friend needs a seat."

The man looked at Reno and sneered with false bravado. "Why should I?"

"'Cause I'm a goddamn Turk, that's why!"

The man's eyes grew wide, ingrained fear of that name lurking to the conscious mind even though the title meant nothing in the new world. He stood, finished his beer hastily, and clumsily wandered down several stools. Rude sat in his place and Reno ordered two thick brews for themselves. Once the keep served them, Reno took up his mug and lifted it to eye level.

"A toast!" He said quickly. "To us, and everything else worthwhile in life."

"To us," Elena and Rude echoed.

They tapped their glasses against one another and drank them empty. The barkeep took the empty tankards and put them into the sink, then carefully leaned on his bar to place himself near the three.

"So you're...them?" The barkeep tried to keep up a front, but his voice quavered with fear. "The Turks?"

"We are! Were..." Reno replied cheerily. "Mister, what is your name?"

"Dregg," The man answered.

"Well, mister Dregg, you just earned yourself three regulars from now on."

The owner looked mildly surprised, but narrowed his eyes regardless. "I thought you didn't like the place."

"Oh, it needs work, don't think that it doesn't! Only now it's proven to have good luck for me. You two like it?" He looked at Elena and Rude, and they both nodded their approval. Reno smiled with sincere pleasure, taking out his wad of gil and peeling away several bills. He slid them over to Dregg. "It's settled. A bottle of something stronger this time."

"Reno, we have-"

Reno raised his hand to halt her coming speech. "Elena, forget about the job. Right now, all I want to do is enjoy a drink with two people I've sorely missed."

Elena looked to spout several responses to his laid back attitude, but none of them made it to her lips. Dregg brought out three clean shotglasses and a bottle of imported liquor from beneath, setting them on the counter. Reno fidgeted with the bottle, failing to pry the cap off. He swore at it, and Rude took it and carefully unscrewed the cap and began pouring out the first round. The redhead didn't care that this would probably make him sick; this was tradition. For all the weeks he had wandered, sleeping in the streets and railcars and ruined homes, he only wanted to find somewhere to be at peace. Now that his friends were here, putting away the crushing pain of their likely deaths, and they had somewhere for him to live, everything he felt was missing just fell into place. He honestly believed for a moment that he could step outside and the world would be back the way it was.

"Reno...?" Elena leaned close to him, interrupting his thoughts. "Are you crying?"

"Tears of joy, 'Lena," He wiped his cheek nonchalantly, "'cause I'm finally home."

---City Government Office (Temporary), Sector Two

"Reeve, this wasn't my idea."

"I know, Mayor, but they are good at what they do."

"Can't you handle it some other way?"

"I would if I could."

"What about those people...you know, the ones you spied on?"

"I don't want to involve them."

"But this is a serial murderer, Reeve! It invovles anyone who this madman might target next."

"They have dealt with enough as it stands, Mister Domino!" Reeve placed his hand on his forehead, trying to concentrate on keeping awake. The past twenty four hours had seen a complete overhaul of the police directives, new laws enacted and to be enforced, and numberless debates with citizens seeking to add their two cents in as to how the new government should be run. Sleepless nights had become commonplace for him, trying to put all his effort into restoring order to the ravaged metropolis. He was nearly at wits end after this all-nighter, and now the mayor had to bring up this. It was too early in the morning to dig up those memories. "Look, the members of Avalance are dealing with their own problems. Captain Cid took many of them back to the Corel Continent and to their homes. Only Barret and Tifa are still here, helping to build homes in sector four."

"What of that ex-Soldier person?"

This was the most troubling of all personal matters he felt in regards to the separation of Avalance after Meteor had been stopped. Cloud, their proclaimed leader, just disappeared two weeks after the incident. There was no note, no indication that he would ever return from wherever he went. Reeve felt so troubled that he personally visited with Tifa to console her when the waiting became too much. Despite being a member by proxy, he felt the dynamics of their relationship as strongly as if he were there in the flesh. In part, his antics playing matchmaker at times through Cait Sith made him feel partly responsible for this tragedy.

"He's missing," Reeve finally responded.

Domino frowned, leaning back in his executive chair. "...Then that's it, is it? They're the best you can give me."

"Yes."

"I never trusted those Turks. They waited on Shinra beck and call, killed anyone he didn't like. They murdered people for only speaking the truth."

"They only did as they were ordered."

"But they still did the deed!" Domino twisted his face in a snarl. "Don't try and excuse them from their sins, mister Reeve! Those people are monsters, savages with no respect to the basic laws of humanity! I don't hold them any higher than I do this lunatic in my city!"

"...Yes, sir."

Domino reached out to a slip of paper on his desk and held it out to Reeve. Reeve accepted it and saw it was three series of numbers, one obviously for a PHS number, another a street address, and the other broken by hyphens. It took a moment, but he recognized it to be a specific location in Midgar according to the master blueprints of the city. If he recalled properly, then this would be several blocks to the north of them at the border of sectors two and one on the plates. He wondered about that, then figured it was merely for referencing the area.

"This is?" Reeve asked.

"You can see what it is," Domino snapped. "I wasn't expecting much from you, Reeve, so I made contacts of my own. This is where a former member of the Soldier program is living. That is her PHS number. Get in contact with her and bring her to meet with the Sector police so she can help stop this!"

"What about-"

"If it's those Turks you're worried about, forget it! I won't give them another place in this city just because of who they once worked for. Let them find real jobs if they remember how."

"So you'll allow a member of Soldier to help, but not a Turk?"

The mayor frowned at Reeve's attempt at logic. "A Soldier isn't a mindless killer, they have restraint and training. Those Turks have killed for any infraction they wanted, and they'll do it as often as they like."

"But they have the skills we need to-"

"I said no!!" Domino screamed, standing in a huff. His face was taught and red with anger clear in his eyes. "That is all, Reeve. Don't think that you'll keep working for me if you defy my ruling. You're just as much to blame for their crimes."

Reeve stood slowly, restaining himself from snapping back at the mayor. He worked for the President, yes, but that didn't make him as evil. He shared the blame for their rise to power and the social divide between upper and lower class citizens, but it was minute compared to others. It had already been three months and Domino was still raging against the shattered corporation. Worst yet was his own intoxication with the thought that Midgar might again flourish under his leadership. Revenge against president Shinra made him bitter and tough, not the sort of image a leader needed in these times. He slipped the paper into his shirt pocket and picked up his jacket. "Very well, Mayor. I'll get to it."

"Good." Domino sat again, looking strained and depleted. "Good..."

Reeve wondered how long it would be until the man admitted he was too old to keep working at this pace. It was taking a toll on his already poor health, and it would only get tougher as the months wore on. He hoped that the man would be able to adapt his vengeful energies to the strain of leadership once more.

"Good afternoon, Mayor," Reeve said while parting the office.

Outside the room, Reeve let his shoulders sag and felt the strain of the meeting further add to his headache. If there was only some way to get around Domino's authority to get necessary work done! The elderly man was insistent that he be involved in every little project that sprung up in the reviving sectors, doing his utmost to set schedules and demand outrageous feats of workmanship to people barely competent to use a hammer. He wanted statues, parks, wide and open public auditoriums for displaying art and history. Worst yet was his plans for a new city hall that would take even a company of veteran constructers years to complete. He held onto his power so tightly that simple things took much longer than needed, always inspected by his critical eye.

He took a deep breath and sighed, knowing that Domino would have to be tolerated for the meanwhile. He was stubborn and foolish, but no one else had the experience nor willingness to step up and take his place.

Reeve began walking to the stairs leading to the streets, slipping into his jacket and taking up his phone. He pressed in the numbers for the woman he was to enlist for the job, hoping the call would go through. He paused just by the door, wanting to keep the background noise of the city out of the conversation. He connected the call and waited as the other line began to ring. It quickly dawned on him that he didn't know the name of the person he just called. He was about to cut it when the other end picked up, a sigh preceeding any words.

"Atma," she said as an introduction.

Reeve thanked his lucky stars for that. "Miss Atma?"

Another sigh told of annoyance. "So I said."

"My name is Alexander Reeve, and-"

"So your the guy I'm expecting."

"Did-"

"Yes, the mayor said that you'd be calling. Said you were going to fill me in about the killer in sector three."

"Yes."

"What's the mission? Is it just a kill, or does he need to be alive for trial?"

"I thought we might talk about this in person, Miss-"

"Just call me Atma, Alex. I'm not what people would call a miss."

"Right...Atma. The mayor gave me an address, so can I meet you there?"

"Yes."

"Okay. I'll be there in...twenty minutes?"

"Sure."

"Then I'll-" Reeve stopped, hearing the line cut when she hung up. He stood there a moment, flustered that she cut him off every time he tried to speak. Was she that dominant a personality, or was it just being rude? He closed his phone and put it back into his jacket, then stepped outside and into the morning sunlight. He shielded his eyes as he scanned the horizon, always humbled that the sun once again shone on this tortured soil. Three months and you could tell that the sky was blue, that clouds could be a color aside from brown and black, that life on the ground was worth living. Even if Midgar was abandoned tomorrow, the work they accomplished was more than he could hope for.

-----

The walk to meet with Atma was eventful. People were working in droves to repair the damage done to their homes, and new ones were springing up like wildflowers. Dirts roads were being paved and lined for construction and personal vehicle traffic, and existing roads were being patched into shape for continued operation. With plentiful raw material from the plates, older housing was being cut down and newer, modern homes were built in their place. Pipes were being lain everywhere to carry drinking water, sewage, electrical wiring from the last functional reactor, and drains for the eventual rainstorms in the spring and winter seasons. An entire infrastructure was going up before his eyes, a system he took for granted on the plates and their prefabricated neighborhoods. He stopped at some apartments and took lists of needs from the managing engineers, taking the time to listen to their stories. Things were moving slow, but getting better, and the future looked brighter than the sun.

By the time Reeve came to the street where Atma was, it had been thirty minutes since the phone call. After asking around, he found her address and saw that it was one of the new apartment buildings that were sprouting up to meet the shelter demands. They were small, often one room homes with shared toilets that were only built well enough to weather a few years occupation. Better homes would be made in time, but this was still a godsend to those who lost everything to the Meteor. He stepped into the building and went up a flight of stairs, smelling freshly cut wood and the scent of plastic and paint. The hallway was plain and without decor, doors lined in neat rows with numbers block painted above the jamb. He went to the appropriate door and knocked three times.

"Enter," her voice demanded, loud despite the barrier.

He took the knob and opened the door and was surprised by Atma once again. Directly across was an open window, and only a single lightbulb was lit in the middle of the ceiling. A futon was beneath the window, sheets and pillows and clothes piled onto it. There were several shelving units with specific holes in the frame along the walls, each supporting a standard Shin-Ra semi-automatic rifle. Pistols were hanging by pegs in the ends of the shelves, and a stand alone coat rack had several vests and jackets, bulletproof to Reeve's imagination.

In the middle of this was Atma herself, legs spread to shoulder width and arms lifting bulky iron weights. She looked at him and, despite knowing she was once of Soldier, instilled fear in his gut with her glowing purple eyes. Reeve took her in as a whole, seeing toned limbs and a tanned body dressed in track shorts, sports bra, and sleeveless tee. Her short platinum hair was tied back behind her head, but a single lock stood purposefully across her forehead. She didn't even break stride in her exercise when Reeve entered.

"You're late," she commented, eyes staring right at his own.

"I'm sorry."

"Close the door."

Reeve did as she said, feeling nervous about the weaponry around him. He glanced around and saw that these gun shelves were packed tightly together, probably home to nearly fifty rifles and as many pistols. Atma didn't stop lifting her weights while he stared at the armaments. Together it would be enough to rival the sector police's own stock.

"Where did you get these?" He asked in awe.

"Took them from the tower. After it was over, the door to the security armory was wide open; had to make sure no one got ahold of them and cause trouble." She gently set the weights on the floor, then took a rag from her pocket and wiped her face down. "They're locked."

"Hn?"

"Trigger locks, so you can't fire them."

"Right, that's...very good of you."

"So what can't we discuss over the phone?" She asked, standing at ease.

Reeve was a little frayed at her to the point attitude, plus his own sluggish thoughts from so little sleep. He took a quick breather and tried to compose himself. To start, he stepped forward and offered his hand. "It's a pleasure to meet you. I'm Alexander Reeve, but you can just call me Reeve."

She accepted the gesture and shook his hand with a tight grip. "Delita Atma, Soldier second class, one hundred and tenth division. Atma will do."

"I hate to sound upfront, but do you want to get some coffee before we go? I'm nearly asleep on my feet."

The humor clearly went over Atma's attention, but she nodded. "Okay. Turn around."

"Huh?"

"We may be working together, but that doesn't include a peep show."

"R-Right!" Reeve blushed lightly, but turned so she didn't see his reaction. He stood casually, but his ears burned with the sound of cloth shifting on cloth and on skin. His mind made up for a lack of visuals with lewd ideas, and he strained to get his head out of the gutter. He looked directly ahead at the door to the hall; it, too, was also used for weapon storage, this time wood dowels holding knifes and several varieties of short swords. He didn't know if this was typical of someone from Soldier, but even for a person adapted to war this seemed a bit much. Was she a collector, or were they all for active use? What kind of a person was she?

"I'm decent," Atma said.

He turned and saw her pulling on a weathered black leather coat over tee shirt and tattered demin pants, the butt of a pistol sitting in a hidden holster. She walked to a nearby shelf and took out another pistol, unlocked it with a key, then slid it into a holster clipped to a belt. She tied the belt around her waist, then walked toward Reeve. Her shoulder brushed his as she stood by the door and selected a buck knife from the rack. She secured it to leather circlets on her belt so that it was snug to her waist. A narrow dagger she strapped to her ankle, poking from her pant leg for easy access.

"Ready?" She asked.

"...Yes." Reeve answered, tempted to ask why she was arming herself so heavily. He resisted that temptation.

Atma opened the door and motioned for him to step into the hall. Once they were in the hall, she locked the door with a simple key. She then took it and hung it around her neck by the small chain looped in the holes of the key.

"Do you know a place that has coffee?" Reeve asked the once Soldier.

"One block down. Don't know if it's good, I hate the stuff."

"Is there something else you'd like? Tea, or something?"

"Water will be fine." She looked at him with those eyes, and Reeve finally noted that she was nearly as tall as he. For a woman this was uncommon, but somehow it fit her perfectly. She frowned suddenly, crossing her arms. "Let's get this out of the way, Reeve. I've been a fighter all my life and plan on staying that way. I'm no prize, and I'm not one to go on a date. I don't like being treated special because of my 'talents' as a Soldier, or because I worked for Shin-Ra. Give me food, drink, respect that I will share mutually when earned, and payment for my work. No more, no less. Anything else would only be a burden to me. You understand?"

He nodded once. "Yes."

Atma suddenly placed a hand on his arm and looked him dead in the eyes. They seemed to glow brighter than before. "Are you certain?"

Reeve was a little curious about her insistance on these needs, on being treated like so. Few people were so spartan in these days that being confronted with it was more than unusual. Was it just a result of being in the Soldier program, or was it something more? The questions about this woman numbered higher than those he had about the serial killer. "I promise to remember, Atma."

At this she seemed a little relaxed, smiling lightly. "Thank you."

---Sector Police Headquarters, Sector Three

Within the network of desks and cabinets that made up the main floor of the department headquarters, a special area was visible to the naked eye as being different from the others. It was large, had boundaries that could be defined by paths and the arrangements of tables. This area had a large glass writing board at one end, a table in the middle, and chairs scattered along the edges with a coffemaker taking center stage. The writing board was covered in scribbles, the table buried in papers. Clearly seen were the faces of eleven people, all of them from post-mortem inspection. Words and arrows were drawn around these faces like an intricate sigil, one that only a select few could decipher.

When the appointed department chief walked into this place with Reeve and Atma, the office grew a little quieter. The chatter and voices came to an eerie standstill when the man took a single white paper in his hand and taped it to the writing board. A face looked back at them all, eyes closed and face stiff in uneasy peace. It was evident to them all that the murderer had struck again, a twelvth soul stolen from their hands. It took nearly a minute for the din of voices to regain their previous strength, so shaken by this force that haunted their turf. The officer stared back at the victim, arms tense at his sides. Reeve, with Atma behind him, waited.

"No more," the officer swore under his breath. "Not ever again..."

"When was he found?"

The officer looked back to Reeve, frowning in anger. "This morning, four hours ago."

"God," he shook his head.

"God doesn't have anything to do with it, mister Reeve, it's Shin-Ra and those damn freaks they made! I've already had to deal with too many of them as is. They're a plague that'll kill this city if we let them! Who knows how many of 'em are still hiding out there."

Reeve looked at Atma as the chief went on a tirade, and she was surprisingly calm. He expected her to at least be offended by being lumped in with monsters, or even to defend their actions. Instead she stood silently with her hands tucked behind her in military ease, expression showing nothing of her emotions. Her eyes, however, followed his every movement.

"Worst yet is that madman Domino telling me to work with one of them!" The chief spat the words out like a poison, eyeing the woman he targeted.

"That's enough, Varik, she-"

Varik stepped forward and placed himself directly in front of Atma, using his height as best he could to intimidate her. "How many people have you killed, girl?"

Atma returned his gesture with her acute glare. "Thirty two in an official capacity, six unofficially."

"Is that admitting to murder?"

"It's admitting to defending myself against those who thought I would be easy prey."

Reeve stepped in and took Varik's shoulder, trying to get the chief to step back from the argument. He quickly found his own arm caught in Atma's tight grip, his nerves wincing and his fingers uncurling from the chief's shoulder. The Soldier focused her eyes on him again, her expression the same when she made her demands at the apartment.

"Don't," she spoke calmly. "I regret nothing I've done."

"I should throw your ass in a cell," Varik threatened. "Just because Domino said you'd help me doesn't mean I can't arrest you."

She released his hand and resumed looking at the chief. "Show me proof of my crimes."

"You just admitted to them!"

"Admission isn't compensation for a lack of motive, victim, or a weapon."

"Enough!" Reeve barked, nearly stepping between them. "Atma, you can't argue emotions with logic. Varik, she's going to help bring this man in regardless of what you say, so tough it out. Are you really going to argue this when a killer just struck again?"

Varik looked ready to burst, face a shade of tomato red. Reeve knew that he was short tempered and fiercely against Shin-Ra's influence in the force; in the past the sector police was so oppressed by Shin-Ra that it was a miracle that it survived to the modern day. Even with the corporation finished, the stigma was as strong as ever. It would be many years, or even a full generation, until that word no longer made people angry by pavlovian response. The police chief looked upset enough to carry that grudge to his grave and the afterlife.

"Get her out of my sight," he growled.

"She needs-" Reeve hesitated when he saw her move in the corner of his eye. She was already walking back towards the lobby of the building. "Hold on...!"

She lifted up her hand without faltering in her step, cutting his words off. Reeve watched her until she passed through a set of doors to the streets, and then he turned back to the taciturn officer. "You shouldn't treat people that way, Varik."

"Then I've done nothing wrong."

"Quit insulting her! She hasn't done anything worse than you have."

"Don't compare that bitch to me! I'm nothing like her!"

"She killed people under orders and when she had no choice, only because she was a soldier and had that right. If you call her a murderer, then you'd be exactly the same."

"So you're gonna defend one of Shin-Ra's little pet monsters? Have you forgot what they've done to us?"

"I am!" Reeve admitted sharply. "Shin-Ra is dead, Varik. The Soldier program went with it, so she isn't one of them any longer. We can't afford to let the past blind us to potential allies. I used to work directly under President Shinra, and I've already moved on so I can help rebuild this city. She's doing the same. Are you going to stand there and keep believing that everyone affiliated with Shin-Ra is still out to control the world?"

"Shut up! I don't need to be preached to. I'm not going to forget all that Shin-Ra did to us at the drop of a hat. That place bred wicked men, Reeve, and they won't give up just because they lost their power. Give them an inch and we'll be begging for their scraps just like before!"

"That's what I mean! Have you looked outside, man? What is there left for someone to manipulate!? There isn't anything left for them to steal, and there won't be for years! Midgar has to pick itself up before someone can shove it down."

"So you say," Varik sneered.

Reeve sighed, frustrated beyond his limit. Bigots like Varik were what he feared in this delicate time, people who would cling so hard to old prejudices that it dragged anyone near them down. Everyone needed to cooperate to make this city livable once more, and those people hurted the process more than they thought. Disasters could change anyone for the better, and this was the worst in recorded history. A world without Shin-Ra was a daunting prospect on it's own, but this was in a league appropriate for old religious texts. Wiped clean, would the people choose to better themselves or stagnate back to the same evils and problems they faced before? Varik and his ilk would surely be a challenge to overcome when it came to the point.

"You gonna keep bitching at me?" Varik asked.

Reeve looked around, noting the silence in the precinct. Eyes stared at him, expressions showed distain for his ideas, and he suddenly felt very vulnerable. It dawned on him that this was the worst forum to blurt his ideals of peace and unity.

"No." Reeve grabbed a chair and sat. "Let's get this started."

"Didn't Domino assign you any other people?"

"Not yet."

Varik slapped a palm onto the table. "Then what good is this meeting?"

"Just give me the details. I can tell her the rest."

Varik gave Reeve a disapproving look, but relented in his venting and started gathering papers from the table. After shuffling them around, he moved over to the writing board and pinned a finger at a person near the top.

"This is the first victim, only known as Harken to locals. He was living in an abandoned building by himself, probably a drifter. There was a lot of bags and small materials in his space, so we assume he just moved from another spot. Investigators know that our killer entered the building from the only door that was across from the victim's bed. We've been putting our effort into finding out exactly what he did to Harken to try and find his pattern. You already know the usual: broken fingers and toes and burns on their bodies. What the media doesn't know is what we find on each of their right hands." Varik pointed to a smaller picture below the shot of the man's face, a definite mark on his palm. "The number ninety nine written in blood, presumedly theirs."

"Ninety nine?"

"Yeah. We have no idea what it's supposed to mean, but catalogued it anyway. Every victim has it on their right hand, never anywhere else."

Reeve felt his pulse jump when a sudden connection ignited in his memory. "It's Jenova..."

"Jenova?"

"The Jenova Project! Every Soldier that was used in that program had a number tattooed on their right hand! It must mean that this ex-Soldier is connected to it!"

"But I thought that all those guys went nuts after General Sephiroth returned and killed the old President?"

"No, there were exceptions." This was serious. He knew that people who underwent this test were driven mad or unstable. During his time with Avalanche, he saw Cloud's entire breakdown after he was thrown into the lifestream; he saw Jenova force him to do things against his will, even cause him physical pain. Red XIII was also part of their test, but he didn't seem affected at all aside from his hatred of all things related to Shin-Ra. The others were driven insane to join the Reunion with their 'mother' at the Northern Crater, or became so unstable that they just babbled in madness. If one of them was still alive, still functional to survive on his own, he would be very dangerous. "I know two of them personally."

"So you think he's one of them?"

"It's possible. I don't know the details about the project...but I could find out. If I could use the master rolodex program in the Shin-Ra computers, I can look that number up and see who it is."

"Would you need to go to the ruins?"

Reeve nodded. "I would, and I'd need a generator to power a terminal."

"How soon?"

Reeve looked at the chief with a surpised face. "...Now! As soon as you can. This could be more dangerous that we think."

"How dangerous, Reeve? What are we looking at?"

"You have to be strong to get into Soldier. To survive being injected means you have to be very strong. It's like the elite of the elite in Shin-Ra's forces."

Varik frowned deeply. "That's just fucking great. Is there anything else I should know about them?"

"Probably, but I couldn't say."

"Couldn't or won't?" The chief shot back.

"Don't start that again, Varik."

"You worked for the bastards willingly, Reeve, so forgive me if I don't treat you like a saint."

"Just get a generator ready. You can hate me all you want after we stop this killer."

"Oh, I'll make certain you get what you've earned." Varik took a clipped number of papers and folder and offered them to him. "This is a brief copy of our investigations into each murder. I hope you and that bitch can find something in there we can use."

Reeve snatched the papers with a scowl, feeling sincerely angry at the chief of police for his blatant insults. "Thank you."

"I'll make arrangements for that generator as soon as I can. How much power does this terminal need?"

"I don't know...enough for a personal computer? Maybe more."

"Forget it, I'll just bring the biggest one we can find." Varik shook his head sadly. "If we could just use reactor three to get power over there..."

"We can't. It would take weeks to lay a power line to the tower, weeks we don't have."

"Don't patronize me! It's gonna be hell to find a generator that isn't being used for something else. That's the only thing that Shin-Ra ever did right, giving us all easy power."

"We'll just have to make due."

"The same as usual, mister Reeve. I'll call when we have it."

"Thank you, Varik." Reeve stood and tucked the papers into the folder, then offered his hand to the acting chief of police. Varik glanced at the hand and then at Reeve, then clasped it tightly and briefly.

"Good luck," Varik murmured with a grim expression.

"Good luck," Reeve replied.

---Somewhere in Sector Three

The sounds were everywhere, but at least they were quieter in the deeper parts of the abandoned neighborhoods. All this construction and renewal made it tough to find a place to relax in, a place to keep to ones self. But, eventually, it would all be taken and reborn. The old would be burned and purged from this world and covered by a shiny new fascade to ease the people's worries. People would come and go, and the visible scars would heal. There were already flowers in the cracked patches of earth, soil buried beneath concrete and stone for so many years and only now exposed to the sky. A person could look straight up and see the blue sky instead of the brownish haze from the industries and the reactors and the plates. A person could breathe deep and not choke from the smog. A person could walk down a darklit street and not be afraid of faceless goons or assassins out for his life because he stood against the majority.

But the mental scars would still be there.

He would still be there. No one would ever deny him his existence, not anymore.

Those others who tried to place themselves as his betters were shown otherwise. Even now he expected the footsteps of sector police to come, for someone else to push their laws on him and their authority. He expected the future to try and erase him, a memory of the past, like they did to so many others; but he would not allow himself to be pushed aside and buried.

No one had authority over him. No one. Try and keep him from what he wanted, and he would fight you to the death for it; the laws of nature were the only ones he paid respect towards. Survival of the fittest ruled in the sectors, and he was fit for gods.

"I won't bow to anyone," he murmured to the shadows.

A cat hopped onto the windowframe and into the empty room, silent and graceful. It was a lean and ruffled tomcat, colored like the clouds and striped with silver lining. It strode over to the person and nosed around the small things sitting by his waist. The person waved an arm at the feline, warding it off.

"Nothin', furball," the man muttered in a throaty voice.

The cat paused and sat on its haunches, waited a second as if considering the words, yawned, then began grooming itself vigorously. The man sighed, leaning farther against the wall and the crook of his arms behind his head. The cat had been there ever since he showed up, always looking for something to eat. It caught rats, though, and seemed fit enough on that diet. Better it ate them instead of them nibbling at his things; that was probably the only reason he let the thing hang around his hole. He felt more familiar with animals and simple survival than people and their complexities. The man took a deep breath, held it in a moment, and exhaled it slowly to relax his muscles. That last one had been too old and croaked nearly as soon as he caught him.

"Younger," he muttered, closing his eyes to rest the day away.