Nobody had ever asked Miss Scarlet S. Scarlet what her middle name was. Most likely it was because they had guessed and they had guessed correctly, although it may perhaps have had something to do with the lethal points of her stiletto heels edging a little too close to their toes for comfort.

Scarlet had been named by her mother for the colour that would come to define the whole of her life. Three times brighter, her mother said, three times bolder, three times more beautiful, and be ready to be soaked in three times the blood as any of those around you. Those were the principles Scarlet had been raised with and every time she put on her scarlet dress and looked at herself in the mirror, those were the words she thought of.

She was Scarlet, three times over, and she was a woman fighting her way through a man's world. If a plunging neckline was what it took to get an application for extra-funding under the noses of those who needed to see it, then that would be the weapon she deployed. If it was a little leg or a pile of curls that she needed, then so be it. If those men had such weaknesses, then it was only their fault that she exploited them.

Oh, yes, it was a man's world in ShinRa. It didn't take a First Class Engineering degree from Midgar to work that out, and if that was the way the world worked, and the way the ladder had been built then she was going to use every trick and asset she had at her disposal to claw her way up there.

Scarlet wore a red silk dress and rose and patchouli, piled her hair in ice blonde curls, and built robots, reapplying her lipstick in the chromium alloy kneecaps of a Destroyer Mark 4000. Behind her back, she knew that her assistants said that Miss Scarlet S. Scarlet had the biggest balls in the Weapons Department and that they were made from Damascus steel.

She had inched her way into the President's favours and his orbit of Company favourites by building flashy, chunky robots with glowing eyes and caterpillar belts, the kind that if miniaturised wouldn't look out of place in a toy shop, because President Shinra liked his chunky, shiny, clodhopping toys with their sharp edges and gunmetal paintwork. These days that was all he was really - a great greedy child at the top of the tower, putting his fat fingers in every pie he laid his eyes on. Building toys that President Shinra approved of brought funding money into her department.

The Shinra Tower workforce was eighty seven percent male, the last that Scarlet had checked the statistics. It was skewed by the Soldier program, of course. The Science Department insisted on an all-male intake, for some paper-thin reason drummed up from flimsy papers via Hojo's sycophants, no doubt, but Scarlet had her own private beliefs about why. Accidents happened and perhaps there was some unholy and unheard of risk that came from a mako-enhanced egg meeting mako-enhanced sperm that the Science Department wanted to avoid at all costs.

The press and the fallout of such a story would be terrible. Awful. Bad enough to bring down the Soldier program perhaps, thought Scarlet with a spark of glee, humming as her heels clicked down the length of the corridor and some nobody from HR stepped aside with a bow to let her pass.

The other possibility that Scarlet was rather partial to was that that was the secret behind Hojo's precious pet Sephiroth's extraordinary existence and this was his way of keeping tight control over the secret of his greatest achievement. If there were female Soldiers and breeding them was all that it took to create a generation of Sephiroth-level superhumans, any rival of Shinra Company could capture a squad and develop their own army, and then that would be it for Shinra's well-defended monopoly on mako resources. In which case, best not to risk having female Soldiers around at all.

All of this was speculation, of course, speculation to fill the silences, but there were plenty of silences that people at Shinra learnt not to talk about over time. Nobody ever mentioned the fate of Mrs Shinra, for instance, even though her tumble off the edge of the Plate had been well-reported, and more recently, nobody mentioned the death of Hojo and Doctor Hollander's subsequent promotion.

To survive at Shinra, you had to learn to read the silences. That was where all the secrets lay.

To succeed at Shinra, you had to be selective about the secrets you paid attention to.

Scarlet knew when to keep her mouth shut. Most women who had got beyond the receptionists' desk did, but there was no sisterhood of Shinra women as such. You found your own way up the food chain or you didn't find your way up at all. Why should Scarlet start kneeling like a virginal saint to help women in cheap-soled shoes get up the careers ladder? She had never had help.

And that was what she was telling herself when she arrived at Doctor Hollander's laboratory and heard voices within.

" - I just want to know, Doctor! Why was I overlooked? This was Project J! Professor Hojo's project! And you gave it to that numpty from Kalm! I can't believe you put him as head of that project when he's as about as competent as a headless zolom - "

"Now, look here, Doctor Rayleigh - "

"Do you remember what he did with that investigation with mako-exposed soil bacteria? Do you remember what he did with that? He couldn't even handle the genome of a soil bacterium and you think he's going to cope with what Project J requires of him? He'll run it into the ground!"

Which was precisely Hollander's intention, of course. Anybody with a mind for competition could see that. Scarlet sighed and rolled her eyes. Of course, playing the naiveté card and appealing to human decency could still get a girl somewhere, but clearly Doctor Rayleigh had a lot to learn.

Scarlet rapped her knuckles on the door and she heard Hollander seize the opportunity for a break, huffing and puffing and probably sweating like the gross little man-pig as he made for the door.

Scarlet smiled with all her teeth bared. "Hollander."

Hollander's face went slack. "Oh. Scarlet."

Out of the frying pan and into Ifrit's hot, hot stove, little pig-man. She thrust out her chest and peered over his shoulder where in the dark, gloomy office, a young woman with short brown hair and premature frown lines was adjusting her glasses and the collar of her white coat, looking thoroughly put-out.

"Am I interrupting something?"

"No, not at all. Doctor Rayleigh was just on her way out - "

"I was not!"

"Oh, let her stay. I don't intend to stick around with you in this poky little sweathole of an office of yours anyway."

Scarlet pushed past Hollander into his office, heels clicking, and caught Doctor Rayleigh staring at her with something akin to wonder. Yes, Scarlet had that effect on people, especially in her signature dress.

Hollander closed the door with a sigh and shuffled back to his chair.

"Very well, Scarlet. What do you want?"

"I wanted to congratulate you on making Head of the Department, of course," she purred.

Hollander reached for - oh, goodness, there it was - that disgusting handkerchief and wiped his forehead. "Thank you."

"We've never been enemies, have we, Hollander?"

"Er – "

"I mean, what have I ever done to you?" she went on imperiously. "Far less than Hojo ever did! Quite honestly, he was sabotaging your career."

"Yes. Yes, he was, wasn't he? Sabotage, yes."

He was sweating and oozing and utterly disgusting, but she leaned forward and put a sympathetic hand on top of his. His eyes flickered down to her scarlet-painted nails. "Now I'm hoping that with Hojo gone we'll see some changes made for the better around here. I've been looking to do some collaborative projects with your department for quite some time now, but Hojo was always turning me down. Completely out of spite, of course. He was a jealous and vile man, always hoarding, hoarding what he knew, all the resources he had at his disposal."

"Oh, I see. That must have been hard for you."

"It was so, so very hard. There is so much that can be said for studying Soldier mako-induced physiological and anatomical changes. If I could but study the Soldiers, maybe have access to some of the data from their physicial examination checks, I'll be able to begin applying what mechanics we discover to a project that could change all of ShinRa as we know it, creating a new generation of weapons combining my technology with your biology."

She saw her words sinking in and that he liked what he heard, but then he said, "I'm not sure that I quite follow."

"She wants to study Soldier physiology and see if she can replicate it in a machine. In short, create" Doctor Rayleigh's voice quivered with excitement, "robotic weapons that can move like the Soldiers do."

Hollander's jaw dropped. Scarlet inwardly sighed. So much for Department Head. "What she said."

"But that would replace Soldier!"

"No, no, no," she shushed him like a panicked puppy. "Never replace it! Oh, I wouldn't dream of replacing Soldier. Just augment it a little, or maybe once it's all fully rolled out, serve as an alternative to those useless little troopers. At least they will be able to keep up with their Soldiers on the frontlines, unlike being constantly left behind as we saw in Wutai."

"I suppose," Hollander seemed to be coming round to the idea as slowly as a cow chewing the cud, "I suppose that sounds reasonable – "

"I'm so glad to hear you say that. Well, then, the most basic need for this joint project of ours is that there is a person who can act as a liaison between our two departments to keep open a channel of communication. And I believe," Scarlet looked sideways, "we've found a good candidate for that. You are Science Department and not an Administrative Research mole, aren't you, sweetie?"

Doctor Rayleigh reddened. "Yes, ma'am!"

"This - this project of yours, Scarlet," Hollander leapt in quickly to say, gesturing at Rayleigh, "why don't you take Rayleigh along for it? None of this wishy-washy in-between departments business. Have her work for you fulltime on this project - she's a specialist in Soldier physiology, it's right up her street."

And it gets her off your back about being overlooked for heading Project J, doesn't it, you miserable man? Well, no matter. Scarlet had been combing the AI conferences for possible assistants on the project and found none especially promising. This Doctor Rayleigh seemed to fit the bill with the scientific expertise complimentary to Scarlet's own in weapons. There were worse combinations.

"It'd be a pleasure to take you on if that is what you would like," she said sweetly, making it clear that Scarlet, unlike Hollander, would show Rayleigh enough respect to allow her to make her own decisions (when it suited Scarlet, anyway).

"Oh, yes," Doctor Rayleigh adjusted her glasses. "Yes, ma'am, I'd like that very much!"

Scarlet beamed at Hollander. "Well, hasn't this worked out swimmingly for all of us?"

She rose from her seat. "Come to my office, sweetie. We can finalise details there."

After Doctor Rayleigh left and Scarlet had sprayed the air with perfume in her wake (the young woman, girl really, smelled of mako-mutant animals), there was a sharp knock at her door.

"Come in."

Veld stuck his head around the door. "Just a quick word, Scarlet, if you don't mind."

Scarlet stamped down on that flicker of distaste before it could show on her face. There hadn't been any love lost between her and Veld since her little spybots caught his Turks in her department - and Veld was blaming her for the fact that her weapons did exactly what they had been designed to do!

She capped the pen and set it on her desk. "I have a moment to spare. What is it now? Another one of your Turks in some place they shouldn't be and paying for it?"

He stayed standing with his head and one hand stuck around the door. It didn't escape her that that 'one hand' in her room was Veld's gun-arm.

What a gentleman.

"Nothing of the kind. I was thinking that it was about time we Turks did more to keep up with times. Cybercrimes are rife these days and when it's comes to AIs we're perhaps a little out of our depth." He let out a chuckle that anybody else might have thought self-deprecating, but Scarlet knew better. She narrowed her eyes. "We were hoping that maybe you could come along to the department to show us what you know. Run a seminar or two, perhaps?"

"When?"

"Within the next couple of weeks or so. Only when you have time, of course."

He was after something. She couldn't tell what though.

If she played along, she'd find out eventually.

Scarlet made a show of opening her gold-covered diary, and flicking through the gold-edged pages. "I could probably fit in an hour or two next Monday."

Veld smiled, the planes of his face shifting like rocks. "That would be excellent."

His head left the room first, the gun-arm second.

Scarlet pursed her lips and folded her arms. Piss ran splashed down the glass behind her in one long green sheet.

Now why, she mused to herself, tapping the nail of her forefinger, painted to perfection in crimson, would the Turks be suddenly so interested in AIs?

Every Soldier in the Common Area jumped to their feet when Genesis stormed in, tracking green rain onto the carpet and with a look in his eye that usually meant a Thundaga was incoming.

He brandished a transparent umbrella at them. "Second Class Kunsel!"

The Soldiers looked at each other, assessed the pros and cons of betraying the brotherhood, and then parted as one to reveal Kunsel, sat at the horseshoe of sofas by the bay window with cloth and sword polish in hand.

Kunsel sighed. "Oh, boy. Yes, sir?"

Genesis indicated the door behind him. "Out. Now."

"Is there something the matter, sir?" said Kunsel, the moment the door had closed behind them.

"Not especially. Hands where I can see them. Holding your PHS, if you please." Genesis added, and with a look of the bemused puzzlement, Kunsel did as he was told, raising his hands to his ears, his PHS blinking with a green light. "The instant messaging service."

To Genesis's astonishment Kunsel went instantly pale. "Oh, er, well. Hmm, yes, sir. What about it?"

Genesis narrowed his eyes to slits. "Why don't you tell me?"

Kunsel shuffled on the spot then suddenly blurted -

"Okay, I might have been using it as a platform to spread around some rumours and feed info to the fanclubs, but I swear, that story about you and the script of the Winter Festival pantomime, sir, it wasn't mine - that rumour's been going around for weeks - "

There was a soft chime like a bell from Genesis's pockets.

Genesis paused.

"That was your PHS, sir."

"Yes, I know that, thank you." He raised the umbrella and swung its point to rest within an inch of Kunsel's nose. "You are not to move."

"Yes, sir."

Genesis pulled out his PHS and checked his messages. Sure enough, there was a bright green, obnoxious little speech bubble in the screen corner.

As fun as this is to watch you pointing umbrellas at people - nope. Not him. Got to try a bit harder than that.

Genesis gripped the PHS so hard, that it was only long lines of tried-and-tested models of PHSs designed to withstand Sephiroth that stopped the screen from shattering.

"Sir?"

So the Stranger wasn't Kunsel, which Genesis couldn't say he was especially surprised about. It also made him inexplicably excited.

A thought struck him then and his shoulder twinged.

As fun as this is to watch -

Genesis started and looked over his shoulder, glanced about the corridor, searching, looking - There!

The blinking red light and black gleam of glass, a CCTV camera situated in the corner.

So that was how the Stranger watched him, them, all of ShinRa. Genesis found himself smiling. Now, the question was, was the Stranger clever or was he simply making use of the circumstances available to him? Who in ShinRa had CCTV access as part of their work? The Turks? Could the Stranger possibly be a Turk?

Now, wasn't that a dangerous thought and a half?

"Good news, sir?" Kunsel prompted, as the smile stretched across Genesis's face, eyeing the umbrella in his face as though it were Rapier.

Genesis slipped the PHS back into his coat pocket. "Of a kind."

Still smiling, he stepped in closer, the umbrella point rising to a point between Kunsel's eyes, and the Second Class Soldier went just a little cross-eyed following the movement of the tip. "Now, what were you saying about the script of the Winter Festival pantomime?"

December came round in a flow of crisp cool air blowing in from the Northern Crater. No snow - the fug of mako-infused vapour kept Midgar a little too warm for that. It was nothing like Nibelheim where the coming of December meant the placing of the shovel and a ladder by the window of the first floor.

A distant part of Cloud reflected that it was around about this time in the previous timeline that he had met Tifa on top of the water tower. Somewhere out there, young Cloud Strife was readying to leave Midgar on his own for the very first time. For a boy who had only gone as far as Rockettown on a day-trip with his mother it was quite something.

Opening up another one of Scarlet's e-mails, Cloud dragged himself up and out of his musings. Focus. He needed to focus. Admittedly, focusing was a little difficult these days when his awareness was divided up between observing the Soldiers on their daily activities (surprisingly mundane), dodging the new Turk scans and probes they had started running at random intervals, and keeping his thumb firmly on the fire alarm system, because there was something about dowsing Sephiroth in water at least once a week that did wonders for his stress.

He had been sorely tempted to turn the sprinklers on Genesis once or twice, but the man had caused Cloud enough trouble out of boredom alone. Risking Genesis's wrath if Cloud ruined his favourite red leather coat wasn't worth it.

He messaged Cloud about once an hour every day, occasionally asking leading questions that seemed to attempts to trick Cloud into admitting he was a Turk, but more often than not it was just to complain - about the dreary December weather, the bread in the Soldier canteen, idiot Seconds and clumsy Thirds he had to deal with; about Angeal still healing in the infirmary, Hollander being a waste of space, Sephiroth still tiptoeing around Genesis in the VR room when they sparred as though he thought Genesis couldn't tell when the fool was going easy on him; how everything hurt at night-time and he sometimes woke up wrapped in his wing, and he didn't know whether to hate it more or be glad it was there, and that at this rate, Aerith Gainsborough was about as useless as the flowers she grew in her church garden.

It was all oddly familiar and strangely, for a man who thought himself far from it, very human, and as irritating as it was, for some reason, Cloud couldn't find it in him to tell Genesis to shut up and let him avert the end of the world in peace.

Besides, so long as Genesis kept messaging him it kept him aware of the state of the Soldier's mind - mostly, as they got towards the middle of the month, it was preoccupied with the Soldier pantomime, a fixture of the ShinRa Winter Festival party which Cloud could only hazily remember from his first time round as being one Soldier too many prancing across a stage in feathers and tights.

Ah, the Winter Festival, a season of giving. Cloud had quite the present lined up for the Turks on his trail.

The e-mail that went around the team dedicated to investigating the possible rogue AI was labelled as coming from Tseng.

Reno opened it without hesitation. He got e-mails from Tseng complaining about his sloppy dress style so often that he now had a standard response for them of 'You're looking fabulous too'.

This time, however, it wasn't a complaint about the state of his shirt. It was asking him to open an attachment, within which he would find something that 'may be of interest to him'.

Well, Reno could hardly resist a tease like that, could he?

He opened the attachment, and the moment he double-clicked the screen flashed white.

"What in the name of - ?"

He switched the screen on and off, pressed escape, and he was in the process of testing out all of the combinations of the keys that he knew when a black cartoon motorbike drove into the screen.

Reno froze.

A stick man dismounted from the motorbike. It had a big sword, a little like Angeal Hewley's Buster, in its hands. It jumped up and down a couple of times, as though making sure it had Reno's attention, then climbed back onto the motorbike and drove off the opposite side of the screen, a cartoon plume of dust rising up behind it.

Then the computer gave out a soft 'whumph' and promptly died.

"No!" Reno cried, grabbing the screen and shaking it. "Shit! Bugger! Shit! Hey!"

He spun round and the rest of the team looked up from their computers. "If you guys get an e-mail from Tseng - "

"What e-mail from Tseng?"

"I think he's talking about this one," said one of the younger Turks, clicking, then double-clicking. "He wants us to check out something in the attachments."

"Let's see it."

"Don't open the attach - !"

Six computer screens flashed white.

And what was the cold, dark month of December without a little ghost story?

Kunsel was just finishing updating a contact in Red Leather on a new Genesis-based rumour (that Kunsel may or may not have invented himself) when there was a chime and a message arrived from an anonymous sender.

Hey, Kunsel, have you heard of the Wutai Warrior Ghost?

The gossip monster inside him pricked its ears.

No, he replied, typing quickly. He thought nothing of the anonymous sender. He made it a policy not to ask the names of his informants. Tell me more.

"Hey, have you heard about the Wutai Warrior Ghost?"

Genesis overheard one morning when he was checking the Soldier roster.

"No," said the Second, "what's that about?"

Zack lowered his voice and leaned in as though to impart some dangerous secret. "It's some ghost that they're saying's haunting ShinRa Tower!"

"Oh, come off it, Zack - like you actually believe in ghosts - "

"No, no, but listen. You know how the sprinklers in the hallways seem to be breaking a lot lately, especially around Sephiroth?"

The Second looked thoughtful. "Now that you mention it, yeah, the sprinklers on the Soldiers floors are being a bit...funky these days."

"They're saying," Zack went on, his eyes wide, his tone hushed, "they're saying that it's all because of this ghost of a Wutai warrior with a serious, serious grudge against Sephiroth. Possibly got killed by him - I didn't hear the whole story - but apparently, before the warrior died, it prayed to Leviathan to grant it powers over heavenly water and now - "

Genesis snorted, but the thought of Sephiroth's face when he came to hear about this ridiculous ghost story put a spring in Genesis's step as he went to the pantomime rehearsal that hadn't been there for months.

And all too soon after the Winter Festival, it was January and the start of a new year. Resolutions were made, old ones were forgotten or resurrected in the hope that this year, maybe this year, things would be different, and Cloud watched, from his virtual fortress, the year reset.

And arriving at last in Midgar after several days journey of smelly wagons and smellier trains, Cloud Strife, fourteen, wrapped in a Nibelheim parka and finding Midgar January far warmer than he had anticipated, stepped down onto the platform.

He raised his eyes to ShinRa Tower, lit up green and soaring up into the night.

Thank you for reading!