Chapter Five

1.

Grandpa told me once that assumptions are for the weak. A blunt statement, sure, but it's what got him to the top of his field. Theories must be backed up by evidence, and those who don't do so are either ignorant or they just don't want to know the truth.

Having been raised under Grandpa's care, I suppose it's only natural that his words and his principles have rubbed off on me. I respected him more than just about any other person I'd met in my life, and so growing up, I found myself really idolizing him. I would try to mimic his behavior, his speech, and his philosophy regularly when I was young—so much so that eventually I realized I didn't have to mimic him anymore because his philosophy had become my own. I took pride in that fact because it made me feel more...adult, more grown up. But even then, when I thought I was so grown up, I was just a child. Inexperienced and untested. It's fine to say you have principles, but when it comes right down to it, when you find yourself backed into a corner, do you stay the course, or do you do whatever has to be done to survive?

What I didn't realize as a child, mimicking my grandpa's every move, is that circumstance changes things for some people. Grandpa's conviction and adherence to his beliefs amazed me and led me to believe that his was the only truth out there. Assumptions were for the weak and only for the weak. But I've learned over the years that "weak" is, perhaps paradoxically, a strong word, and that it's thrown around too much. What worked for Grandpa isn't necessarily universal law because his circumstances were unique. His assumptions may have led to faulty research, thus confirming his words of advice, but my own assumptions played a part in keeping me alive.

2.

A few days after Simms told me the news of his promotion, darting began once again. It was also around this time that Simms and Grant switched their posts. Grant got the short end of the stick in that affair, having to work the full 24 hours once the switch came—his usual 12 hours during the day and then another 12 through the night, all on end. And by the time morning came back around, he looked worn ragged, about ready to drop. Who would have guessed standing around for 24 hours could be so tiring? I almost felt sorry for him. But then again...

It didn't take but a day after the darting and testing began again for the side effects to return as well. Somehow they felt different than before, but I could tell they were still a result of the testing. The first effect I felt was an intense burning sensation in my skin, not unlike what I'd felt when I was first given my ID tattoos, which overheated me and made me pant relentlessly. At times it felt like my skin was boiling hot, melting even, to the point where I couldn't move. I lay panting on my side, hoping that the freezing cold of the floor would keep me from bursting into flames. And in light of recent events, I felt uncomfortable talking to either Simms or Grant about it as I had done before, so my mind was left with nothing to do but to revolve around my affliction.

Over the next several days, I didn't get much sleep, and perhaps as a result of the fatigue that followed, the heat began to wear me down. I found myself doing anything I could to try to get away from it. I remembered one time several years back when it snowed a few inches in Cosmo Canyon, and I tried to focus my mind on that. Grandpa told me that that was the coldest he'd ever seen it in the canyon, and that that was saying something, considering how long he'd been around. It had been below freezing in the canyon for more than a week, so when it finally did snow, I was jumping out of my proverbial shoes to go out and play in it. But it wasn't meant to be, for the snow was reduced to nothing wherever I went because of the heat of the flame on my tail. Too hot... too hot...

Too...hot...

It seemed I couldn't even think about snow without thinking of the heat. ...So maybe something else... But I never realized how difficult it could be to think of something when I tried to force the thoughts into my head. My mind was blank for a time, and then it began to switch over to another train of thought, and I found myself thinking about something which had been floating around in my head for the past few weeks.

Blue...The color blue. Just like that day... The sky, the sea, and the bird from my dreams. No, not a bird. I had realized by now that it was a helicopter, their helicopter, I'd seen , and the pain I'd felt was one of the tranquilizers they so loved to use. I understood all of what had happened to me now, so there was nothing to do but to look ahead. I wondered, would I ever see the cerulean blue of the sky again? Would I ever again walk along the beach and feel the sand underfoot as the waved rolled ashore before me? Would I even see the outside of this cold, metal building? So many questions. And I feared the answer to them all. ...Fear?

What would Grandpa say if he saw me thinking like this? For some reason I couldn't bring myself to think about the answer to that particular question. It was for a week I avoided it before I ultimately resigned not to give up hope. Really, the decision wasn't that hard to make, considering the alternatives. I would get out of that place and return home. But how?

That was something I would have to think about. It seemed to me that all of the pieces were in place for me to make my escape. It was just a matter of working them to my advantage. Simms, the keys, the testing, the white box with the number pad on it... It could work...

The extreme heat I'd felt relented over the next few days, and gradually it was replaced by a dry, itching sensation which covered my entire body. And, as with everything else in that place, the feeling was intense. even my nails seemed to itch. I can remember thinking to myself as this new symptom began its onset, "oh, this is going to be a fun one," in a rather deflated manner. I tried to live with the feeling, but within a few days' time, I'd scratched myself raw. The only way I could get away from it was to sleep, and thankfully unlike before, I was able to do so with relative ease. As much as i could, I slept to pass the time, but eventually even that became a pain. Still, it was at least some form of relief, so I continued to spend most of my time sleeping, and in my waking hours I worked on my escape plan.

One day when I awoke, I found that a soldier had set himself down with his back up against my cage. I could see the ring full of keys at his waist, and, amid the crowd of keys, the one with that familiar triangular handle. If I reached out, I could easily grab it. …But what then? I would have to unlock my cage, and by that time, well... I didn't want to be caught on the business end of any more guards' machine guns. But on second glance I saw the guard was Simms, and the thought popped into my head that maybe he wouldn't have it in him to shoot me. I tried to determine if I wanted to take that chance, eyeing the keys the entire time, but ultimately I found myself unable to act. I think deep down I knew better than to take that chance. Maybe before, but not now.

Simms, finally realizing I was awake, leaned forward and spun around to face me. "Hey there," he said in a friendly tone.

I didn't say anything in response at first—I kept my sight where the keys had been—and then slowly I traced my way up to his face. "What do you want?"

"I... I don't know..."

"You're sitting there... So there must be something you want."

"No... I mean... You haven't said anything since me and Grant switched posts."

"Your point being?"

"Well... I've been thinking. ...And I know why you've stopped talking.

Oh? Do you?

He studied my face and then spoke. "You're scared, aren't you?

Scared? "You think I'm...? I hate to contradict you, but you're wrong on that account." ...I don't think I'm scared. Maybe nervous, but not... scared.

"Oh yeah? You may think you can hide it, putting up that kind of front, but it's obvious."

You have it all wrong, Simms. It's not about me. But maybe... "Obvious, huh?"

"Why else would you have attacked Cray? Why even talk to me in the first place? On the inside, you're just scared. Am I right?"

What is this, a therapy session? "What can I say? You have me pegged."

"Well, let me just say that there's no reason for it, you know. As hard as it may be to believe, we're not here to hurt you. You have to trust us."

This really was therapy. And none too good either. I laughed to myself inwardly but kept a straight face toward Simms.

Rather suddenly, an itch reared up in the middle of my back, and I tried to scratch it with one of my hind legs. But it was so finely placed that I couldn't quite reach it no matter how I tried. Maybe I could give him a test of sorts.

"Hey Simms, lend me a hand. I have an itch right in the middle of my back driving me nuts. Could you give it a scratch?"

"Yeah, sure..." It seemed as though he though that a strange request.

"Thanks." I got up and moved and sat with my back to the front of the cage near him.

He looked at me for a long moment and then started to reach into the cage to scratch the spot I indicated. But before reaching the bars, he hesitated.

"What's wrong?" I asked.

"There's nothing wrong," he answered quickly, and with that, he reached his hand between the bars. I got up just before he touched me, however, and his hand jerked back out.

"Eh, it's gone now... Don't worry about it. Thanks though."

"Yeah, sure thing." I could have sworn I heard him stammer a bit saying it. "Just remember, I'm here if you ever want to talk. He got up abruptly, straightened out his uniform, and began walking back to his post.

"Right..." Scared? It looked to me like Simms was being just a bit hypocritical, telling me not to be scared. Just following orders, I presumed. My mind went back to the keys at Simms's waist. They were my ticket out of that cage, but I couldn't figure out how to get to them without Simms knowing... Maybe I could make him work for me somehow. I made another attempt to scratch the itch on my side and then lay down to sleep.

3.

A few more days passed, and I pondered how to get Simms to unlock my cage for me. Any way I looked at it, I would have to wait for an opportune moment before I tried anything.

Grant came and took Simms's spot as night fell one night, and for a while after he came, he watched me closely. He seemed somehow suspicious of me, a feeling which was confirmed when he walked up to my cage to speak.

"What do you have up your sleeve now?" he asked.

"Nothing."

"Don't play me for a fool. I'm not stupid, and I know you aren't either. I see your mind working away at something in there everyday."

"So what? Thinking's about all there is to do in here."

He smiled a bit, but not in the same snide, malicious way he usually did. "Hmm... Looks to me like you're planning something." It was puzzling. The smile looked almost... friendly. "Well, whatever it is, just try not to do it while I'm around, huh? Make life easier for the both of us."

"...I don't know what you're talking about." I couldn't figure out what his angle was.

"Heh. Right, well let's keep it 'don't ask, don't tell' then, all right?"

"...Whatever."

A while passed silently as I tried to comprehend what Grant had said. Planning something? Did he know? No, how could he? Humans can't read minds. But then why would he have said that? I guessed he could have his suspicions about me without actually knowing anything. After all, intuition is a completely different thing. But... Make life easier? What did he mean by that? Would he really let me make my attempt at escape? Maybe I could figure out a little more...

"...Hey Grant?" He looked over at me silently. "What's out there?" I motioned at the mechanical door he guarded. "What's on the other side of the door?"

He smiled again in that same pseudo-friendly manner and then replied "well, let's see... Right outside the door there's a hallway. Following it to the left, there's a branch off the main hall which goes to the stairs. The main hallway dead ends in the lobby at the elevators."

Elevators?

"Usually, they can take a person all the way down to the first floor, but sometimes in emergencies, they'll shut down first floor access from the elevators. Whether they do or not depends on the threat. I don't think they'd do it if someone were attacking HQ because that would trap a bunch of soldiers on the upper floors and make them useless for defense. Not too smart, you know?" He paused for just a second to smile again. "But for say, an escaped lab animal, or some internal emergency on that level, they'd probably shut the first floor down to prevent escape. In that case, the lowest the elevator would go is the sixtieth floor. Then the stairs are the only way down, which is horrible. I should know—I've had to take them all the way up and down more times than I can count for 'training purposes.'" He made quotation marks with his fingers as he said those last words. "Heh... Wouldn't wish that on you or anyone for that matter. I swear, it takes 20 minutes even if you run."

I wasn't quite expecting him to give me a rundown of the entire building, but it seemed that was what he was doing. I guessed it meant he was green-lighting my escape attempt, so I stopped talking, and when he was done, turned to lie down.

A moment later, Grant crouched down and said something under his breath at point blank into my cage so that only I could hear it. "Just remember, don't ask, don't tell. Right?"

Don't ask, don't... "Right."

That night I dreamed of Grandpa. It was one of those dreams where you know who you're looking at, but you can't recall their face or even remember their form. So regardless of how he may have looked, I knew it was Grandpa. He sat alone in a room at a table writing on a pad of paper about something, though I couldn't see the paper, so I can't say what might have been on it. Outside the room, it was raining on a rocky area I recognized as part of Cosmo Canyon. It was strange though; everything outside was cast in shades of black, white, and grey while Grandpa's room could be seen in full color. After a few moments, Grandpa stopped writing, and a ghostly look appeared on his face, stone cold, as if he had died or was looking deep into the ground. I wanted to call his name, but for some reason I had no voice. Grandpa rose from his seat and went and opened a door I hadn't seen before which led out into the rain, but even though the door was open, I couldn't hear the rain hitting the ground outside. He stood there in the doorway for a moment, looking out into the distance as if he expected something unusual to happen, and then without hesitation stepped outside. I could see him through what I vaguely perceived as a window, or maybe a hole in the wall, walking away down a fairly steep rocky path, and I was aware of a strange sense of finality. It felt as though... somehow, that was the end. I don't know how else to describe it. This beacon of life in a faded, rainy world... The end...

I awoke the next day, but I didn't move, not even to open my eye and look around. Something had changed—I could feel it. In the same stagnant air, flat lighting, with the same stinging floor and grim silence surrounding me, something had changed. I felt as though if I were to try hard enough I could see through that place and everyone in it. From somewhere I heard a faint electric buzz, and a moment later something in the wall knocked around, making a dull clank and a thud over a period of several seconds. An animal shuffled around in its cage somewhere to the right of me and then settled into place, breathing slowly and heavily. I listened to the sound of my own breathing for a moment as well. In and out... in and out... I couldn't remember having noticed any animals in the other cages since my first few days in that place, the only exception being the Nibel wolf. And how long had it been since it was last taken out?

I took in a slow, deep breath through my nose, ignoring the scents that came with it, and as I exhaled, I opened my eye up to the room.

There's Simms, I thought to my self. Gun at his side, that uniform, that dead, emotionless face... Does he know? Probably not. I still have the element of surprise. The light on the ceiling seems brighter somehow. Still not bright, but definitely brighter...

I looked around for a moment before something behind the mechanical door caught my attention.

Footsteps? From behind the door? I haven't ever heard those before. Here they come... And there they go... Just passing through, I guess. Down the hall, going to the elevators... or maybe taking the stairs... Yes, It's definitely different in here. Everything looks the same, but it's definitely different. I can feel it.

A powerful itch interrupted my thoughts. I tried to ignore it, but a within a few seconds I was forced to my feet to scratch it. It was high on my neck back near where it ran into my shoulders, so I had to get up to scratch it.

Well, that's still the same, I thought to myself initially. But the itch would not go away as all the other ones had done before. In fact, the more I scratched at it, the worse it seemed to itch. Like a bad mosquito bite, but more intense and less localized. Eventually I stopped for fear of scratching the spot open, and looked into the back of my cage.

Even it seemed changed in some way. It seemed flatter, shallower—like the shadows didn't run as deep. Why did I feel this way? What had caused it?

Before I could answer, SImms spoke to me. "What are you looking at?" he asked.

I paused to think and then answered him, saying "Nothing... Nothing." Is this the end? I could not think at the time why that thought had come into my head, but the mere fact that it had meant there was a reason. "How are you doing today?" I asked.

"Pretty good." He seemed relieved, as though some invisible tension had been dissolved. "I'm not much liking this whole 'get up at the crack of dawn' thing to get to work on time, but you know, it's better than the alternative."

"Better than the alternative..." I laughed lightly. "Right." There was a pause for a moment, and then I spoke again. "So the new job has been treating you well?"

"Mostly. I get the feeling that Grant and some of the others are kinda mad at me though. Grant especially."

"Ahh, I wouldn't worry much about that. They're probably more envious than mad at you. They can see you're moving up the ladder pretty quickly here."

"Yeah, but I think they're mad because I'm doing it at their expense. Grant got demoted when they promoted me, you know."

"Well, just try to remember what it's all for. Try not to think about that other stuff."

"Yeah... Thanks." He laughed a bit. "You know, I even thought you were mad at me too."

I smiled at him through the bars.

We talked more throughout the day, and slowly but surely, we opened up to each other again. Our families came up in our conversation again, which I suppose didn't do me any favors, but somehow or another Simms ended up telling me he would send Grandpa a letter or maybe a postcard to let him know that I was all right. I don't know if he ever did send it though. I never asked Grandpa, and he's not around anymore to tell me. Toward the end of our conversation, Simms made a strange statement which, for some reason, I couldn't make sense of.

"I'm sorry about all this..."

I really wished he hadn't said that—I think it was the one thing I feared hearing him say. And as I heard it, a jolt shot through my chest as though I had been struck by lightning. "What?" was all I could think to say.

"I'm sorry that you have to be here, being tested on and mistreated like this, all in the name of 'science.' I don't know what Professor Hojo hopes to get out of this, but I think he's going about it the wrong way. I mean, there has to be a better way, right?"

I scratched the same spot on my neck for a moment before catching myself and stopping.

"I've seen what you've gone through since they brought you here, and I think it's pretty amazing how you've gotten through it..." He looked at the floor in front of me and then at the cage next to me. "I hope you get back home eventually. I hope you see your family and your friends, and that you can forget all about this place. Just stay strong, and it'll happen, okay?" This whole thing felt like a non sequitur. It just didn't sound right coming from him...

He still couldn't look at me, and suddenly I couldn't look at him either. Why? Why did he have to say that? "Thanks..." was all I said, and I felt guilty saying it.

Fairly soon after that, I was taken out again, and some time later, they returned me. The itching was worse, as I'd expected it to be; by the time Simms and Grant changed their posts that night, I couldn't stop myself from scratching. Steadily the spot on my neck became more and more raw until it hurt more to scratch that it helped. Yet still I couldn't stop.

"What's going on in there?" Grant asked me at one point in the night.

"I don't know..." I said as I scratched at the spot.

"You're gonna drive yourself crazy doing that."

For some reason that statement annoyed me. "I'll be fine..." was my response. A moment later, I stopped scratching and laid down. Not that it helped any.

That was a long night. Every moment seemed longer than the last—the itching got worse. Sometime in the early morning, Grant let out a heavy sigh and then leaned back and slid his back down the door until he was in a sitting position. For a while he sat there with his arms hung over his knees and his weapon grasped loosely around the barrel in his right hand. And sometime after that he slipped into sleep.

Not something for the captain of a unit to be doing, sleeping on duty. But then... maybe that's why they took that job away from him. Still, I had never seen him do this before. I couldn't tell if he was doing this out of depression or apathy, or if he was merely flaunting the fact that he could do it over me.

While he slept, it seemed somehow as though I'd been left to watch over the place and to make sure nothing went wrong. All the other animals were sleeping as well, so really I guess I was the only one keeping watch. And it angered me that Grant was making me do it. I wasn't getting paid for this. It wasn't in my job description. As far as they were concerned, I was just a simple beast, so why leave it up to me? Of course, there was always the possibility that Grant thought more of me than he let on...

In any case, I begrudgingly did keep watch, and while I did, some thoughts came rather involuntarily back to my mind. More of the questions concerning my escape which I hadn't found answers to. I wondered at first about the chance of success for my escape plan. If it were going to work at all, I would have to start the moment Simms came in the door. And then... I'd have to rely on my instincts and a good bit of luck. My mind went back to when I'd had my seizure. Had Simms opened the door to my cage then? I couldn't remember. All I saw were the steel bars and Simms down on his hands and knees, saying something silently to me. I couldn't remember if he had been inside or outside the cage... So much hinged on whether he had been willing to open my door back then, and I couldn't even remember. I could do anything I wanted, but unless I could get him to unlock my door for me, it was all futile. But at the very least, I knew what he had said to me in the past. That they kept him out of the loop on most issues. At least I had that working for me.

"Hmm," was the only sound I made. The puzzle lay before me, and the more I thought that night, the more its intricate pieces began to fit together. There still were a few questions, but at this point in time I figured there was nothing I could do about them. Simms wouldn't help me (at least not knowingly), and I wasn't going to hold my breath that Grant would either. I think the biggest question of all was whether I had it in me to do this, especially after Simms's apology to me, but I knew that night that I would find out soon.

Grant woke up a few hours later and looked around without much moving his head. A yawn took hold of him, and perhaps by mere coincidence, I yawned a few seconds later. After a moment more of sitting in his spot, Grant rose to his feet and resumed his guard duty as though nothing had happened. And not long after that, it was show time.

4.

Simms came through the metal doorway, in effect kicking off the day, and as he did so, I made sure to sprawl myself out flat on the floor. Don't move, I thought to myself. The itch on the back of my neck reared up again, painful more than anything.

I heard Simms say to Grant a couple seconds later that he couldn't believe it was still raining outside, that Midgar had a real flood problem on its hands, especially in the slums, if this were to keep up. A quick glance at him proved his statement correct—his uniform was heavily speckled with wet, darker spots of blue where he'd been hit by falling rain.

"I heard it's supposed to let up by the end of the day though," Grant responded, somewhat coldly.

"Hmmph," was Simms's response, and with that, Grant left.

I was surprised at myself. I had done nothing, and already my heart rate was up. I wondered if Simms could tell...

"Hey, you okay?" he asked after a short while.

"Not so loud..."

"You have a headache again?"

"Yeah..." I put a paw over my left ear and eye to block out as much as I could.

"Came on pretty quick, didn't it?"

My heart jumped. Had he accused me? Or was he just asking the question? I groaned a bit and muttered "unpredictable..."

"No kidding. Well, just relax. I'm sure it'll go away eventually."

I swallowed hard and said "I have this... acidic taste in my mouth..." I was trying my hardest to remember what had happened last time, but it was difficult... Last time, it had actually happened; my mind had been in a fog for weeks before it happened, so it was all a blur to me. But what I said seemed to have sparked his interest.

"Acidic... taste..." he repeated to himself. There was a look in his eyes as though he were thinking back as well, trying to recall something, and when he finally remembered, he seemed a bit more concerned with how I felt. "What else?"

I made sure my eye was shut tight as I spoke. "..What do you want... symptoms?"

"Yeah, something like that. What else are you feeling?"

I took in a slow, deep breath and spoke. "I don't know... I have sensitivity to light... hearing..." What else, what else? "My entire body is burning... It's hard to describe..." I sat up slowly because the itch on my neck was next door to driving me insane, and scratched it for a brief moment. Then, pausing for a moment with my head turned down to the floor, I thought on what to do next. ...Nothing... Slowly I made my way back into a reclined position, and upon reaching it, let out a heavy sigh.

A question came to me as I laid there. Why was I doing it like this? Pretending to be sick. Was this how my mother would have handled it? And Grandfather? It wasn't the way of a warrior, but... There wasn't any other way. It probably wasn't going to work anyway—there was no way it would work like the last time—but I had to try.

I lay there for most of the rest of the day in that spot thinking those thoughts, rising only once in a while to scratch my neck, and I could tell Simms had been drawn in. He watched every movement in my act closely from his position by the door. Once again I wondered whether I would have it in me to do what I needed to escape, and for a few moments that day, there even was a feeling of slight hesitation in me. I wished I had more time to think, but I knew in my heart that it was now or never, and the day was ticking away, regardless of any moral dilemmas I might have had.

Some time in mid-afternoon, I was tranqued—it seemed to take longer for the drugs to kick in—and taken out, and I worried Simms would not be there when I got back. Thankfully though, he was there, and upon seeing him, I continued my performance.

"...What time is it?" I asked from my side.

"It's about... 16:00 hours right now."

Only a few more hours...

"You feel any better?"

I took in a breath, held it, and then exhaled. "No... Not especially." The floor was cold, I finally realized. It had surely been that way all day, but this was the first I had noticed of it. The itch on my neck was worse than before—it burned now too in addition to the usual painful itching. Scratching it caused nothing but pain. I flipped over on my side at one point so that the spot was pressed against the floor. I hoped that that would help, but it only intensified the stinging as a result.

So for the most part, I just laid there and stared blankly ahead, and about an hour and a half later, I sat up. In the flat light of the room, I found I couldn't see Simms's eyes. Strange... Had it always been like that? For some reason I couldn't remember. Had I ever seen his eyes? I felt like I'd suddenly been blinded, and perhaps as a result, I began to panic. I had to get out of there.

Almost immediately a sharp stinging arose in my neck, breaking my thoughts. I snapped to attention, and as quickly as possible, went to scratch it. It didn't feel good, scratching the spot, which is obvious to say, considering how raw it already was. However, I couldn't make myself stop—it was like my leg moved of its own volition. After a moment, the stinging erupted into intense pain, and when I brought my foot back , it was wet with blood. I let out a slight grunt of pain as I saw it, which brought Simms's attention to me.

The first thing through my mind as I saw the blood was a mixture of shock and horror—I thought for sure I'd ripped my neck wide open. It only lasted for a split-second, but the adrenaline it produced instantly helped numb the wound. After that split-second, another thought crossed my mind: this was my chance. This was what I had been waiting for.

I glanced over at Simms with a slightly concerned look and almost immediately fell onto my side. My head slammed against the floor, harder than I'd wanted it too, as it were, but I figured it would help sell the image. Reaching back to everything I'd tried to remember. I began by flicking my legs back and forth with quick, fairly regular muscle contractions. I did essentially the same with the muscles in my abdomen and my tail and also made sure to open and close my mouth in the manner I remembered. I even ended up biting my tongue, as it had fallen between my teeth when I fell to my side. Hurt a bunch more than I remembered, but I didn't dare stop.

A few seconds passed, and the only sound I could hear was that of myself, writhing on the floor of my cage. Those seconds dragged on for an eternity—my heart felt like it was about to explode. I felt foolish; there was no way Simms had fallen for it. My mind had already begun working out a way to end my "seizure" and regain consciousness when I heard Simms's voice from across the room.

"Oh jeez—" was all he said at first, and then I heard quick footsteps coming toward me and the sound of his weapon, which he had dropped by the door, as it hit the ground. A moment later, I could see him on his hands and knees in front of me, looking in with concern. Just like last time... "Can you hear me? Red XIII, can you hear me?"

I bit my tongue harder in response to it, but beyond that, made no acknowledgment of his question.

"Oh man... Uhh... hold on." He stood up so that I could only see him from the waist down and grabbed his walkie-talkie from his side. "Hey, is anyone there?"

A second later a voice responded. "Yeah, who's this?"

"This is Simms in C5. I need someone up here quick. Red XIII's having another seizure. I uh...need someone to get up here." Simms spoke so quickly that his sentences began to run together.

"Roger that Simms. I'll let Professor Hojo know, and I'll send someone your way to pick the specimen up."

Simms knelt down and looked back in at me as I continued my convulsions. "What's the ETA on that?"

"Five or ten minutes," came back over his radio.

"All right." He replaced the walkie-talkie at his side and sat down in front of me.

The thought went through my mind that Simms wasn't going to open the door of my cage. My earlier fears had been confirmed... I thought ahead and tried quickly to devise a backup plan. Maybe... after they take me out, while I'm on my way to Hojo... but they'll tranquilize me before they take me. Though maybe not, if they think I'm already unconscious.

It was then that the memory came back to me that Hojo had said I'd spoken while I was unconscious last time. Another symptom which I could add to Simms's list. After continuing the seizure for another moment, I shut my eye and stopped moving. I even held my breath for several seconds, which gave me a good chance to listen to the racing pulse of my heart in my ears. I was about to mumble Grandfather's name (as Hojo had told me I'd done) when I heard the unmistakable jingling of Simms's keychain. So he was opening the door after all! He must have been waiting for my seizure to end. Now to wait...

The jingling stopped momentarily, and then came the sound of the key being pushed into the lock. A second later the door was opened.

I held deathly still, fearing any movement would send the door slamming shut. After a few more seconds, I felt Simms's hand probing the topside of my neck. It was strange—two fingers and a thumb up, the other two fingers down—like he was checking me for a pulse. His hand moved along the topside of my neck and then, apparently finding nothing (regardless of how high my pulse actually was), moved around to the underside. There, he continued in vain to try to find my pulse.

He poked around for a moment more, and then out of nowhere, when his hand was the farthest back under me, the switch flipped. I snapped to my feet and in a split-second had my jaws around his neck. He fell onto his back in the middle of the room, almost like he'd been catapulted off his feet, and I followed, ending up standing firmly on top of him. As he hit the ground, something flew out of a chest pocket in his uniform and skittered across the room. I paid no attention to it, instead trying my hardest to focus on the matter at hand. The other test animals in the room had picked up on the excitement and were, just as they had when I attacked Cray, rattling their cages and making indescribable screeching and howling sounds which hurt my ears. Simms struggled underneath me, his arms and legs scrambling in every direction, but by virtue of my weight advantage I easily had him pinned. It took a moment, but I realized he was reaching out for his gun near the door. Couldn't get to it. Even so, now that I could see what he was trying to do, I dragged him a bit farther away from the door and from there, continued to hold him down.

After a moment, he stopped flailing and pushed both his hands into my neck in an effort to force me off of him. The animals around the room quieted down, and as they did, I became aware of a strange clicking sound coming from Simms's throat. He was looking at me, I realized, with a strangely placid expression on his face. Neither of us moved, him because he couldn't, and me because I simply didn't know what to do next. In all of the worrying about whether Simms would open the door or not, I'd lost sight of what I'd actually have to do to get out. And now, confronted by that fact, I couldn't move. I couldn't let go of him or else any chance I had of escaping would be gone, and I couldn't bring myself to bite down because...

As he looked back up at me, I saw his daughter and his wife, playing together in a grassy field. I saw them crying at learning that he had been killed. And I saw his apology to me, just the day before. What now?

The taste of blood stung in my mouth. I'd already wounded him. I wished it would stop. I wished I could stop, but there was no way to take it back now. I looked back down into Simms's eye and tried to apologize to him. And then I clenched my eye shut, took in a breath through my nose, and bit down as hard as I could. No pain. ...No pain...

There was a quick tearing sound, followed by a dull crack, and then Simms's eyes went vacant. The clicking sound coming from his throat stopped, and I immediately let go of him and stepped down off his chest. His arms, still pressed into my neck, followed for a second, and then they fell flat to the ground. From a few feet to his side, I watched silently. All I could see in my mind's eye was the face of his little girl. The bite wounds I'd left on him bled steadily, trailing down and around his neck to the ground. A puddle began to form under his head. Such a stinging, sour taste... Why wouldn't it stop? HIs eyes were still open, relaxed, looking up at the light in the ceiling, but it didn't look like he was breathing. Was he dead?

The word "dead" repeated over and over in my head as I looked around the room. "What next," I said to myself. "What next..."

I remembered the object which had fallen from his pocket. Where had it gone? I searched the room aimlessly for it, and eventually I happened across something near the metal doorway. ...Materia... I walked up to it and inspected it for a moment. Some sort of support materia from the looks of it, but without using it, there was no way to tell exactly what kind it was. I removed my clip from my mane and placed the materia next to a fire materia which I'd had since I was too little to use it. Glancing back over my shoulder at Simms, I replaced the clip in its spot atop my head.

Now... How to get out of here...

The white box on the wall stood silently, waiting for me to find it, and when I finally did, I made my way over to the wall and reared up on my hind legs to examine it. Three rows of three, one through nine... And I only needed six of them. What was it?

"Six...four... seven..." I paused. I couldn't remember any more of it. Was it an eight? The last digit was a one—I was pretty sure of that—but the other two... I swallowed hard; the taste was still there, distracting me. I couldn't think. Yes, it was an eight. I pressed the buttons as I spoke them. "Six, four, seven, eight..." I tried to picture the guards pressing the buttons. Six-four-seven, eight... The guard's hand moved around the pad. And from the eight... back to the six. I typed in the six and the one and dropped back down to all fours, expecting the door to open. But it didn't.

I looked back up at the box and the rose to make a closer inspection. What was wrong? There was no Enter button. No screen to say if I didn't enter it correctly... I pressed the buttons again, and again the door didn't open. Was the code I'd remembered wrong? One last time I tried punching it in. No luck.

Once again, doubts as to the possibilities for the success of my plan arose. I backed down from the wall and sat facing Simms. All I could do now was wait. Maybe I could surprise the guards Simms had called in for backup and get out before they had a chance to react. Then it would be to the left to the elevators and down and out of the building.

But for now... Simms lay in the exact position I'd left him. The puddle of blood had grown a bit, but beyond that it was all the same. Around the room, the other test specimens watched me quietly. It felt like hundreds of eyes were watching from the dark, witness to what I'd done. Or maybe they wanted my help. I eyed the keyring hanging in the door of my cage.

...I can't. I can't...

I sat there for the next few minutes waiting, and then the sound of footsteps coming down the hall grabbed my attention. I lined myself up along the wall next to the door and crouched down to prepare myself. The footsteps stopped a few steps later. I could tell they were right outside. No pain. No pain. I repeated it to myself. A couple more seconds passed, and then the door slid open. One guard stepped through, carrying one end of a stretcher behind him. A second guard held the other end outside. I couldn't see a machine gun on the first guard from my spot along the wall, so I didn't move.

He spotted Simms lying on the ground after a step or two into the room, at which point he said something along the lines of "What the..." and jumped to check on him. Both guards dropped their ends of the stretcher—it hit the floor unevenly and bounced a couple times to a halt.

As the second guard entered the room, I made my strike, lunging forward and grabbing him around the neck like I'd done to Simms. He went tumbling to the floor, causing his gun—a machine gun—to get loose and slide away. I didn't give him a chance to struggle, clawing away on either side of his neck and ripping from the spot I'd bit down on.

The other guard, who had had his back turned as I began my attack, was caught completely by surprise. He was so startled in fact that as he wheeled around to see what had happened, he slipped and fell onto his back. As I turned to face him, I saw he was struggling to get something free from his belt. I took a step toward him before realizing that it was a tranquilizer gun he was reaching for. He had it out and pointed at me before I could make another move. We both were frozen for a moment. He had fear in his eyes, which I suppose wasn't surprising considering how I must have looked at that point. I tried to make the first move, making a quick attempt to get to him and swat the gun away before he fired. I succeeded in swatting the gun, but by the time I did, he had shot and hit me right in the middle of the underside of my neck. Another quick swat across the face was enough to lay him flat on the ground next to Simms. I scratched the dart from my neck and ran from the room just as the metal door was closing.

Outside I stopped for a moment. I couldn't believe I'd been careless enough to be darted. It was a race against time now. I figured I had a few extra minutes because of the adrenaline rushing through my veins, but I knew I had to move. Looking right and then left down the hall, I set off running to the elevators. The fear I felt was driving me forward. I pushed my body to run faster than I physically could, as though some unrelenting and ever-advancing invisible force were in pursuit. Past the branch leading to the stairs, and a second later I arrived. There were two doors next to each other, each with two buttons by it. Up and down. I pressed the down arrow on the left elevator. A mechanical whirring sound began as I checked over my shoulder to see if I was being followed. The hallway was clear as far as I could see. No one had followed me. The sound of a bell ringing returned my attention to the door. The button I'd pressed had lit up and the whirring had stopped. I eyed the crack between the doors on the elevator, impatient for it to open. Finally it did, and as the doors slid apart, bright warm, orange-red light poured through. I was taken aback by it at first—I hadn't even adjusted to the bright light of the hallway since escaping from the holding quarters, so this light nearly blinded me. I squinted and entered the elevator, and the doors closed calmly behind me.

I found myself bewildered, looking out on a fiery sunset over a sprawling metallic city. Down below, hundreds if not thousands of lights, a veritable sea of lights, shone forth, preparing for the night to come. And it didn't look too far away. The sun shone from a clearing in the clouds way off in the distance on the horizon, shooting rays of burned orange along the underside of an otherwise dark, gloomy sheet of clouds. It was raining, even now—not very much, but it came in huge droplets which lit up like a prism when they fell in front of the sunset. I had paused only for a second's time, not even enough for my heart to stop racing, but I took in and committed to memory every detail of what I saw outside that elevator. I'd never seen anything quite like it before. Regardless of the circumstances, I found it breathtaking.

In an instant, my attention came to a podium standing to my right in the elevator. On it were multiple buttons labeled from 69 down to 60 and below those, a button labeled "1." I pressed the button for the first floor, but nothing happened for a second. Then a voice, that of a woman, came from the side of the podium:

"Access to the first floor from administrative levels has been restricted to employees with level 4 or higher authorization. Please present your identification."

"What?!?" Would nothing in this place work for me? Someone must have pulled an alarm. Probably that soldier I left back in my holding quarters, I thought.

I pressed the first floor button again, hoping for something different, but the woman repeated her message to me, this time adding on that "if you do not have proper authorization or have misplaced your identification card, please return to the 60th floor and take the stairs to your desired location. We're sorry for the inconvenience."

"I'll bet you are," I retorted inadvertently. I still had a bad taste in my mouth, and I was aware of a wet ring of blood all the way around the end of my snout. It bothered me, but this wasn't the time to fix it.

I didn't want to take the stairs, especially if what Grant had said—20 minutes to get down—was true. I would never last that long now that I had been tranqued. But I didn't have many options to choose from, so I pressed the button for floor 60, and the elevator sprung into motion.

I half-expected as the doors slid open to come face to face with a throng of guards, thus ending my escape, but to my surprise and even a bit to my disappointment, they opened on an empty lobby-like area. It appeared, regardless of the first floor restriction and any alarms which had been tripped, that they didn't look at me as being much of a security problem. I stepped out into the lobby, and the doors closed behind me. It was much brighter in this room, even more so that it had been upstairs, but I had adjusted to the light of the sunset so I no longer needed to squint. There were what appeared to be two exits from this room—a wide stairwell to my right and a fire door across the way on which hung a picture of a human descending a set of five steps. Another stairwell it looked like.

I took a step forward and a few steps to the right. No... That stairwell looked like the "front door" to going down. The one behind the door seemed like a better choice in terms of armed resistance, so I took that path instead. After fiddling with the door handle with both my front paws for a moment, I pushed open the door and walked through.

The stairwell was skinny, dimly lit, and fairly steep, going 12 or 13 steps down, twisting around 180 degrees, and continuing downward. I looked over the railing to see just how far down the stairs went, and as I did, my heart sank. As far down as I could see, there were stairs. Step after step, level after level... Thirty of forty floors down, everything faded into black—the lights were too dim to allow me to see any farther.

"There's no way..." I said. I began, almost on cue, to feel the effects of the tranquilizer. My neck had suddenly gone numb, and I could feel it beginning to move around into my shoulders and the upper part of my front legs. The beginnings of drowsiness had set in as well.

Without another word, I pulled my head back from the railing and broke into a dead sprint down the steps. One flight, and then another, and another, until I'd completely lost count of what floor I was on. It was hard to tell I was making any progress at all. Floor after floor came and went, coming and going in the darkness, and after 30 or so floors, each one began to look progressively more like the last. The only way I could tell time had even passed was from my shortness of breath and the creeping numbness which had crawled down my back and into my hind legs. By this point it took some concentration to keep myself running—concentration which, as the drowsiness intensified, became exceedingly difficult to keep. But I pressed on.

Grandpa's image ran through my head. Looking out the open doorway through the rain, that strange ghostly expression on his face. What was it for? My mind sidetracked to try to find an answer to that question, and for some time—I don't know how short or long it may have been—I was lost in thought. And then suddenly I saw saw Simms's body lying on motionless in the middle of the floor, bleeding out into the darkness. The image was enough to jerk me back to attention, and at almost the exact same moment, one of my front feet, now completely numb, tripped over a step, sending me staggering into the wall on the landing in front of me. I bounced off it somewhat, just barely managing to keep my legs under me, and stood in my spot for just second to collect myself.

I was wobbly, swaying back and forth on my feet. It felt like if I were to try to take a step, I would fall down, but somehow I managed to stagger my way over to the inside rail of the stairs. Peering over the edge, I realized just how drowsy I'd become. The stairs and everything else below bent and bowed before me as though I were looking through some sort of funhouse mirror. I could barely keep my eye open to see, but in the darkness in the distance below, I was aware of some form or box shape anchored right in the middle of the stairwell which had a red blinking light on it.

The ground floor! It must be!

I started down the next set of stairs. My legs were nearly unresponsive, but step by step, I ran down as fast as I possibly could.

...Almost there... I was excited, but oddly, my heart beat had slowed near-nothing. Why was that, I wondered to myself.

And that was my mistake. That split-second loss of concentration, thinking about my heart beat and not about keeping myself going. As I rounded the corner to descend the next set of steps, all four of my feet slid out from under me, and all at once I collided with the wall and spilled over the edge of the steps. Just as before, I bounced off the wall after hitting it, but there was no stopping myself this time. My momentum kept me moving forward. Down, down, and down I fell, tumbling awkwardly down what seemed like an interminable set of steps to the landing below. Upon hitting it I skidded into a stack of some sort of supplies lined up against the wall—I didn't get a good look at them so I don't know what they were or why they were there. The entire stack came toppling noisily down on me, leaving me pinned under its weight. Some sort of red cloth fell over my face, rendering me all but blind. All I remember is that it had the same bad smell that I'd become acquainted with in the holding quarters.

"No...no..." repeated over and over again in my mind.

So close to freedom, but my legs wouldn't move. I was completely immobilized. The tranquilizers had taken hold and left me too weak to get up.

"...help..." I managed to call out meagerly. But no one answered.

I could see nothing but red. It was a strange, translucent color, like a piece of red tissue paper more than anything. A bit of light shone through from somewhere above, soft, diffuse. I listened to the sound of my breathing for a moment. In... and out... Inhale... exhale... A steady beat... Slower... and slower... Very quickly, and much to my dismay, the rhythm lulled me to sleep.

5.

…

Entry Number: 1009610332

Date: 021186 21:08

Project: Red

Class: XIII

How infuriating. Specimen attempted escape at approximately 17:30 hours today, killing one guard and severely injuring another in the process. Fortunately, a third guard managed to get a tranquilizer into the specimen so as to subdue him with relatively little additional damage being done either to the project or the work force within the building. Additionally, the guard was able to trip a silent alarm from within the holding block, preventing the specimen from reaching the first floor via the elevators (records show that the specimen did access the elevators, so the alarm was most certainly not tripped in vain). It is unclear to me at this point how the specimen got loose in the first place; however, Captain Simms's keys were found inserted into the cell door.

As it stands, Red XIII was found unconscious at the base of the eighth floor stairwell under a pile of cleaning supplies. There is no telling how far he may have gotten had he had use of the elevators, especially considering the fact that I was under the impression at the time that he had suffered from another Mako-induced seizure. After being recovered, the specimen was brought to me for a cleaning and examination to check for injuries. None were found except for a self inflicted neck wound which stitched up nicely. It's somewhat surprising. I would expect something like this out of one of the lesser test specimens, but with this one... It would appear that even an animal as intelligent as this one is susceptible to its baser instincts, given the right circumstances. ...But perhaps it will all work out in the long run. After the exam, the specimen was transported downstairs to the elevator pad, where he will remain for further observation.

...I'm at a loss for what to do about this situation. It seems at this point that there is no one, excluding myself of course, who isn't utterly incapable of handling this specimen. ...Maybe I made a mistake demoting Grant last month. Regardless, it is quite apparent I can't let a project of this high profile fall into incompetent hands. Therefore, I am placing myself in charge of his containment. He has manipulated the circumstances to his favor for the last time. So for the foreseeable future, Red XIII will remain on the elevator pad. I'm not sure what I will do with him on the long term scale though, be it keeping him there or moving him to a higher security holding area—it all depends on the workload my other projects present me.

...How infuriating this all is. I have enough to do without having to file reports for the president and paperwork for the dead. But, as always, I will persevere. The end result of this project will be quite worth the effort.

END OF ENTRY

…

So... Here I lie... I didn't make it... After all that... I didn't make it...

It was a shattering thought, one which both tore me to pieces and at the same time enraged me. All for naught. All of that work just to land me back where I began: lying alone on my side on a cold metal floor. In front of me, my reflection lay on its side as well, watching me silently. It was... frustrating.

...This place again... The glass cage.

One of my back legs was asleep, still numb from the tranquilizers. I wanted to get up and throw myself through that glass wall, I was so angry, but I knew it would be for nothing. There was no escape from this place; I knew that now, so I remained still on my side, watching my reflection breathing.

I wouldn't say I had been broken, but I knew for sure my chance at escape had come and gone, and I had failed. There was no point in trying anymore—the circumstances would never align themselves again as they had done for me with Simms and Grant...

"...Hojo?" I called out, looking up to the ceiling.

There was a pause, and then came his voice from the intercom. "Yes? What is it?"

I didn't respond.

I was sore, but not particularly hurt, from my fall down the stairs, so the next few days were more or less devoted to recovering from that. Life inside the glass cage was relatively quiet, and by any comparison to my previous quarters, it was luxurious—no unspeakable scents, decent lighting, and so on. It gave me time to clear my mind, to think lucidly for what felt like the first time in ages.

I still felt guilt several days later for what I'd done to Simms, and I figured that would never go away completely. I wondered if he was all right. What had happened to him after I left? He'd probably have to take some time off to recover from his wounds. Give him a chance to be with his family. Maybe Grant would take back over while he was gone. Captain for a month, maybe. Or maybe... The image of Simms on his back in the holding quarters shot through my mind again. ...It was all speculation, of course. I never saw or heard from either Simms or Grant again, so there was no way of telling. Still, I couldn't stop thinking about it for a long while. This room offered little but near-complete isolation—just Ova and me—so I heard very little about anything at all aside from the occasional sound of Hojo checking in on me via the intercom. Nothing else ever seemed to happen.

And yet somehow, day by day, week by week, time began to pass, slower and slower yet, until I could no longer say how long I'd been there. Test after test was performed, and before long I paid no heed. I shut myself away. A year could have passed for all I knew, but time was no longer important because there never appeared to be any end in sight for my captivity. And at that point in time, the end truly wasn't in sight. It wouldn't be until I'd come to accept my captivity and status as a research specimen, until I'd nearly forgotten what my true home and those who lived there looked like—nearly two full years living in my glass prison—that I would finally see myself freed from that torturous place.