When we have snowstorms on the weekends, my sister and I spend all Saturday shoveling not only the porch but the walkway, cars, driveway, and slush-ridden side-street. It's so much fun. Especially when an imaginary Zack Puppy is there sparking your imagination. xD

Dedicated to those who have felt the burn of the snow. Yeah, baby! :3 *Dances*

"I don't see…"

Thud.

"…how this…"

Whoosh. Thump.

"...makes me…a hero."

A certain fifteen-year-old by the name of Zack Fair leaned on a shovel, panting. Beside him, in front of him, and almost completely surrounding him lay a thick blanket of snow. It was like a sparkling white tsunami, rising higher than his spiky black hair in most places. Despite the crisp winter air of Modeoheim, Zack had long since shed his coat due to the vigorous shoveling that had been assigned to him.

"It's simple," the supervisor had instructed his third-class group. "Shovel this snow here over to that side over there. You can't see it, but you're clearing the main road of the town. On either side of you are homes; at the end of the street is a concrete wall. Stop when you get to it."

But, as Zack was discovering, this 'simple' chore was actually a convoluted means of physical torture. All at once the innocent, fluffy snow turned into rock-solid slush which, notwithstanding his constant efforts to remove it, froze to the ground in a most maddening way. The ice stuck to his shovel as well, causing snow to literally snowball on its metal surface so that it was necessary to frequently pause and remove the build-up. After a good hour of strenuous shoveling, Zack's arms felt as if they were made of smoldering coals. Perspiration beaded on his brow; wisps of steam from his skin dissipated into the icy air. With every slow, tortuous shovel he was lifting solid lead, not snow. Snow was supposed to be delicate and weightless. This was something else.

How could other people live in this place without being permanently hunched over from digging themselves out of snow-drifts? He supposed that's why Shinra had sent the third-classes here. Not only were Zack and his fellow thirds getting a major workout, they were also manifestations of Shinra's benevolence. He snickered and immediately regretted it when—ow—his sides yelped in protest.

"Aaaugh…" He tossed another heap across his aching shoulder, threw his shovel aside, and listened to his joints crack as he straightened up. He had never dreamed of feeling old at this age, but now he thought he understood what his grandpa had meant when he said his back was killing him.

His gaze drifted across the sky and his attention was caught by a stack of lazy grey smoke. He could just see the top of a stone chimney over the snow-berm he had created. In case any villagers could see him, he picked up his shovel again: let it never be said that Zack Fair was an incompetent worker. And he wasn't going to ditch the effort in the presence of all his fellow SOLDIER third-class.

Thud. Whoosh…thump! Thud. Whoosh…thump! The rhythm of seven shoveling soldiers was like a slow, muffled drum beat as they chipped away at the seemingly endless mound of snow before them.

Maybe if he shoveled faster they'd be done faster. He lifted a load of particularly icy stuff and slung with new enthusiasm high into the air.

Thud. Whoo—

"OW!"

Whoops.

He spun around, searching for whomever he had hit, and was surprised to see an auburn head poke over the top of the snow berm…Genesis? His hair was powdered with snow, the majority of it seeming to have fallen down the neck of his black vest. From the expression on his face, Zack assumed he wasn't exactly a happy soldier.

"Sorry." He tried rather unsuccessfully to suppress a grin. "Where'd you come from? I didn't know the seconds were here."

"Thbpt!" he answered, spitting out a mouthful of snow. "We are here because someone must compensate for you third-class slackers."

Zack's grin vanished. "Slackers?! We've been at this since this morning!" He sprang up the snow berm and glanced over the side. "You're hardly farther than us."

Genesis was not amused. "If you maladroit thirds are capable of it, try to keep the snow on your side from now on," he said dryly, then slid back down.

Zack hadn't the faintest idea as to the definition of "maladroit," but he was sure it wasn't a complement. Ugh. That egotistic Genesis and his stupid vocabulary. Zack turned to leap down from the berm and, despite his careful effort not to disturb the piled snow, accidently sent a mound tumbling down the slope—Genesis' side of the slope.

Wounded pride somewhat satisfied, he wielded his shovel and resumed his work…

…only to be interrupted ten minutes later.

PIFF! Suddenly everything was spinning and his shoulder was slammed against the icy ground. Dazed and dizzy, it took him several seconds to sense a numb, slow throbbing in his ear. What the Cetra…? Staggering to his feet, he glanced around and caught a blurred glimpse of unmistakable burgundy.

So you wanna play that way, huh? All right—this is war! He scraped out the snow jammed into his ear and shook his head, causing flakes of snow to fly from his spiky black hair.

Shovel in hand so as to at least appear to be working, he formulated a plan. Seeing as how his weaponry resources were rather limited, he was going to have to be creative. Mako-blue eyes roving about the snowy soldier-strewn landscape, he frowned. Icicles would have been useful, but the only ones he saw glistened on the roofs of distant snow-bound homes. Hmm. Snow, slush…and…rocks? Rocks! It wasn't very fair, but…who said he was fair? Well, technically...

Stooping for the umpteenth time, he dislodged a rock nearly the size of his fist. Chipping at the ice with his shovel, he covered the stone with compact ice and added an additional layer of snow. Then he clambered up the berm, pausing at the top to peer cautiously over the rim. His unsuspecting victim was currently…what? Genesis had abandoned his shovel and was loafing near the other seconds, some sort of book in one hand and the other gesturing expressively in the air. Zack cocked his head inquisitively—that wasn't part of the assignment. He would never understand that auburn enigma of a man.

Genesis' back turned, Zack aimed and coiled his arm—sorry, Genesis, but you asked for it...consider this a taste of the wrath of mighty Zack!—and let fly with all the force he could muster. Not risking discovery, he hurled himself back down the slope, sides shaking with silent laughter.

Had he watched the ensuing scene, he might not have been laughing.

His aim was flawless. His lethal bullet whizzed through the air towards the back of Genesis' head, zooming along in a perfect arc. But Genesis, absorbed in the passion of Loveless, strode dramatically to the side at the last possible moment. The rock-ice-snowball hurtled past him…

…and right into the face of a bewildered Sephiroth.

__________________________________________

Thud. Whoosh…thump!

Zack dug onward with newfound energy, a seemingly permanent grin plastered across his face.

"Fair?"

"That would be me!" He turned, hoping to see a supervisor pleased with Zack's tireless work. Instead, he was greeted by the metal end of a shovel.

___________________________________________________

"Ugh…"

A reddish-white light flooded through Zack's closed eyes. He was unaware of any sense of touch; his attempts to move were futile. He was as immobile as a stone. "Ngh." At least his mouth worked.

"Who's this?" a voice inquired loudly.

"Zack Fair, SOLDIER third-class, Sir," came a distant reply.

"Hmph."

Zack was vaguely aware of something dull jabbing him in the ribs, but he didn't have sufficient strength to make his exhausted body respond.

"…I advise it within your best interests to get up. Immediately," the voice commanded humorlessly.

That voice…sounds kind of familiar, Zack noted in his haze.

"…if you'd like to survive third-class, I suggest…"

Kind of like my squadron commander…when he's mad.

…

Oh crap.

His eyes flew wide open.

"That's what I thought," the commander sneered, staring down at Zack without the slightest hint of sympathy. "I don't know what kind of a show you think we're runnin' here, Mr. Fair, but sleeping on the job is most definitely NOT tolerated! Get up!"

Head pounding, a flabbergasted Zack staggered to his feet, almost tripping in the snow he had been sprawled in. Blinking in confusion, he saw that the sun had moved. The street had been almost completely removed of snow; his fellow soldiers were leaving.

"You're lucky I'm a nice guy," his superior declared, though not looking it at all, "'Cause instead of the standard ten, I'm only giving you seven hours of isolated shoveling." He produced a dreaded shovel and threw it at Zack. "'Git to work."

Haha. This was fun to write, even if it took a week and a three-in-the-morning to get on paper. Poor Zack needs a Phoenix Down or something... Whaddya think?