Whee! New chapter! New chapter! Anyway as a little note…Erech Von Hane speaks in a strong accent. Think Indian/Chinese hybrid with other under tones and a grammatical deficiency. He always refers to himself as 'He' not 'I' this is due to his first language being Centrian.

Enjoy!

Windows To The Soul:

Chapter 6.

Click, Click, Click…the researcher leaned closer to the tablet, whilst typing his findings.

Click, Click, Click…His associate, and friend, Danvil was going to make a book on Centrian archaeological finds. This would be the icing on the cake for his work. Usually, archaeologists didn't share their findings for free, but well, Danvil and him had always done it. They were like brothers, both working towards a common goal, and it made more sense. Danvil wrote about the findings, and he, Erech Von Hane worked mostly hands on with the evidence.

Erech earlier that week had been approached by a government official, with a large amount of taxpayer's money, promises of funding and a very rare artefact. Like anyone else with his passion, he had jumped at the opportunity.

He had sent Dan his Primary findings, even if he had been expressly forbidden doing so. Dan could keep his mouth shut, and as he was going to have the results after he had show it to the 'Boss' (whoever the hell he was), then why not give Danny a head start. God knows, it took him long enough to write the damn book in the first place.

With a pneumatic hiss the doors behind him opened, and three men stepped in.

"Erech Von Hane, I presume?"

Hane swivelled into round in his chair, and looked at the man before him. Making a clicking noise with his tongue, he nodded.

" I am he."

"My name is Beville, and I am your employer. I wish to know your progress Hane."

"He is doing verra well, veerrra well! Primary translation is complete! Yesyes!"

"Primary translation, Hane?"

"Yesyes!"

"Forgive me of my ignorance", Beville drawled, "but why Primary? Is there more than one?"

"You know lot oooo' history, bu' no translation, nono, no translation."

Beville frowned, "Which means…?"

"Centra script, manymany translations! Too manymany to list! Each word manymany translations. No difference between male or female, thing or name, person or animal. Each word has manymany meaning, depending on position of script, or even reader!"

"So the primary script is…?"

"Best fit, one of many best fit, written from Beville point of view."

"So it is written how I would read it?"

"Yesyes, if Beville could read it! Only those who speak Centra as mother tongue can read script-He is the last-yesyes, the last! After He dies…." The excitable man slowed down and stopped. "…No people read script, ever." He cast his eyes on the floor.

Beville pricked his metaphorical ears forward at this. The last? That meant that he would be the only one to hold the true meaning of the prophecy…if something fatal would halt the heavily accented researcher. Acting on impulse, he told Erech:

"Hane, I have come to the conclusion that I no longer need you."

Erech snapped his head up, but not fast enough to avoid the piping that smashed into his cranium. His death was painless, but messy.

And with that, Erech Von Hane, the last person on Gaia who could decipher ancient Centrian, stepped from this life to the next, but not before his spirit witnessed one final scene of life.

Beville dropped the pipe, which he had grabbed in the heat of the moment, now dripping with blood and gore. The clatter of metal hitting metal flooring resounded around the deathly silent room

"Was that…necessary…. Master?" asked one guard uncertainly.

"Explain, commander."

"…The pipe, master, would it not have been more…practical to use a more conventional weapon…?" 'And less of a gore-fest' He added silently.

"Hmmm, perhaps you're right, I shall try again."

Whipping a revolver out, the guard didn't even have time to flinch as a bullet punched through his skull, killing him efficiently.

"Sir, you are fired." Beville said allowing himself a small giggle. "And you," he said twisting round to face the last, breathing guard, "take heed - what ever I do: It. Is. Always. Necessary."

Things were going peachy, just darn peachy, for Irvine. Yep, he wouldn't want to be anywhere else. He just loved being tied down on a metal board in complete darkness.

He blinked, not that it made any difference. Eyes opened, eyes closed, it was all the Hyne-damned same. Pitch black.

Joy.

Both Zell and Seifer stood in the commander's office, both trying to look vaguely innocent. Both failed miserably.

"Explain…explain to me how, and more importantly, why you decided to start a brawl, when we are one the verge of war!"

Squall glared at them, his stormy grey eyes turning a lighter, brighter shade in outrage. Silence stretched out for seemingly eternity as Squall met both their eyes, Zell casting his eyes down and fiddling with his tattered and torn Seed uniform, Seifer matching the glare before his eyes, one of which being ringed with interesting shades of black and blue, were lowered in submission.

"Then perhaps telling me how you thought that showing cadets and seeds how undisciplined you two are strengthened the Gardens position at all?"

More silence.

"You, Zell, how old are you? Twelve? You're an instructor, and yet you behave like a cadet drop-out."

"And You, Seifer." The smirk on his face that appeared while Squall was grilling Zell immediately vanished. "You are on probation. How much do you want to be expelled?"

'Awww…Crap'. Thought Seifer, whilst the little, insecure part of his brain he denied having curled up in a ball and whimpered.

Squall steepled his fingers and rested his chin on them, whilst his good conscience wrestled with his evil, irony loving one, as the pure evil was taking bets from all the other divisions of his conscience on who was going to win.

Good said in a quite, but firm voice that punishment from Seed Protocol would suffice. The Irony yelled loudly, about abusing his power so they would be forced to stay together for a month or more, and then sending their remains to the cemetery in matchboxes. Pure Evil bellowed from the sidelines about kicking seven kinds of hell out of them.

As always, nether consciences won, and so he was forced to make the decision on his own.

"Zell, you are hereby put on probation." The spiky haired blond nodded glumly.

"Seifer, you are very…very close to being kicked out the Garden. However…I have decided to let you off…somewhat. You cannot and will not leave the garden. At. All. Unless you are needed in a mission, which in itself is unlikely."

"Until when Puber- I mean, Commander?"

"Until I and the Garden staff have deemed that you can achieve something that isn't counterproductive." Answered Squall, silently fuming at Seifer's slip.

Seifer opened his mouth to complain, then thought better about it. There were a whole lot of people who wanted him lynched, for things he had done whilst under the sorceress' control, and the Garden was his refuge. His only refuge.

"…You are dismissed."

As the two men walked out of the office the 'chicken-wuss' stopped and turned to the other blond.

"Is it just me or his he grump-peh?"

Seifer just stood there, suppressing his urges to kill.

It was the middle of the night when the letter came. Written with all the tact of a crooked politician, it told all who needed to know whose life was in danger, where to come and who could stop his untimely demise. The letter stated that it wanted a peace agreement, that the commander and two others were to come, and only the commander could enter the base where Irvine Kinneas was being held.

Squall had a problem. A rather big problem, namely: he'd rather kill himself than to go into a desert. Or any vast, open space.

He had emerged from Time Compression so emotionally scarred; he'd only recently been able to leave the garden, without feeling fear so strong…. He couldn't even get to the flower-field of Edea's orphanage, without setting off a panic-attack. Time Compression, had left him very mentally unstable, even if he didn't show it. And now, if he didn't go to one of the largest deserts in the world, one of his team, one of his friends, would die.

Hyne, why me? Dear Hyne…why me?

Whoot, I finally did a new chapter!

Firstly, I have to say thank you to Omega Gilgamesh who seemingly my sole reviewer. I have to thank him for pointing out my crappy spellings, which are going to be changed…when I get around to it. But I disagree with the censorship comment. Firstly, my 10-year-old brother knows words a heck of a lot more bad than the stuff in the previous chapters. (Namely Kim's little speech) but I will cut it down and make it more PG. But, I have to say that we are dealing with MERCINARIES. You know people who are paid to KILL. And in a war zone I doubt people would watch their language when people are trying there hardest to wipe them off the planet…

Still, rules are rules.

The great thing is I have actually got an excuse for my absence! (Instead of the cock 'n bull I usually feed people).

I had what you could call an interesting reaction to a chocolate chip cookie. If you consider interesting to have your face swell up and stuff. Anywho, I was high on medication to bring the reaction down for a couple of days. And when I say high, I mean SKY high. Kinda like a mixture of speed and 30cc's of tranquillizers.

Fun. NOT.

And for the other days…uhhh….

Hey look over there!

Runs away