Update 11/13/2012: The Final Fantasy VII bug has once again taken a bite out of me, but good. It seems I will be continuing All But Blood and Everlasting Lilac, as well as tossing in a few one-shot fics for good measure.

All But Blood presents a unique challenge for me. I started writing it long before any of Final Fantasy VII's prequels or sequels came out. While I refuse to accept "The Last Order" as canon, thanks to its abominable revisionism of already-established in-game canon, Crisis Core is another beast entirely. I played it, I loved it. It completely reinforced my personal interpretation of Zack's character, not to mention gave me his real last name! (Fair instead of Forrester. Knew it had to start with an "F" though! Muahahahah!) However, it also threw in all the new stuff with Angeal, Genesis and Sephiroth, not to mention it provided scenes showing how Zack met Cloud, became friends, etc. Crisis Core pretty much made All But Blood obsolete if I were to take it as canon. And I do.

But what the hell? That doesn't mean I can't finish what I set out to do - tell the story of Cloud and Zack's time as Hojo's prisoner specimens. At least that part wasn't covered in Crisis Core in any amount of depth.

I'm not going to re-write All But Blood to conform to Crisis Core continuity, as much as it galls me to be so far off from canon, because I like what I did with Zack and Cloud's backstories with only knowledge of the original game. I will continue to write the fic as if I didn't know that Crisis Core exists, as hard as that will be. I will make one change, however. Search-and-replace Forrester with Fair. :)

Warning: This fic contains less-than-pristine language, violence, and non-explicit adult themes.

All But Blood

Prologue

by Krista Perry

I wake up abruptly, jolted away from the usual Mako-induced nightmares by the sound of a door scraping open against a stone floor, and the familiar squeal of hinges badly in need of oiling. Someone is entering the laboratory, and, just like every other damn time that door opens, my body tenses as a surge of dread-inspired adrenaline pulses through me. It's a conditioned response, much as I hate to admit it, and I wonder if that sound will always make me jumpy, even after I get out of here. But whenever that door opens, pain in one form or another usually follows. And while I've always been one who can handle a little pain... hell, even a lot of pain... there are still limits to a man's tolerance. I've been there and beyond, and it ain't fun.

Through the swirling green mist of Mako that keeps me suspended, hanging weightless in the middle of this damned specimen cylinder, I see my fears confirmed. It's Hojo. And, oh joy, he's brought along two of his lab flunkies. Which can only mean that he's planning on running more of his sadistic tests.

Damn. It's been three whole days since he was last down here, and I was hoping...

But of course, I should have know the brief reprieve wouldn't last. I've learned, after nearly five years of being this madman's prisoner, that Hojo would sooner saw off his own limbs than allow one of his experiments to go personally unattended by him for too long.

I can't help but notice that these two flunkies are different from the usual pair that come down here. These two new guys look like they are in their mid 20's or so - not much older than me. They also look a lot stronger than the two middle-aged guys that were working with Hojo before, and that makes me wonder if I really busted that guy's jaw the last time they took me out of this damned tube. I thought I felt something give when I lashed out, but, at the time, I was so drugged out on the tranquilizers that Hojo had pumped into me that I couldn't be sure. Even so, it gave me no small amount of satisfaction to know that I managed to briefly slip their bonds and whup their asses, in spite of my mind and body being slowed down by a drug-induced haze.

"Hey, Hojo," I say, my voice muted by both my glass prison and the thick green Mako mist that fills my lungs with each breath. He glances in my direction; his eyes, reptilian in their coldness, peering at me over the top of his round, dark-lensed glasses. "So what happened to the other two guys?" I ask, trying to sneer. "They finally recognize you for the cold-hearted sick son-of-a-bitch you are, and take off?"

He doesn't answer me, of course. He's got the ability to ignore anything - from insults, to the tortured screams of his victims - down to an art. But the two new guys, who are busy preparing the examination table, they glance at me uneasily, and I can see from the fear in their faces that I might have done more damage to their predecessors in my last impulsive escape attempt than I thought.

Then, for the first time, I notice that they are unarmed. Damn. If they aren't armed, it can only mean that I'm not the one they've come for this time. A glance at Hojo confirms my suspicions. His attention is not focused on me, but on the cylinder next to mine.

I look over at my friend. My fellow prisoner and constant companion for the past five years, and my sole remaining link to sanity in the face of this endless torture. Like me, he hangs suspended within a writhing morass of Mako. And, as I see him, I feel my heart sink down into the pit of my stomach.

He looks... terrible. Worse than before I fell asleep. His whole body is wracked with tremors, and his spiky blond hair is damp with sweat. From his slumped posture, his head hanging limply against his chest, I can't tell if he's even conscious or not; if he's even aware that Hojo has come for him again.

"Cloud," I say, by way of warning.

At the sound of his name, he slowly lifts his head looks up at me. His heavy-lidded blue eyes, glowing faintly with Mako, are glazed with pain.

"Zuh... Zack..." he responds hoarsely.

Whenever I start feeling sorry for myself and think I've got it bad, all I have to do is look at Cloud. Hojo's experiments have messed him up far worse than they have me.

"How ya' feelin', kid?" I ask softly. Kid. He hates it when I call him that, and it's hardly appropriate anyway, since he's... what, 19 or 20? Anyway, he's now older than I was when we first found ourselves trapped here five years ago, but sometimes it just comes out.

But apparently he's too sick to even get angry over my verbal slip. A weak half smile curls his lip. "I... feel like... shit, thanks," he says, and then his smile fades, and his pain-filled gaze grows distant, drifting from me as he lifts one trembling hand to his forehead. "I... can hear them again," he whispers, and his voice takes on a haunted, almost child-like sing-song tone that sends shivers up my spine. "All the time..."

"Cloud..." I try to warn him again.

But he doesn't seem to notice the urgency behind my whisper. "All... around me... The... voices, they..."

"They what?" Hojo interrupts, with sudden acute interest, and Cloud blinks, startled, the words dying in his throat as he notices for the first time that our demented keeper is standing right before his cylinder.

Hojo leans toward the cylinder until his nose is almost touching the glass, his hands clasped behind his back as he stares at Cloud intently. "What are the voices saying? Tell me."

But Cloud is silent, his eyes filling with panic as they dart back and forth between Hojo, and the two flunkies, one of whom is hooking up the usual canister of tranquilizer gas into the Mako feed. Cloud's shaking hand drops to his side, and the sudden raw fear that flashes across his face as he realizes what is about to happen makes my insides twist with guilt.

"Well?" Hojo presses. "You have a choice. You can tell me now, or..." He pauses significantly. "...I can just use my usual methods of extracting information from that muddled head of yours."

That filthy bastard. Hot anger boils up within me, and I reach out and smash my fist against the transparent wall of my prison. Even suspended in mid-air, without any leverage, I still manage to hit the wall hard enough to make the nearest flunkie jump, startled. "Leave him alone," I snarl. "Can't you see he's sick? If you gotta torture someone today, why not take me?"

And then, looking over at Cloud, I realize my mistake too late. He tenses at my words, and, without looking at me, the fearful expression on his face hardens suddenly to one of angry determination.

Great. Just great. Because I tried to come to his rescue, he's decided to make it difficult for Hojo, and not give the slimy, greasy-haired bastard the satisfaction of a willing answer. And while I agree with the practice - at least when I'm the one giving Hojo grief - for Cloud, it only means he's set himself up for yet another soul-shattering session of Hojo's "usual methods."

I wish I understood even half of what Hojo's experiments were for, and what it is that they are even doing to us, but there's a reason I became a soldier rather than a scientist. All I know is that it involves Mako... and that monster, Jenova... that thing that Sephiroth was so obsessed with, right before he completely flipped out and ran me through with that wicked long sword of his.

When I first regained consciousness after the incident at Mt. Nibel, only to find that Cloud and I were both Hojo's prisoners in the basement of the Shinra Mansion, I was afraid that we were going to suffer the same fate as those poor creatures in the pods at the Mt. Nibel Reactor, since Sephiroth had told me that they were once human. But it's been five years, and we're both still human... on the outside, at least. I don't know about the inside. And I don't know why it is that Cloud reacts so badly to Hojo's experiments, while I seem to remain relatively unscathed. All I know is, whatever it is that Hojo is doing to Cloud... whatever those Jenova injections are doing... it's messing him up bad.

I wonder if Sephiroth was hearing voices, before he went completely crazy?

I'm sorry, Cloud, I'm sorry. We were planning on getting through this together, with our bodies and minds intact, remember? But Hojo is killing you - killing your sanity - bit by bit, with his crazy treatments, filling your body with Mako, injecting you with cells from that Jenova monster, and if you fight back now, it will only make it worse. Please. You don't need to try and play the hero just to prove that you're as strong as me.

But of course, I can't say any of this out loud, because then Cloud would never forgive me. He wants to be strong so badly, and any reminder that he's not kills him worse than anything else, I think.

As I feared, Hojo also sees the bitter stubbornness fall across Cloud's pale features, and he sighs with overblown resignation. "Fine, have it your way," he says, clearly not caring one way or the other; though, to be honest, I know that he prefers it when Cloud doesn't cooperate willingly.

Hojo turns to one of the flunkies, a tall man who, though obviously still young and boyish in the face, is already losing his hair. "Simmons, make a note," he snaps, and the balding flunkie scrambles for the pockets of his lab coat to retrieve a pencil and a small leather-bound spiral notebook. "Specimen B displaying signs of communication with Jenova; however, further tests must be run to make sure symptoms are not merely the result of advanced Mako poisoning."

Hojo pauses, peering at Cloud thoughtfully over his glasses. Cloud glares back, his fists clenched at his sides, obviously determined not to be unnerved by Hojo's inspection, though his sickly pallor does much to undermine the weight of his anger.

"Tissue and fluid samples," Hojo continues coldly, "from all previously treated vitals, most importantly the brain stem, will be needed to investigate the extent of the Jenova cell permeation, and the effect on Specimen B's DNA. Also, we will need to run tests to measure how the Mako treatments have increased Specimen B's resilience to massive physical trauma." And then, cool as can be, he then proceeds to rattle off a whole list of equipment and supplies that he'll need for this new battery of tests, most of which sound very sharp and painful.

Glancing over at Cloud, I can see a hint of terror creeping into his eyes again, underneath the anger.

Damn. It's far too late for me to take back my over- protective words that spurred him into his display of defiance, but that doesn't mean I can't try to help him through this. "Hey, Cloud" I say, trying to sound encouraging, though I'm afraid I sound more desperate. "Hang in there. I know you can handle whatever these assholes try to do to you."

He looks at me gratefully, but I can tell from the despairing look in his Mako-blue eyes that he doesn't have the same faith in himself that I do.

"Isn't that sweet," Hojo quips, looking at me with one eyebrow cocked. "But then I suppose you'd better hope he does well, because you're next."

"Good," I reply, staring right back at him as I smack my fist into the palm of my hand. "That will give me another chance to rip your lungs out."

Hojo frowns, then turns away from me sharply. "Hadley," he commands, pinning the other flunkie, the one hooking up the canister of tranquilizer gas, with a fierce look. "Subdue the specimen and get it out of there."

The flunkie named Hadley pauses visibly. Hojo glowers at him. "Well? What are you waiting for?"

"J-just..." Hadley stutters, glancing nervously at Cloud. "He... isn't going to get loose, is he?"

"Not if you do your job right, idiot," Hojo snaps. Then, a wicked grin crawls across his face as he turns to look at Cloud. "Anyway, it was the other one that got loose. This one," he drawls, taking obvious pleasure in what he is about to say as he looks directly into Cloud's pain-shrouded eyes, "is the weak one. I've never had any problems with this particular specimen."

Cloud is trembling, but whether from sickness or fury, I can't tell. "Bite me, Hojo," he hisses through clenched teeth, just as Hadley turns on the tranquilizer gas feed. Frantically, Cloud instinctively holds his breath, even though he knows it's no use, as the grayish gas snakes through the green glow of Mako and touches his skin. That small contact is all it takes. He gasps, his eyes going wide as he convulses slightly.

I can't help but wince in empathy, my jaw clenched tight, as I am all too familiar with what he's going through. Hojo's materia-supported tranquilizer gas works immediately, seeping through the skin and searing like cold fire, numbing the body and dulling the mind so that it's virtually impossible to offer up any resistance until well after they have you safely strapped down to their table of torture.

As usual, Cloud struggles briefly, thrashing in the Mako mists as the tranquilizer gas fills his cylinder, turning the bright Mako a sickly grayish green, but all too soon, the gas works its enervating magic. His struggles become sluggish and finally cease as his eyes slowly roll to the back of his head, and he once again drifts, limp and unmoving, in the mist's thrall. And now, with the pure Mako tainted and unable to fully support him, Cloud sinks to the floor, crumpling bonelessly against the thick glass wall of his cage with a weak groan.

Only after Hojo drains the grayish green mist from the cylinder through one of the outtake tubes does he punch in the unlocking code, allowing the door to Cloud's cylinder to slide open with a hiss. The sight of his unresponsive body and the frighteningly blank expression on his face seems to have restored Hadley's courage, for he wastes no time in dragging Cloud's limp form unceremoniously out of the chamber and hauling him over to the examination table, where, with Simmons' help, they begin clamping down the numerous metal restraints. The tranquilizer gas may be powerful, but its effects are short-lived. Hojo will want Cloud alert enough to be capable of answering his questions, after all. Unfortunately, it also means he will be alert for the removal of the tissue samples, and the other less-than-humane tests.

I don't know which is worse. Hojo experimenting on me, or watching Hojo experiment on Cloud.

Watching, definitely. I've got my martial arts training, after all, for when I'm the one under the knife. One of the first things Master Zangan taught me as a kid was how to focus my mind and block out all distractions, including pain. A handy talent to have when a scalpel is carving you up without the benefit of anesthetic.

But Cloud doesn't have that training. He feels everything, and I can see the agony on his face, and in his eyes.

Like now. Already, the effects of the tranquilizer gas are wearing off, and Cloud is starting to stir within his bonds. His eyes are open, and within their glowing blue depths, I can see a gaping fear swallowing up all pretenses of bravery as Hojo leans over him with the gleaming edge of a scalpel held up for Cloud to see.

"Now then," Hojo says huskily. "I believe you have something to tell me about what those voices in your head were saying?"

I turn away, then, unable to watch further. Closing my eyes, I struggle to focus my mind, to block out the sights and sounds around me, guilt tearing up my insides as I close myself off from Cloud's imminent suffering.

But I can't focus on the guilt I feel for my own cowardice; my inability to endure the agony of my best friend.

Instead, I focus on a plan of escape. I've tried to escape so many times before now, and I have always failed. But I can't give up. I can't give up, if only for Cloud's sake.

It's all my fault that he is here in the first place.

Cloud didn't even want to return to Nibelheim, after all...