Challenge from Tyramir:

"A mystery story involving Cloud and Rufus in an almost 'buddy cop partnership' role. Feel free to not be serious at all, and make sure to include snarky moments and general hilarity, while still staying in character. Bonus points if it's an investigation that is not a murder. Must be post FFVII, but not involve any other canon."

I admit to cheating a little and poking fun at Dirge of Cerberus for a paragraph.

Chapter I: Zolom on a Stick

The day Rufus Shinra hired Cloud Strife, he told him "You can finally become a useful member of society, now that your leg has been amputated."

The incident of Meteor Fall had halved The Planet's population, and the advent of Holy, necessary for preserving the remaining few, had ripped the tendrils of the Lifestream up from the ground to cut the number in half again. Some humans, having been infused with Jenova cells as a result of Hojo's experiments, had lost their heads, but still managed to flop around. The census committee debated whether they should be considered whole people, and agreed to count them as three eighths of a person unless they accomplished something worth distinction. One, Madison, managed to build a miniature replica of Midgar with his feet; he has been granted an extra eighth.

Cloud Strife, while not paralyzed, had awoken to a Lark's song of steam from Cid Highwind's rocket, Barret's gunarm across his chest. Most of AVALANCHE had made it—only Cloud and Barret had lost a limb, and Barret just got himself a new one from the pawnshop for Cait Sith's megaphone—by some divine providence or just because that had been in space at the time. Either way, no one seemed to care but Rufus Shinra and the loan sharks in Gold Saucer to whom Reeve owed a total of nine hundred thirty seven billion gil. Cloud did not even bother to fathom the number of shitty fortunes he would have had to give out to accrue that kind of debt.

Speaking of the money, it had not been so lucky. Tifa wanted to interpret it as a lesson that one should not focus upon materiality, but the crash had seemed to melt or burn every single gil in AVALANCHE's possession. The flame had even shaved off all of Red XIII's fur to get at the coins he had placed between his toes and behind his ears.

It was easy for Tifa to say things like that though; she still had both of her legs, but Cloud had only ever been good at fighting—and even that was sometimes debatable. After two months of moping and drinking in Junon, now the largest city on The Planet since Midgar had collapsed under Holy, Rufus Shinra and his two remaining Turks had opened the door to Cloud's—actually, Earl's, but Cloud had started calling it his since he never paid for alcohol, and if he ever did, he'd probably own the bar too.

At first, Cloud had pretended not to notice them. He had sat at his bar stool, drinking his bottle of Midgar Fire—a new brew, very popular among former resistance members—and waiting for Rufus, Rude, and Elena to get closer. No other patrons occupied the establishment, and the radio played a song about the freedom imparted by death, "Tonberry's Judgment Taking Me Home." Cloud wished Reno had survived. He would have shot the speaker, at least. When Rufus got closer, Cloud downed the rest of his Midgar Fire and swung the empty bottle back, crashing it over the President's head.

Or that had been the plan. Instead, Rude deftly snatched the bottle from Cloud's fist and tossed it over his shoulder. The bottle clanged as it hit the floor. Cloud groaned.

"This is just getting depressing, Strife," Rufus said, sitting on the stool next to Cloud and ordering a glass of Corel Malt, a liquor so fine that the barkeep had to distill it on site. Cloud listened as it dribbled from the nozzle into Rufus' glass, wishing it were loud enough to drown out the President's voice and the song playing over the radio.

"Are you going to mourn your lost leg forever, or are you going to come work for me?"

"I won't come work for you." Cloud tapped the bar, and the bartender plopped another Midgar Fire down, sighing. "I figure I still got a month or so before a normal person would recover from an amputation."

"Who are you going to work for then? No one else will pay you the amount you need to help your friend."

"Who says I want to help Reeve?" Cloud snorted and wiped his mouth. "He still has his leg. He can help himself."

"Now you're just character-regressing," Rufus said, sipping his Malt. "Besides, no one but me will give you a job anyway. I still have power in this world: eighty percent of the available employment in Junon, and everything else is manual labor. Besides, you were a terrorist, and a pretty unsuccessful one. What kind of a resume is that?"

Cloud would never admit that Rufus had a point; the fact that Shinra still controlled the city made his escapades as a member of AVALANCHE sound completely pointless. It was as if he were trapped in the sequel to Mog's Adventure. The fact that Shinra even managed to retain control of The Planet's population at all surprised Cloud. Rufus had ventured back to Northern Crater after Meteor Fall to steal the crystallized mako and rebuild his empire only to find that Holy had reabsorbed it all into the Lifestream to unleash its devastating attack. The incident had left Shinra even harder pressed to find a leg to stand on than Cloud, yet the company remained resilient, surviving on taxes that went nowhere and a population that failed to understand the crimes the corporation had committed in the first place. At least the lack of mako up North managed to prove to members of Shinra that Northern Crater had never been The Promised Land.

"I'll be putting you in the best position to change the face of my company: Head of Human Resources. I have a lot of jobs to fill, and you may hire whoever you want. Even that Bordello Wallet fellow can have a job if he promises not to shoot the secretaries."

Cloud grunted and took a swig of Midgar Fire, fidgeting impatiently in his seat.

"I'll pay off your tab." Rufus waved a loose arm around the bar.

"I like my tab."

Shinra rolled his eyes. "Tab isn't a drink, Strife." When Cloud said nothing, Rufus frowned. "See, every time I try to employ my father's tactics, nothing good comes from it. That's it, tired of Rufus? I'll show you Ruthless. I'm going to kidnap that little girl you all like so much, and then you'll do my job for free."

"Can't you think of something worse than that?" Elena interjected. It's always, "'Kidnap the girl in the pink!' I swear, you try to come off as some evil murderer, but you'll never get out from under your father's shadow."

Rude raised his eyebrow above his sunglasses. 'Tonberry's Judgement' had gotten past the solo guitar riff and onto the second iteration of the chorus, "I look to the sky, and what do I see? The cute bugger lookin' at me! Swingin' his lantern over my bone china, Reminds me of your mama's big ol'—"

Rufus sighed. "Rude, shoot her."

Smacking his empty bottle of Midgar Fire onto the bar, Cloud drew the attention of Rufus and his Turks just as Rude drew his gun. "Tell you what," Cloud said, "shoot the radio instead of the girl, and I'll work for you."

The banjo cut in on the speakers. Rude did nothing, and Rufus glared at him. "You heard him."

Rude did as he was told, but the sound continued, distorted and screeching. Everyone in the bar covered their ears and ducked low but Rude, who shot it another time, and the sound cut. The radio fell from where it had been ensconced in the rafters, slamming against the bar and leaving a dent in the table.

The bartender looked from Rude to Cloud incredulously. "That's going on your tab," he said as he took out his rag and wiped around the black fishwire on the speaker, humming "Tonberry's Judgment" as he went.

As Shinra's new Head of Human Resources, Cloud hired indiscriminately. Able bodies poured in because of the job availability, and the fact that the employment forms did not even have a space to enter a name, let alone more in-depth background information. The Department of Biological Science had been replaced by a new Investigative Unit, run by a man sporting a paintbrush mustache and beady eyes. Rufus had dubbed him, "Franklyn," but Cloud knew his real name. It surprised him that Rufus didn't, but then he guessed that it made some sense, knowing Rufus' attitude toward human life.

Cloud had installed Franklyn as the second Head of the Investigative Unit. The first one had asked Rufus how he had managed to survive both the assault by Diamond Weapon and the christening of The Planet by Holy, and Ruthless—Rufus's alter ego who looked exactly like him in every way except that he wore a red hat, which rested on Rufus' desk whenever Ruthless refused to show himself for the betterment of mankind—had ordered Rude to shoot him.

Two more months after Cloud had taken up his position as Head of Human Resources, Franklyn and Rufus had come into his office while he sat at his desk and stamped employment applications. A man who looked drunker than Cloud ever remembered being—which sounded to Cloud a little like the tree falling where no one can hear it problem—followed, hiccuping. Instantly, Cloud recognized him as the man from the Midgar Slums, Sector Five, whom Aeris had called "sick." He still had the number two tattooed on his left arm, and this time, Cloud knew what that meant. Sephiroth clones, his very favorite.

"This man came with a job for the Investigative Unit," Rufus told Cloud.

Cloud jabbed another application with an approval stamp. "And?"

"I want you to decide whether or not it merits our attention." Rufus stepped back and prodded Number Two in the small of his back. He jumped forward, still hiccuping, staring around Cloud's office at the lamps.

"President Shinra, I really don't think—"

"It has been stolen!" the man cried suddenly. He forced his face over Cloud's desk and stared at him hard. His face looked familiar, but Cloud couldn't place it, and he figured the age lines around his chin, the breath that smelled of Midgar Fire, and the shorn hair had something to do with his absent mindedness.

"What has?" Cloud asked, shoving his papers into the lower right corner of his desk.

"The Promised Land," the man said.

Cloud looked at Franklyn, who narrowed his eyebrows over his beady eyes, then at Rufus, who crossed his arms and appeared to be clutching a wad of gil in his right hand.

"Well, there you have it," Rufus said. "Franklyn seems to think this man's problem does not warrant our attention, but I feel differently."

"The Promised Land doesn't exist," Cloud said.

"There, you see." A smug grin covered Franklyn's face. He wiggled his nose, making his paintbrush mustache crinkle.

"That's simply impossible," Rufus said, tucking his hair behind his ear. "For one thing, you've been there, Strife."

"What makes you say that?"

"That Ancient girl, Farris. She must have taken you there on her pirate ship." Rufus waved his free hand dismissively.

Number Two had not moved the entire time. Cloud had instead leaned back in his chair to escape the smell of Midgar Fire. His left eyebrow twitched involuntarily at the mention of Aeris, but he had gotten used to it. Rufus used her regularly to attempt to manipulate him.

After a few moments, Cloud shrugged. He didn't care much either way what Rufus Shinra chose to waste his resources on. The Investigative Unit had sounded like a thinly veiled catch all for wild Formula chases and conspiracies anyway. "If you think someone stole The Promised Land, take his case."

Franklyn's jaw dropped as Rufus beamed. "Forget, for a moment, about whether or not it exists, how can someone steal the Promised Land? It's a place!"

"Not my problem," Cloud said, reaching for his stack of job applications.

"It most certainly is." Rufus stuffed the money in his breast pocket as he spoke, straightening out his lapels. "Seeing as you know the most on the subject, you're going to help me track down the culprit."

Having predicted this, Cloud sighed. "I have only one leg, President."

"Does missing a leg prevent you from moving?" Rufus asked.

Pursing his lips, Cloud shook his head. He put a red stamp next to a PHS number for a new librarian.

"Does missing a leg prevent you from interrogating?"

"The girls were always better at that." Cloud stamped a new weapons developer into the Shinra fold.

"I'll pay back all of Reeve's debts," Rufus offered.

Cloud dropped the stamp. He looked at Number Two, how his blue eyes kept getting wider, and wished he could place his face. Of course Rufus would pay all of Reeve's debts if he thought he could get at the Promised Land. Cloud could point out that, if he really knew anything about the Promised Land, he wouldn't be working for Shinra, but he didn't care enough to contradict him.

"The Promised Land," Cloud said to Number Two, "is a place."

The man's eyes widened, and he nodded—or rather, lolled his head forward.

"And it's missing."

"Stolen," the man corrected.

"Who stole it?"

The man shrugged and smiled widely. He pushed his hand into one of his pockets and pulled out another wad of gil, which he then proceeded to drop onto Cloud's desk. Shinra made a strangled noise behind him.

Massaging his temples, Cloud looked at the gil and said, "I'm going to need a gun."

The gun Rufus Shinra dropped on Cloud's desk was a Shinra Issue Katmandu 5 with Prima specs. Cloud raised his eyebrow and shoved the small handgun into the trash.

"Hey!" Rufus said. He eyed Rude meaningfully, and the bald Turk stooped to fish through Cloud's waste basket. "That gun cost me a lot of money."

"It's a piece of shit," Cloud told him.

Shinra shrugged as Rude wiped a layer of yogurt from the barrel of the Katmandu 5. "Not exactly, but you might as well load it with one."

"Either give me a gun, or don't, but stop insulting me."

"We don't waste our good artillery on cripples, and I'm sorry. Otherwise I suppose if it isn't three feet wide and impossible to lift, you might as well not bother."

Cloud reached for his crutch and pulled himself to stand. He may have lost his left leg, but he could still command a certain amount of grace and respect when he straightened his posture. "Do you want my help or not?"

"I didn't want to say anything in front of the c-l-i-e-n-t," Rufus spelled, "but I think we've already solved the case."

"Have we?"

"You're responsible, of course."

Cloud couldn't believe that he had not seen that one coming. "You think I stole the Promised Land."

"Sephiroth's dead, isn't he?" Rufus asked. "Who else could have done it?"

"My money's on the chocobo with the stethoscope, so tell me where he is."

Rufus blinked.

"Hojo," Rude coughed, pocketing the Katmandu 5.

Then Rufus gasped. "I can't believe you would accuse—"

"Don't act big, President, I know you've kept him somewhere. He can't be dead because he injected himself with enough Jenova cells to take over a planet."

Rufus held up his watch as if he were counting the time. His gape of horror remained fixed upon his face for five more seconds before he dropped the act. "Fine, but why would Hojo have it? If he did, by now he'd have a lot more peculiar specimens in his lab than he does."

"He doesn't have anything," Cloud said, "because the Promised Land doesn't exist. He just probably has something to do with this."

"That's exactly what the real thief would say."

Cloud looked to Rude, but he only pushed his sunglasses up further on the bridge of his nose.

"Just take me somewhere where I can get my own gun."

Turning for the door, Rufus said, "There's a smith at the Port. I can't believe I'm going back to that place, but you won't use anything I make. The last thing I need is some zealot shutting down my Weapons Division because a cripple shot his mother."

Cloud used his crutch to hobble after Rufus, who held the bridge of his nose and said, "This is almost as embarrassing as having one of those dogs with the cones around his head. Please tell me you don't have rabies."

The once leader of AVALANCHE ignored him.

Junon's marketplace exuded more smells, more sounds, and more sights than it had when Cloud's AVALANCHE had first visited. Survivors all over the Planet had flocked to Junon after Meteor Fall to fill the void left by troops Shinra had ordered toward Midgar to buffer the impact of Holy as it hit the giant city.

The logic baffled Cloud too.

In the absence of a greater part of the military base, a bazaar of various wares shops ranging from the now rare materia dealers specializing rather suspiciously in "Steal" to booths full of dirty sink fixtures looted from the remains of Kalm, which had also suffered from Holy's rise. Cloud's (least) favorite stand served Fried Zolom on a stick. The impact of Holy had left a large crater that stretched to the old swamp lands. The basin had filled with life stream and water, where the Zoloms gorged themselves and flourished. Before then, someone had spotted the Zolom that Sephiroth had strewn up in the swamp tree, scorched by Thunder materia and considered it an excellent idea for a tourist snack in Junon.

Cloud had to question feeding crispy snake flesh infused by mako to the remaining inhabitants of the Planet.

"How's that one?" Rufus asked, keeping his arms crossed and nudging .22 LR "Shinra Day Special." "You're a terrorist, right?"

Perhaps, if Cloud had been eating some Zolom on a stick, he would spit it out in Rufus' face. Cloud scanned the booth, but found nothing he wanted except for a DioLite 15 Rifle he wouldn't have much use for; it would have been worth it just to make Rufus pay for it though. "Nothing," he said. "Let's move to the next one."

"You're not going to want a fancy machine gun fixed to your dead stump, are you?"

"It wouldn't be practical, no."

Rufus snorted. "Tell that to your friend, Wallet. Last I heard, he was commissioning a brain case on a rocket launcher. I'm so glad I realized that a terrorist must at least be smart enough to avoid lawsuits before I made my final hiring decision."

The next weapon's dealer they came to just happened to be Vincent Valentine. When Rufus and Cloud came upon his stand on Leather Belt Street, he ruffled his dusty cape and unleashed the unpleasant smell of which Cloud had grown rather fond. It reminded him of home.

No, seriously.

"Oh," Rufus said, "it's you. We should look elsewhere, Strife. I believe this is The Weapon's Dealer the Promised Land has forsaken."

"He's still on about that?" Vincent asked.

"It gets worse." Cloud's eyes darted to Shinra, still holding his wad of gil from Number Two. "I need a gun."

"While I appreciate the sentiment…" Vincent trailed off. A glaze not unlike the one in which vendors coated fried Zolom crossed his eyes.

"Do you have any recommendations? Hopefully without too much of a recoil."

Vincent continued to stare at Shinra. Cloud noted that he had been a little distracted—more so than usual—since he had vanished after Sephiroth-Jenova-Amalgamation-of-Horror (or The Great SJAH) had "died," and the Highwind took off. He and Yuffie had reappeared in some alternate reality known only as "Whinge of the Unnecessarily Flashy Hand Canon" and had to claw back using only their teeth. The details remained vague, but if one believed/could tolerate Yuffie for long enough to listen, it had something to do with a man named Nomura.

Come to think of it, she also used "Nomura" to explain Cloud's hair and enormous sword, though Cloud swore he had never consulted anyone regarding his appearance.

"I'm not going to kill the President," Cloud said. "I'm working for him."

Vincent raised an eyebrow. "Cloud, you know how I feel about suicide, but my circumstances are a little bit—"

"I'm not going to kill myself either."

Vincent did not look convinced. "Then why aren't you using something Shinra issue?"

"That'll be the day," Rufus snorted. "I may have lost some ground, but I'm not desperate enough to give a crippled man a gun."

Because, Cloud thought, emotionally stunted men like Tseng racked up much smaller body counts.

Instead of arguing, Vincent shrugged and reached under his plywood stand. Cloud imagined Vincent had a limited amount of objections he could allow himself every day. That was probably the only reason he agreed to join AVALANCHE in the first place. He pulled out a medium sized handgun, semi-automatic, painted black and chrome-finished. "This is a Douche & Mega-Douche Ultra-Douche Special .45 ACP."

"I'll call it 'Rufus,'" Cloud said, reaching into his pocket for the remnants of his last paycheck.

"You're naming your gun after me, Strife? Such foolish loyalty shall be quickly forgotten, so enjoy my appreciation while it lasts."

"Sure." Cloud picked up a box of "Magic Amo!Suspiciously, It Never Runs Out" and forewent all gun safety as he began to load his new Rufus. Immediately, he began to regret his naming decision, not least because any respectable man should not name his gun after another—well, man. "Rufus' Mother" was a much better name, as long as he kept it to himself.

"So," Cloud said, "where's Hojo?"

Rufus glared at Cloud. "What do you mean, Cloud? We aren't looking to reserve a Hotel. I don't think we need to bother Howard Johnson about something like this."

Vincent crossed his arms and looked sour underneath all his many layers. The green and red combo made him look like the Planet's deadliest Weapons had returned.

"I mean Hojo. The guy you're still keeping in a hole somewhere."

"Ah, yes," Rufus said, ignoring Vincent's increasingly pointed shoulders, "after Dark Nation passed, I felt it necessary to keep a new pet to fill the void. How thoughtful of you to remember that I've forgotten to feed him today. Let's go, Cloud. We mustn't keep Hojo waiting."

Rufus, using only the tips of his fingers to avoid dirtying his clothing, grabbed Cloud's shoulder and proceeded to drag him away from Vincent's stand in the bizarre. When they had escaped Vincent's earshot—which, granted, took about eight blocks—Rufus released Cloud and began wiping his fingers on a Fried Zolom salesman. The salesman, Cloud thought, looked much filthier than he did, as he seemed to have what appeared to be a turnip growing from his left ear.

"If he destroys any of the ice sculptures decorating my lawn," Rufus said, "I'm asking Ruthless to revoke your invitation to Franklyn's Birthday Party. Elena in a cake, Cloud, Elena in a cake."

I'd really like some feedback for this one.

As of February 22, 2011, this chapter has been edited for the purpose of creating a more coherent plot. Yeah. No really.