Title: The Price of Truth

Author: CrisisChild

Summary: He was born as Genesis Rhapsodos, but you would know him best as that one SOLDIER standing by the wall, minding his own business and waving politely with an enigmatic smile. As if he knew too much. You all know him as KUNSEL.

Rated: T

Beta'd: Nope.

Disclaimer: No part of the FFVII Compilation is mine aside from crazy headcanons and OCs that I made for my own purposes.

The Price of Truth

by CrisisChild

PART THE FIRST

My Name is Genesis

He had been born as Genesis Rhapsodos; only son of the mayor of Banora. A charming boy with russet hair like his mother and eyes so blue, they put the sky to shame. Though he'd been a small boy then, he loved to read, because his father taught him that the strongest people in the world didn't have bulging muscles or grand swords, but held knowledge and wisdom in their minds. True strength laid in the mind.

And eventually, he would learn, strength was also found in the heart.

His first book had been Loveless; it was a compilation of poems, short stories and even a half-finished script for a play. The play intrigued him quite a bit. There had been an annotation about how the playwright had died under mysterious circumstances before he could finish it. Many, according to the note, had brought their own interpreted endings to the unfinished play with varying receptions. He wondered which ending was the most popular? After reading through the script, the boy thought he liked the ending where the lovers reunited the best.

The simplest ending and the happiest; the perfect way to go for a small child of only five years. Children did not over-complicate matters nor did they think too much on the consequences of the actions of adults. If there was a happy ending to reach, what else mattered?

The boy thought of his life much the same. He had his books, two loving parents, and even a friend in one of the locals! What more could he need then? Life was perfect. Picture perfect like in a story book.

So he thought nothing of it when a man in a dark suit approached him with hands folded behind his back. The child simply smiled guilelessly at the stranger and introduced himself as his mother had taught him to.

"My name is Genesis!" chirped the boy. "Are you looking for my daddy?" Because his father was an important man and lots of people always swung by their house to talk to him. His mother explained because his father was the mayor, like a 'king' but smaller. At the time the boy had asked his mother that if his father was a mayor and mayors were like kings, did his father rule a mayordom instead of a kingdom?

"No," replied the man in black. "I was looking for you."

And in six words, the boy's world was turned completely upside down.

Before he knew it, he was roughly caught under his arms and slung over the stranger's shoulder. The child screamed for his mother, voice going shrill and his shouts for help rang out over and over. There was the bang of the porch door slamming against the wall and a cry of fear and denial. Practically crowing in victory, because the child knew his mother would come save him from the bad man, he ceased in beating his tiny hands against the man's back to wave for his mother.

Alas, she never did make it in time.

Tackled to the ground by another shadow, she was held down to the ground as he was taken away from her. From his home. From everything he'd ever known.

He was treated to the sight of his mother, home fought to get the man holding her down off of her, to struggle forward only to get beaten over the brow. He saw the blood trickle from her forehead as she reached out to him, mouthing her pain and loss. Seeing this, the boy's cries were renewed and he shouted for himself and for his injured mother. Let go, let go, he begged. His mother was hurt and he wanted to go home. Let go, let go.

The man did not listen. Grunting from the effort of carrying the squalling child, the man threw the boy carelessly to the ground. Thinking it time to make haste back home, the boy made to run away back to his mother. Yet still, he was held fast, a hand roughly gripping his wrist. He could feel a hand shaped bruise forming just as the man swung his free hand towards him.

Striking against his temple, the boy fell, and the world became nothing.

=The Price of Truth=

A long, long time ago, they were but assistants inside the laboratories of Shinra Manufacturing Company, before it now became known as Shinra Inc.

Tempest and Nemesis Rhapsodos, a wife and husband pair who worked under Professor Gast Faramis in the Science Department. Genetic engineers, they had once been in charge of splicing the DNA of several species in the hopes of creating a lifeform that would in turn be turned into a biological weapon. They made experiment after experiment, pushing out artificial lifeforms through a silicon womb under the watchful eye of their leader. Yes, the pair of them could accomplish almost anything asked of them.

Except create life of their own. Tempest wanted a child so bad, but no matter how hard she tried with her husband, nothing came of their attempts. Both of them getting on in age, Tempest felt the biological clock ticking harder inside of her. And thinking it would be too late, she willingly signed a contract with the company to become part of a new project. One that would make her the surrogate mother of what would be an artificially create Cetra.

Better than nothing, she had thought. Since she could have no children, it seemed, better to devote herself to science and something she could call her own for a while. Even if it was just a lie.

But then, deep into the experiments in Nibelheim, far into the horrors that came with the being named Jenova, a miracle occurred.

She had a son! A darling little boy.

The company hadn't been happy about that.

Part of the contract was that she would have no prior children or future children without the express permission of the company. This was due to the fact that the social experiment needed to remain controlled and adding a random variable like another child may ruin whatever result they would hope to attain. The child would be taken away at best. At worst, it would be terminated.

Was it really that far fetched that Nemesis simply ran away with her husband, hoping never to be found so they could raise their miracle child in peace?

But in the end, they found them. And they took away her baby boy and forced upon her the specimen as was written in her contract. She'd almost killed the child, nigh traumatized the boy who had been introduced to her as her 'long lost son', just as she'd been told to him that she was his mother. And she yelled and raged and announced to the Turks that took away her precious son and gave her this abomination against nature that this was not her son and never will be. And she would continue, well into the night when her husband returned, finding what had happened and also forced into the awful charade. The black suits were not going to be leaving any time soon. This was to be their new role, their new reality.

The company always got what it wanted.

=The Price of Truth=

The next time when colour and shape appeared before his young eyes he was in an unknown place.

His head hurt, he found. The side pounded uncomfortably as he sat up on the ground. Which was hard. Had it always been hard? He had the impression of running upon dirt roads and soft sands all his life. Not pure stone. No, concrete. This smooth surface was concrete. He didn't remember where he knew that word, but he knew it. One hand to his aching head, the other stroking the ground as if it were a live animal in need of comfort (like him, just where was he) the boy peered around.

In front of him were several buildings, behind his back there was another one. Tall and large with sounds coming out the windows. Voices. Shrill and high, full of excitement.

To his surprise, the door opened to the building and he was hard-pressed to get up in time to get away (he felt that was important). However, his limbs did not want to cooperate with his still smarting brain and he fell back down onto his rear with a distressed cry.

"My, my," spoke a matronly voice, "what are you doing here, my child?"

Out from the building came a woman, old, frail looking, and weather-worn. She wore a simple black smock over modest clothes that gave him the impression of someone he should respect. Why that was he had no idea. Her eyes were warm, yet worried as they passed over the boy on the street.

"My goodness! You're bleeding, child. Where are your parents, what happened?" the old woman inquired, descending on him right away. A handkerchief was out from a pocket and a hand was prying stubborn little fingers away from the spot that clearly still hurt. Sounds of protest left the boy, but the woman continued on, tutting someone or something as she touched the cloth to the side of his head.

"That hurts!" he cried, trying to wrench away.

"Good," the woman stated. Voice firm, but not meant to sound vicious. Merely stating fact.

"It means you're alive, child. Now, let me ask you again. What happened? Where are your parents, my boy? And..." She paused a moment, to wipe even more blood away from his face. "...what is your name?"

The boy wanted to rage. He wanted to flail his arms and speak of the indignity of everything, because the questions were ridiculous and pointless to him. Because if he knew what had happened he would have said so already. And obviously, his parents wouldn't have just left him as he was. As for his name, what a dumb and obvious question! His name was-

But the boy never did get the chance to show his anger. Neither did he disrespect the nun that had come to his aid by throwing a tantrum. In fact, he became still and glassy-eyed as his mind tried to reach the information it should have had.

There was nothing.

"My...my name? My name is...my name is..."

He tried harder, pushed further back. However, all he could recall in his memory was just from the moment he woke up.

"I...what is my name?"