A/N:

I love feedback, reviews, comments, fave's, alerts, etc.! Thanks to all who have so far.

Yay, update. Unfortunately, the dear Muffin Lord was unable to beta this chapter at the moment but when she has time it will likely get a makeover. So enjoy the unedited chaos that this is. Hehe.

Ah how I adore Time Travel fics. I really do. There are so many ways to interpret things and routes one can take. It makes the stories so unique and enjoyable and absolutely fun to write.

Summary: In a world defined by heroes and nightmares, is there such a thing as a second chance? Will the Planet's champion fall from grace when given a way to attain revenge? Dark. Time travel. AU. Multiple pairings.

Disclaimer: I, Catsitta, own nothing except an overactive imagination and a computer. To quote another writer: "These are not my characters, I'm just abusing them."

Pairings(s): CloudxTifa, CloudxSephiroth, ZackxAerith (more to come)

Rating (Story): M

Rating (Chapter): T

Word Count: 6,584

Author/Co-author: Catsitta & MuffinLordLionsGate

Chapter Beta: None

Never a Memory

Chapter Two: Memories of Flame

She was not sure why the stranger intrigued her as he did. No one ever caught Tifa's interest for more than a few blinks of the eye because, normally, people were transparent. What they wanted, needed and were was always so easy to see. But this…Strife person was worth more than a cursory glance.

What grabbed her curiosity initially were his eyes. Deep and iridescent, reflecting a million shades of blue intermingled with a million shades of green. Mako. He had SOLDIER eyes. The kind of eyes that cut through the night as easily as the soul— seeing everything in crystal clarity. They were eyes that shimmered in light like a frozen pond; come night their unnatural luminance became akin to a beacon. Yet that was when those eyes were dull—the mako in their depths untapped. She could only imagine what those brilliant blues would look like when shining like stars. Would it be comparable to gleam of raw materia in the belly of the mountains, or more similar to the pools of liquid lifestream that intermittently formed in the area? Either way she pictured it, those eyes would be startling—something about the thought of human eyes glowing reminded her of how toxic mako was in its natural state.

Those eyes also held a disconcerting coldness that Tifa had only ever seen once before. For such a young man, whom could not be past his early twenties, it was disturbing to recognize how battled-hardened he had to be. Strife's gaze contained the perilous depths of a chaotic ocean—dreams, nightmares and experiences all clashing together in discord. One could feel the unrefined familiarity he had with bloodshed and war. The bitterness, the cool disregard, the arrogance, the pessimistic dissonance—all of that and more glinted in those tainted irises.

Strife knew turmoil and pain, suffering and tragedy. Every ounce of emotion he felt literally cut into the soul of whomever he looked upon. Tifa knew to be wary of his kind, but this stranger sent her reeling. Unlike the man she knew before, whom was tired and weary from a life weighted with darkness; Strife held himself with purpose and strength, completely aware that no man stood his equal. She could see this confidence not only in his eyes but also in his posture, and she could hear it in his voice. Such a beautiful voice…

In fact, Strife was rather striking in his entirety.

While neither imposingly tall or broad, the SOLDIER held an aura of power and strength that left Tifa breathless. His skin was undoubtedly pale at one point if he was from Nibelhiem, but now a soft bronze sheen tinted the once white, giving him a healthy glow. Said skin was taut and smooth, shaping around lithe, sleek muscle no doubt. True, the dark clothing Strife wore obscured his figure, but she had no problem imagining the rippling body that lie beneath the cloth and leather, buckles and belts.

Then there was his hair. His ridiculous, wheat-blond hair that looked like the backside of a chocobo. On anyone else, such a style would have made Tifa laugh, but the cropped, gravity-defying spikes (the trademark misfortune of the Strife family apparently) seemed to suit the stranger. They softened the tension that lined his face and gave him an almost whimsical, youthful appearance.

Tifa could not help but be awestruck with Strife. It was all she could do not to blush and drool like a silly, country git. But, in retrospect, behaving as she did more than likely put her in a bad light in the SOLDIER's eyes. Doubtless, he thought she was a disrespectful, spoiled child who held the same small town prejudices as everyone else in this backwater village. If only she had not felt so ashamed of that attraction that surged to the surface. Now, she could only wonder if it was his resemblance to that introverted, klutz known as Cloud that made her heart skip with delight. Not that she would ever admit to having a crush on the kid…but…

Gaia, this was all too complicated!

Feeling frustrated at her conflicted thoughts, Tifa kicked a rock and sent it sailing down the road. She watched it skip along—once, twice, thrice—before it came to an abrupt stop, paired with the clang of metal. Sable eyes widened with disbelief. Parked by the hotel was a monstrous motorcycle, much like the ones in Cloud's magazines. Except there was something strange and vaguely ominous about the bike.

The brunette shuffled closer, forgetting about her confused thoughts and earlier troubles, and focused her attention on the vehicle. It gleamed in the morning light, every inch of black metal polished to the point of perfection. Tifa could actually see her reflection in the glossy paint, her features warped by the contours. Knowing that there was no one in town that owned a motorcycle, she realized that this had to be Strife's vehicle. But how exactly had he ridden the thing on the ice-laden slopes? True, the beastly bike possessed wide wheels, but even she knew that their design was more for speed and not slippery roads.

Carefully, she brushed her fingertips against the leather seat, noting how rough the material was against her skin. Tifa narrowed her eyes; the tires did not look very new either. Despite its polish, the bike obviously had some wear-and-tear…That was when she noticed the compartment on the side. Moving quickly, she checked the lock and found the lid popping open at being touched. Surprised, she wondered why the stranger would leave the security compartment on his bike unlocked. Then she glanced down and nearly blanched with horror.

At one point, the padded interior might have been white, but dark stains muddied the cloth a faint shade of red. Rips, both open and sewn closed, littered the fabric, and most were razor thin as if cut by an acutely sharp blade. Tifa stepped back and took in a few, steadying breaths. Blood did not bother her, she was merely surprised by what she found was all… At least, that is what she kept telling herself as she turned on her heel and ran away.

And she kept running until she spied Strife again. The blond stranger was muttering under his breath and shaking his head, obviously lost in thought. Tifa watched from a distance as the man walked and paused, his muttering stopping when his steps did the same. At one point, Strife stuffed his hands in both pockets, bowing shoulders as well, as if caught in some sort of tragedy. Then, he suddenly straightened up and stared at the building ahead of him.

Tifa knelt on the ground, ignoring the seeping cold that penetrated her trousers and gloves and nipped at her face. What business could Strife have at the ShinRa mansion? The place was creepy, abandoned and falling to pieces. At one point, there was a rusted iron gate blocking trespassers out, but the previous winter ice finally tore it down with its weight. Now, it was easy to walk up to the front steps (as Strife was currently doing) and enter the building.

Suspicious as well as somewhat frightened, Tifa lingered outside when the blond yanked open the door, his whole presence radiating anger and frustration. When the crashing sounds started, she found herself shivering and gasping with every shattering object. What had caused Strife to destroy this harmless building? And what right did he have to do so? It was ShinRa property and even if the president or his scientists did not stay here anymore that did not mean the company would not arrest someone for vandalism. In fact, by the sound of it, Strife was doing more than merely vandalizing the place; he was wrecking it!

Unwilling to dare going any closer, the brunette remained outside the manor, sable eyes wide with disbelief. Grimy-red bricks trembled every so often and fell from the walls. Empty window frames rattled and those with glass cracked or shattered. The door, already loose on its hinges from Strife's assault, fell free, giving Tifa a clear view of the inside. Just within the threshold, she could see chunks of wood and metal lying askew on the floor. A painting lay torn from its frame, the portrait in near shreds. Bits of fluff from a sofa dotted the area; shattered porcelain and glass covered the floor with a fine powder. She could even see a darkened place on the wall where she suspected there to be a gash made by Strife's abnormally large sword.

Then, all went silent.

And it stayed silent for a long time. Yet, Tifa found herself rooted in place, anticipating Strife's emergence. Would he be wild-eyed with insanity or smirking with smug pride? She knew that she was not going to let Strife get away before she questioned him and demanded to know why he went and attacked the creepy building. Then again, if he was truly crazy, then approaching him might by a tad dangerous. Being a SOLDIER meant that Strife had killed men before, perhaps even liked killing! What was one little girl among a thousand others?

In the midst of her inner debate, she failed to hear the hummed melody within the mansion. Tifa did, however, snap back into alertness when a figure filled the doorway. Strife. A quirky smile was plastered on his face and his eyes were a bit too bright, and he nearly skipped down the front steps. Apparently destroying private property removed the proverbial stick-up-his-ass and made the blond bizarrely bouncy. Strange…

Then, Strife paused and turned, looking back towards the doorway with interest. Tifa could not help but gasp when another figure emerged, his steps slow and his presence foreboding. The first thought that came to mind was, 'GAH, SUPER-MEGA VAMPIRE, MONSTER, DEMON THING!' If it were not for the way Strife urged for the 'thing' to follow, she might have ran screaming into town. Seriously, it was both taller and broader than Strife, with a giant, golden-metal arm, a red cape that covered most of its face, elaborate and pointy metal boots and it had a rifle slung over its shoulder. The thing was scary even if one discounted the fact that it had red eyes. RED. FREAKING. EYES. That was not natural!

Tifa shrank back as the pair made their way away from the mansion. For a short time, the pair stood in relative silence in which Strife periodically pointed at the mansion, the hilt of his sword and at the red-eyed man. Said man glanced between the mansion and Strife with a slight furrow between his dark brows. After a quiet pause, the man nodded and Strife grinned with almost sadistic glee. Without much hesitation, he gripped the sword in both hands and soon the ShinRa mansion was engulfed in flames.

000X000

He was none too sure what to make of the blond stranger. After following the younger man's lead up the stairs out of the catacombs, Vincent found himself puzzled. All around him lay destruction, from scattered papers to broken glass. The ex-Turk hesitated once or twice to brush his fingers against a gouge in the wall or to pick up a ruined letter. There was no point in lingering for very long, all that the blond left behind aside from this ruin was the stench of mako. That familiar, chemical scent was enough to disgust him and urge him onwards—wicked memories threatened to break to the surface. Soon enough, he found reprieve in the opening of a door. True, the air was far from fresh, but the musty taste was preferable over the fumes that lay behind him.

Vincent closed his ruby-colored eyes and tightened his grip on Cerberus. The rifle had seen him through many battles and he had taken it as a prize to his early grave. But now that he was awake and among the living again, there was a sense of urgency that caused him great discomfort. A Turk's instincts were never wrong. A storm was brewing and he would need his prized weapon now more than ever. And he knew that the events soon to occur would all revolve around this mysterious 'SOLDIER'.

That is, if the blond was actually SOLDIER. He held himself like a war-hardened veteran even if his words seemed like nonsense. There was an aura of ominous strength and certainty that radiated off the stranger, the kind trademark of a someone who knew he was dangerous and could take down an enemy without even blinking. But he wore no mark or symbol of ShinRa and spoke with disdain of the company's favorite scientist, Hojo. So how did he get those mako eyes and enhanced strength? It was possible the blond was an escaped experiment of the good doctor, but that did not seem quite right.

No, nothing seemed right about the blond at all. From the way he spoke of things he should not know, to the manner in which he planned to destroy the mansion—it all felt wrong. Not in a way that suggested that the blond was lying, no, but more in the way that made Vincent suspicious of his motivation and questioning of his sanity. Perhaps by humoring the younger man he would learn the whole truth.

Though, the truth would have to wait for a moment. Vincent paused mid-step when he noticed a pair of curious eyes resting on him, even while he stood cloaked in shadows. The strange blond was staring at him, those blue orbs of his murky from the dappled lighting. No one could spy a Turk in hiding! Vincent remembered being one of the stealthiest members in the organization before the good doctor took offense to his 'interest' in Lucrecia and her son and shot him. It was not possible that he had lost his touch, was it?

The stranger smiled; the empty doorframe in which he stood casting him in an almost otherworldly glow. A small gust of wind tugged at his hair and brushed aside his bangs. Vincent blinked slowly upon seeing the single, white mark on the man's brow that had before been hidden. To another, the scar was but a memory of an old injury. To Vincent, someone with a keen eye and a history himself, the mark was more than healed skin. It was a reminder of something tragic…something lost. The stranger had a reason for hiding the mark, but aside from the feeling that washed over him, Vincent knew little else aside from that it likely brought forth painful memories.

"I see you decided to follow me after all." Vincent merely nodded and stepped out of the shadows when the blond spoke, using his human hand to draw the cape around his neck a little higher up on his face. "Good. Come, just a little further now and we can turn this place into ash."

"Your name." The words slipped past his tongue before the stranger could walk away. With his body illuminated by the daylight outside and his head tilted slightly in question, the blond looked impossibly young and untroubled. The radiance fled when a cloud passed over the sun and drowned the world below in gray.

"Call me Strife." Then, the blond turned and padded out of the mansion, his hand trailing towards the monstrous sword between his shoulder blades. Vincent shook his head slightly. Strife. How fitting for someone whom obviously held a heavy burden on his soul. Keeping his shoulders high, the ex-Turk followed the blond outside, briefly pausing to take in the scenery. Such a peaceful backdrop of rolling white, even the perilously jagged rocks and naked limbs of scattered trees that dotted the landscape possessed innocence in their form.

Innocence. The very word struck a chord deep inside Vincent. So little in this world was pure, unadulterated and natural anymore. Then again, everything mankind touched was warped. From the wood and stone from which they built their houses, to rain that now fell toxic from the sky, all of it once was innocent…free of taint. Even men themselves, in their quest to achieve, build and discover stripped of their born virtue, a blessing their race barely holds.

There was a time when Vincent dismissed the simplistic pleasures of snowfall or the fall of healing rain, but among the sins he carried to his grave was that of ignorance. Keen eyes and a sharp mind were useless tools when plunged in the black oblivion of nothingness. When one's only company are demons that seek to rip free of their mortal host, plaguing the thoughts and darkness with nightmares of hell—such ignorance is brought into the light. He had weight still pressing heavy on his soul, questions and doubts that rang as clear as the gunshot that ended his life and cursed him to eternity, but repentance came in many forms. He may never have a thread of his innocence back, that child like wonder of fragile youth, but his ignorance was also a thing of the past, for such was the grinning playmate of virtue. Without virtue, his eyes were open and clear.

Yet what was he to do now that he was awake? Strife promised him information on Lucrecia and her son…potentially their son. No. He banished the thought as quickly as it came. The little boy his lover carried was likely dead, nevertheless he still wished to hear the news from the blue-eyed stranger. Vincent shook his head. He needed to know what happened to them after Hojo shot him. Perhaps such would ease his troubled mind, allow him to life the burden from his heart so that he could move on…carve a place for himself, create a new destiny.

There was always hope. Even in the oblivion he wished was death when he knew it was but shadowed slumber, a small glimmer of light always shone like a star. The demons tried to tear it away and break him, but there was little they could do to rip him apart more than his own guilt did previously. No. He was a Turk. A legend among his people. He was Vincent Valentine! The seeker of truth. The keeper of death's gate. Even the master of lies, thievery and betrayal held close that last star of hope. It was his guiding light. His purpose. The reason he did not fall into the depths of insanity when locked away in self-imposed atonement.

Vincent breathed in deeply before following Strife's lead down the front steps. How long had it been since he had been outside? His boots sank into the frost, leaving footprints no matter how hard he attempted to tread lightly. It was…disconcerting to say the least. Perhaps he had lost his touch? Ruby eyes flicked to Strife whom walked as if he had nothing to fear. Careless of the prints he was leaving; the blond trekked off towards the side of the white-veiled lawn and stood beneath a leafless tree.

He appeared to study his hand for a while before glancing up at the ex-Turk with a blank expression. Gone was the whimsical smile and the mischievous gleam to his eyes. Standing before him was the veteran SOLDIER that had seen too much too young; who had fought for his life until he walked upon the fine line between wanting to survive for fear of death and wanting to face death to prove to himself that he knew no fear. Strife was unstable, likely even insane. He could see the boy within trapped by tendrils of grief and vengeance. But the face the boy wore was that of a man. A mask more out of place than he had first realized.

"It's time to make things right…to cleanse this place with fire." Strife said to him, his voice soft, those blue eyes slightly hooded. He glanced at the mansion and drew his sword. In an unspoken exchange of thoughts, the blond explained his plan. His gestures were direct and simple to understand. From his motions towards the building behind them, to materia slotted in the hilt of his sword, to even Vincent himself—the message was clear.

Strife was seeking his approval for some reason, much like a child seeks a response from a parent. Doubtless the blond would continue his plan had he done otherwise, but for some reason, Vincent found himself nodding. A smile curved on Strife's lips. Turning to face the building, both hands gripping the pommel of the blade, the young warrior focused his energy into the blade and immersed the home of nightmares in churning flames.

000X000

Overflowing with senseless ecstasy, Cloud threw back his head and began to laugh.

The ShinRa mansion was burning, a Mastered Hell Firaga obliterating the hollowed out shell of the building. Support beams crumpled, bricks sprayed across the lawn like miniature Comets, the roof split apart as if made of paper and after a few minutes, the entire structure collapsed in on itself. The air filled with blistering, black smoke—flames leapt and danced in a wild display. At last, it was done. The place that turned him into a monster had burned.

Suddenly, he felt a rush of vertigo as another flashback hit him in full force, tinting everything with green.

Everything around him was burning. There was no escape.

"Mom!" The scream tore from his throat as he rushed towards his home. He balked at the sight of the building engulfed entirely in a white-hot inferno. Even as a SOLDIER failure, Cloud still possessed more strength and less self-preservation than the average boy his age. He raced forwards, desperate to save the only family he ever had. Only, when he hit the door, it did not budge.

In fact, he succeeded in earning himself a bruise and some fresh burns, but nothing else. Frightened, Cloud began to pound against the door, trying without success to free the sturdy wood from its hinges. Tears streamed down his blistered cheeks and he screamed for his mother to hang on, that he was coming for her. Finally, the door collapsed, but it revealed a wall of fire behind it.

Cloud stepped backwards, cringing away from the intensity of the heat. Already his skin was raw and nicked with burns. It was not possible for a normal human being to enter those flames without dying. Yet, in his panic, he almost attempted to do so.

Then, he thought of everyone else in the town that was suffering a similar fate. Sephiroth had done this. He wanted to kill the townsfolk for no reason whatsoever and Cloud felt a need for revenge that smothered his desperation and grief. Reality washed over him, cold and bittersweet. His mother was gone. Lost to the fire. If he went after her, he would be but another of the hapless victims.

Filled with purpose, Cloud backed away from his childhood home.

"I'm sorry." He whispered, sending a silent prayer to Gaia before blinking away the last of his tears and picking up the helmet he had abandoned in his rush. He jammed the uncomfortable thing onto his head and headed for the place he knew Sephiroth would be. The mako reactor.

"Sephiroth…" The young blond growled under his breath, at last coming to terms that his idol had become a monster before his very eyes. "I will kill you for this." It was a promise he intended to keep or die trying to keep. Gale Strife was his mother, the only person in the world who he called family. He had no father. He had no siblings. Hell, he had no friends either. But before he went to SOLDIER, he at least had a mother. Now, he had nothing.

His boots crushed the frost, leaving ash-stained indentions on the ground.

"I will never forget what you have done." Cloud began to run. "I will hate you forever."

It was then that he began his journey. With that promise, he sealed his fate. Cold, dark anger seized his heart, hardening him from all the hurt. Soon, Nibelheim was a blazing smudge against the perilous mountain backdrop.

Cloud took in a sharp breath as he was released from the memory and found himself coughing. Smoke surrounded him and Vincent, though the ex-Turk seemed content with merely pressing the collar of his cape against his nose and mouth. Ruby eyes narrowed with question: What now?—he silently asked. Those of mako-stained blue widened: I do not know. Cloud screwed his eyes shut and began to walk away from the smoke. For all he was SOLDIER-enhanced, it was entire capable for him to suffocate, which was an experience he would rather not invoke on himself.

Eventually, he sucked in a gulp of clean air, the cold biting at his aching throat and lungs. The blond's body shook with a series of coughs and soon, a foul, black bile spattered the snow at his feet. Cloud sighed with relief when the detoxification finished, allowing him to breathe easy again. When he straightened up and wiped his mouth, Cloud noted that Vincent stood nearby, his expressionless features smudged with gray.

"Are you alright?" Gaia's champion asked and the ex-Turk gave a brief nod in response. Distrust lingered in that blood-colored gaze of his and Cloud knew that only time would change it. Time, the blond knew, he did not have. This was a dream and all dreams came to an end. Only, this one seemed to be persisting. Maybe the Planet wanted him to come to terms with something else.

Jenova came to mind but he shook his head and dismissed the idea. Even if the mutated monstrosity that Sephiroth called Mother was in the reactor, he had no idea how to destroy her. The fossilized Cetra body she inhabited was but a shell imbued with virus-rich cells. A single flake of skin or drop of blood was enough to preserve her legacy of infection, reproduction, reunion and destruction. No one was certain how to destroy Jenova and her influence, especially since her cells were in the blood of every First Class SOLDIER and that meant she could replicate herself indefinitely to infect new hosts.

Cloud hung his head as he thought. Then it hit him. If he could not fully destroy Jenova, he could at least finish off what he started in the destruction of the 'Jenova Project'. Weight pressed heavy against his chest. He would kill Sephiroth again as well as Hojo. In fact, he would wipe out the entire SOLDIER program and bring ShinRa to its knees if it meant breaking the cycle at last…Too bad this was not real. He could have saved so many lives if this were something more tangible than a dream.

Second chances did not happen. Heroes die and Nightmares live on. When he woke, he would be the same man he was before, waiting for his enemy to return from the brink of death yet again. And one day, he would a character of fiction. Ironic how that worked.

"Strife," Vincent's quiet yet commanding voice brought Cloud out of his musings. "We have much to discuss. If you are done with this act of petty arson…" He waved his hand dismissively towards the burning mansion. "…I would like to hear what you have to say of Lucrecia and her son."

"Of course, follow me." Cloud nodded at the ex-Turk and took one last, lingering glance back at the mansion. The sky was practically black with smoke and the frost-covered ground was soiled with ash. It was likely that the building would burn most of the day and there was no one in town who could stop it nor would anyone be harmed by it. Feeling a strange mixture of hollowness, elation, pride and disgust, Cloud decided that it was time to move on. There was no salvaging what would remain and that was his plan in the beginning.

Gaia's hero turned from the scene at last and trekked towards the open gate. A hot cup of the local brew sounded good and the inn would provide a convenient place to converse. Even if the cold did not bother him very much, Cloud still held a great appreciation for simple, human comforts like a stiff drink, a home cooked meal and a cushioned chair near a lit, wood burning fireplace.

Vincent moved like a shadow behind him, his tattered cape billowing out as he trailed the blond. Cloud could not help but wonder why he was not waking up and if this dream version of his friend would remember him at all with some prompting. If not, he could happily waste some time talking to the gunman until Gaia released him and allowed him to wake. It had been a long time since he and Vincent had a chance to do so.

Slowly, he guided the ex-Turk back towards the town, a faint smile ghosting upon his lips now and then.

000X000

Tifa ran as fast as she could towards home. She could only watch the mansion burn for so long before panic set in. For someone who looked so similar to Cloud, Strife was nothing like the introverted teen that recently left Nibelheim to chase dreams. Yet, even after watching Strife go crazy and destroy the creepy building, she found herself no less enthralled by the man. The way the smoke and flames reflected in his powerful gaze was enough to send her heart fluttering.

She had to be nuts herself to be drawn to him.

But, that was neither here nor there since her only goal was to get away from the scene as fast as possible. Tifa did not realize how greatly she pushed her limit of endurance until she came to a stop outside the Lockheart manor. Her whole body ached and her legs felt like pudding. She wanted to collapse right there, but she held herself strong and opened the door.

Staggering a few steps, Tifa did her best to stay standing, but ended up tumbling over due to her left knee buckling. Strong hands caught her. The brunette blinked up at the elderly butler who stopped her fall. He was gray and wrinkled, but tall and sturdy, a true, mountain-bred man. Even under the crisp uniform he wore, she could see the years spent toiling in the wilderness, just to make it through the hazardous winters, in the breadth of his shoulders alone.

"T-thanks." She stuttered, attempting to stand on her own.

"Is there something amiss, Miss Lockheart?" The man inquired politely.

"Yes…N-no…Maybe…I don't know." Tifa shook her head with frustration,"Just…there's a stranger in town whose going by the name Strife…and I think he's the trouble making sort."

"I see. Should I inform your father?"

Tifa sighed,"Not sure. But I don't think anything good is going to come of Strife being here."

The graying butler seemed to understand.

"Very well, Miss Lockheart."

"I-I..I think I'm going to take a nap. Don't tell father I'm here, please."

"I will practice discretion on the matter in his presence."

"Thanks…" She murmured before slowly wandering towards the stairs leading to the second floor. Some part of her hoped that everything was a dream but another part knew that this was real. Strife had come to destroy the ShinRa mansion and now had a vampire friend following him around. Could things get any worse?

000X000

It was a shock, to say the least, when the good doctor came sputtering from his laboratory, clothing skewed. Sephiroth stood where he had come to wait for whatever news Hojo had deemed so important that he hear. The silver-haired General inclined his head slightly as the greasy scientist paced before him, muttering nonsense beneath his breath, adjusting his coke-bottle glasses in a reflexive gesture of frustration. Uncertain whether to find the situation amusing or disturbing, Sephiroth continued to remain silent and observant, his face expressionless.

It was always worrisome when the good doctor was in one of his moods. A bad temper quickly turned into sadistic manipulation in which the man abused his control over the young General. Sephiroth hated Hojo more than anything else in the world, but the scientist remained alive, his wicked brilliance the only reason why the General did not use his impressive strength to snap his neck. Yes. The great, imposing General of ShinRa, the poster boy that everyone both feared and admired, was on a very short leash held by the man whom created him.

Such left a bitter taste in his mouth. Knowing that Hojo could potentially turn his frustrations towards him in the form of any manner of tests or whatnot, Sephiroth decided it best to at least remind the man he was there. Politely, he cleared his throat, quirking both brows in the process. At last, the scientist discontinued his rambling to turn his attention on the silver General, those beady, black eyes unblinking. Unlike when he normally put Sephiroth through hell, Hojo did not smile. He continued to look perturbed and slightly confused. Had the good doctor finally lost his mind? Then again, Sephiroth mused inwardly, had the man ever been sane?

Once again reverting to his silence, he allowed Hojo to rake his eyes over his leather-clad form with disapproval. Despite his being the epitome of male perfection, the scientist always found some flaw to sink his claws into and manipulate. Usually he made some comment about his weight or the length of his hair, on one occasion the man even complained about Sephiroth's unusual eyes. But the next day he would poke and pry at some other meaningless factor that degraded his prized creation even further…guaranteeing that the General remained compliant—albeit curt—when speaking to him.

"So you decided to show up, boy?" Hojo eventually snapped, at last abandoning his glasses to rest low on his nose. Sephiroth narrowed his eyes, the only response he graced the scientist with. Showing weakness was not an option. The man thrived off the misery of others, especially when it was he who caused the misery. "I was almost certain that I would have to fetch you from that pedestal the President keeps you on." The good doctor sneered, jabbing at the silver General with one finger, as if doing so would garner a reaction from the statue-like SOLDIER. "You have been rather… rebellious as of late. Then again, you never have responded well to people taking away your favorite toys."

A low growl built in Sephiroth's chest and was barely smothered before it escaped. Hojo was referring to Genesis and Angeal, his two closest—and potentially only—friends. They were also his best SOLDIERs, invaluable assets to the company, that everyone pretended never existed, as if doing so would change a thing. He was not exactly certain what was happening to the two men, but the advanced aging and the sprouting of wings told him that it was due to the mistakes of a scientist.

"Are you even listening to me, boy?" Hojo gave the front of the silver-haired General's trench coat a surprisingly strong pull. It was enough to gain his attention, though nothing else. Sephiroth blinked, his exotic, mako-green eyes betraying none of his inner anger. Though, the slit pupils did dilate for a split second when the ever present thought of killing the good doctor came to mind. But now was not the time for pleasant fantasies. "Of course you are." The grin on the man's face sent a chill down the General's spine. "You always listen like a good little boy. Following orders is part of your nature even if you play General for the public. Now…listen closely. There is something I need you to take care of for me."

"I am not your personal assassin, Hojo." Sephiroth cut in, his words like ice.

"Whoever said anything about killing anyone?" There was a bright quality to Hojo's voice that reminded him of his youth. All those times where the good doctor would tell him that everything would be fine as long as Sephiroth behaved. Such usually involved horrendous pain, the splitting of flesh and bone, mako searing through his every pore like fire. The man was plotting and he expected Sephiroth to do as he was told like a good little pet. He was lucky that Sephiroth even deigned to grace the laboratory with his presence after the abominations that Hojo committed in there.

People called him the monster, the bloodthirsty Demon of Wutai. Never did they look at the power-happy scientist that stood behind him, pulling the strings until they half-strangled him each time he tried to go against the tide. Freedom. It was all Sephiroth wanted…ever wanted. With freedom came a sense of belonging, acceptance…with it came a chance of becoming more than a monster. With the small taste of freedom that came in becoming General, he gained the friendship of people who could care less that he was born and raised in the labs. Who knew what could happen if he could cut the ties that bound him without tightening the chokehold ShinRa had around his life?

"You, boy, are capable of much more than destruction." Sephiroth barely managed to hold his tongue upon hearing Hojo say that. This was coming from the man who raised him up to be a weapon, nothing less, and strived to mold him into something more, but in his quest for perfection had ultimately smothered. "You command the entire army. The people follow you. Yes. They need you."

"Cease speaking in riddles, Hojo, I am a busy man." The silver General retorted, earning himself a cold glare from the good doctor.

"Insolent boy, but, such I will correct at a later date." Hojo spoke in clipped tones. "For now, I need you—or at the very least some of your top men—to investigate a disturbance in Nibelheim. One of the President's estates is built at the outskirts of the town and I have reports that all connections to it are down."

"How does this concern myself or even SOLDIER?"

"Because, boy, it is likely that whatever destroyed the mansion is very powerful and dangerous. Now you would not want some innocent townspeople killed because you did not believe it was a matter of concern." Hojo was playing a dangerous game with the mocking tone he voiced. But like all games, two could play. Sephiroth's mouth worked into a shape some would call a smirk and others a grimace. It contorted his beautiful features into something bordering the brink of insanity…of inhumanity.

"Very well, Hojo. I will send someone to investigate and if need be, deal with the issue. Is that all you wish to say to me?"

"Not quite. This is very…sensitive information. Keep the nature of the investigation secret from all but whom are involved. No need for a Turk to pry to deeply into this business for they are always whispering such nonsense into the President's ear."

Sephiroth nodded and turned on his heel, knowing full well that there was a deeper reason behind why the head scientist was interested in an estate that the President never visited. He would have to assign this "mission" to investigate to someone he could trust to report to him and him alone. Folding his arms behind his back, the silver General began to plot.

000TBC000

A/N: Review? I hope you all enjoy this and many thanks to those who have read and commented. You readers are the main reasons why I write, aside from the fact that I love to write.