Tifa met me at the door to Seventh Heaven. “That explosion. That was you, wasn’t it?”

I was tired and sore, but I took a perverse pleasure in the fact that she’d known. Obviously not everyone thought I was as useless and weak as Shinra seemed to. I must have smiled at the thought.

She grabbed me and pulled me inside, then pushed past me to look into the street. Apparently satisfied no one noticed me, she shut the door. “This isn’t a joke! I know people who live in sector eight! What were you thinking?”

“I was attacked,” I told her simply.

“You’re doing a wonderful job of proving your innocence,” she muttered, turning away and heading toward the bar.

“You’re doing a wonderful job of convincing me to help your little terrorist club,” I snapped after her. She stopped dead and looked sideways at me. I knew I needed whatever help I could get just then. I fought off the urge to push her further.

She sighed at me. “Look, you’re trying to get out of Midgar, right? Shinra’s going to be all over the slums in no time after that show.”

I crossed my arms. “Are you suggesting something?”

“I can help you get out.”

“I can do that myself.”

“I can do it without you needing to kill anyone else,” Tifa answered. Though she was probably a head shorter than me, she glared as if we were eye to eye. I felt like she was daring me.

Practically, I knew that fighting my way out of Midgar was unlikely to work. I was exhausted from the stunt I’d pulled in eight and I’d lost the only cure materia I had, so the cuts I got from those Turks were slow to heal. At least the bleeding had stopped.

There was a time when that wouldn’t have bothered me but, despite the nickname, I’d become far to aware of my mortality over the years. A good soldier also knew when the fight wasn’t worth it.

“What do you have in mind?” I asked her.

Tifa frowned. “We have to get you through the gate in sector five.”

“How are you going to manage that? I’m all over the news.”

“The great General Sephiroth is, yes,” she murmured as she thought out loud, “but your look is very iconic — your hair, your sword, all that. Change it up a bit, and no one will look twice!” By the time she finished, she sounded very pleased with herself. I wasn’t quite as sure.

“Change it up? How?”

“Let me dye your hair.”

I must have stared at her dumbly then, because the idea was utterly foreign to me. I knew what hair dye was, obviously, but the idea of dying my own– well, it had come up once before, shortly after the war, when people were talking about ‘changing my image’. I think the idea was on the table for all of two minutes before my look of scorn caused the image consultant to shrivel up and die or something similar.

“Are you sure that will work?”

“It’s a start, at least. You won’t look like yourself.”

I didn’t tell her how appealing I suddenly found that idea. Instead I nodded, and followed her up the stairs. I sat at her direction on a stool in a bedroom. I guessed it was hers; it wasn’t fancy but looked comfortable, with an almost antique quilt on the bed and walls decorated with photos.

“Ready to start?” she asked cheerfully when she emerged from the bathroom, her dish-gloved hands carrying a bowl of dye. The process of coloring went smoothly, and I was surprised how pleasant the feeling of someone else working their hands through my hair was. Tifa made more than enough nervous small talk for both of us, and I was in a relaxed enough mood to let her ramble.

When she was done with me, I put on my glasses to look in the mirror while she held my long hair behind my head.

I saw the Professor staring back at me. “Holy White–” I swore, turning away in surprise. Tifa must have misread my reaction because she frowned at me.

“You look normal. It’s quite a shock, I’m sure.”

“Cut my hair,” I told her without looking back at the mirror.

“Good idea,” she answered, deliberately ignoring my anger. She pulled out a pair of scissors and went to work. I was surprised how much weight fell away, as if it were more than just hair she was trimming.

When she finished, I didn’t recognize the face in the mirror anymore. It was a relief. I could have been any random salaryman in Midgar with that hair. She ruffled her fingers through it as I stared at myself in the mirror, trying to get used to it.

“So where are you heading?” she asked finally.

“Nibelheim,” I answered without thinking.

“There isn’t much out there that’s worthwhile.”

“You think so?”

“I know so. I grew up out there.”

I shook my head, noticing how different it felt without my hair following after me. “It’s where I was told to go. That’s all I’ve got to go on.” I shook it again just to feel it.

Tifa shrugged. I stood up and watched stray hairs fall to the already dusty floor.

She told me to step into the shower and get as much of the excess dye out of my hair as possible. She didn’t want to take the chance that any suspicious guard might notice something. I did as she instructed despite the fact that the shower head was almost exactly at my eye-level and it was an awkward process. The warm water felt soothing against my muscles, and when the hot water ran out, the cold woke me back up to alertness. When I stepped out, I found that Tifa had laid out a light shirt and denim pants for me. The pants were a bit short, but the waist and the shirt were far too large. I imagined they must belong to someone from her organization.

Pulling them on as best I could, I put my glasses back on and checked the mirror again. Definitely not the Professor, thank god. I made my way downstairs in search of my hostess.

“Who’s that tramping around upstairs?” I heard someone ask far too loudly to be conversational.

“Just– some guy,” Tifa answered. “I don’t need you rent-a-cops in here scaring away customers.”

“Customer, huh?” the way he drew it out, I could almost hear him leering. “Maybe we’d better go look and make sure.”

Figuring I’d save them the trouble and test my new disguise at the same time, I finished tucking my shirt in as I arrived in the main room. I didn’t know the MPs, but that was really no surprise.

“Thank you for letting me use your bathroom, ma’am,” I said to Tifa, ignoring the MPs entirely. “Mind if I order now?”

“Go right ahead,” she answered, glaring at the men. The looked at me for about a quarter of a second and then turned back to Tifa. I could see the relief on her face, probably the first time she’d ever been grateful for people staring at her breasts. Or maybe not – maybe one of her functions in the AVALANCHE cell was as a distraction

I ordered a bowl of noodle soup and made small-talk with Tifa until the MPs got bored and left, threatening to keep an eye on her.

“Are the MPs really that careless these days?” I asked her after they’d gone. I didn’t take my eyes off the door, sure as I was that they would be reappearing any minute with backup.

“Down here? That was a little ruder than average but yeah, pretty much,” Tifa answered.

“Damn, no wonder we could never seem to root you terrorists out,” I stepped up to the window. I had to see for myself that they’d really left. They had.

“Watch your language,” she replied. “You’re a terrorist too, now.”

“I keep forgetting,” I answered, letting my tone slip back into sarcasm when she didn’t really deserve it.

“I don’t see how. You hurt more people in a day than I have in years,” she snapped back without missing a beat. I started to argue with her, but I couldn’t come up with a response. She was right, really.

I sighed. “You win. Odds are I’ve killed more people in day here or there than you have in your whole life. The whole fight’s a blur anyway. What are they saying about it?”

“Four tenants and ten squatters in the University Arms died in the fire,” Tifa said. “No reported fatalities from Shinra personnel, but they never report that. At least four of them were carried away unmoving, according to AVALANCHE’s sources.”

“How many sources do you people have?” I asked, now purely curious.

Tifa shrugged. “A few, mostly rumors. A lot of our members do outreach work, and they hear things. Who do you think is down there cleaning up right now, treating burns and putting people up for the night? Not Shinra. Us.”

She was making too much sense now. No wonder so few sources ever came forward about AVALANCHE compared to the other anarchist groups that popped up over the years.

I was so busy thinking about the failures of intel that I didn’t realize what she’d said about the apartment building at first. “Wait. The Arms burned down?”

“You didn’t notice?” Tifa asked, exasperated.

“As a matter of fact, no, I didn’t. There was a lot of fire getting flung around, and I wasn’t paying a lot of attention, but if I’d noticed it was on fire I’d have-” What would I have done? Gone up to Hojo’s apartment again? Tried to save something? Irena had taken everything I’d planned to take with me aside from the journal. I reached for it in my pocket and felt a surge of panic when it wasn’t there, then remembered these were borrowed clothes.

“Are you okay?” When she spoke, I realized I’d gone off in thought in mid-sentence.

“Honestly? No,” I told her. “Where are my clothes?”

“I put them in the wash. Everything smelled like a barbecue. The stuff that was in the pockets is next to the machine if you need it.” I relaxed a little, but was surprised to realize I was still upset about the building being burned. I wondered if this was what I would have felt at the Professor’s death if I’d known then.

After thirty years in SOLDIER, grief was still a rare emotion for me.

I went back over to the counter and my noodle soup, which had congealed into a lukewarm mass while I was arguing with Tifa. I poked it with the spoon.

“Oh, don’t eat that. I’ll make you a sandwich,” Tifa said, shifting back into her hostess voice. “Your laundry should be done soon and we’ll get you on your way.”

The sandwich was good, and as soon as I started eating I realized I was starving. Yet another side effect I’d happily lived without – I was getting too old to have my metabolism messed with. I accepted a second sandwich without complaint, however.

As I finished up the lunch, another official Shinra news report came on the small screen in the bar. I must have been watching a bit too intently because Tifa reached up and turned it off.

“Remember, you’re a totally harmless person now. Your ID should be arriving any time now, and then we can go.” Following her directions, I retrieved my clothes from the laundry machine and changed out of my borrowed ones. The old Turk uniform felt more comfortable now and smelled less musty, but I still felt strange wearing it. I took the jacket back off and studied the leather coat, which was unwashable and still smelled like sweat and charcoal. There were a few holes. More than that, just looking at it put me back in that mindset, and I needed to be as far away from it as possible.

It was going to have to be the Turk jacket. I picked up the journal to put it in away and noticed a few other things beneath it. A telegram, by the look of it, a small box, and a Shinra ID card in the old style – it didn’t even have a chip in it and was probably older than me.

Valentine, Vincent it read, with an employee ID number and Turk clearance beneath it, and a small, faded photo. He had to be the one Lucrecia had referred to. Now at least I had a face for the name, though I had no more idea how to free him or what I was freeing him from.

The telegram, when I unfolded it, was stiff with age. RETURN TO MIDGAR IMMEDIATELY FOR REASSIGNMENT. it read. Apparently he hadn’t made it.

The box held a woman’s ring with a small diamond-cut green materia set in it.

I closed the box and put it, the telegram, and the journal in the jacket’s pockets.

Masamune sat on the windowsill; I considered it. The sword was all but a part of me, but that part of me was the most identifiable. All the hair dye in the world would be for nothing if it was recognized. There was no way I could sneak it out of the city. Logically, every reason suggested I should leave it behind.

I still wanted to bring it. Shaking my head, I left it where it was.

“Can you keep an eye on a few things for me?” I asked Tifa as I re-entered the main room.

“Your sword?” she asked. “Thank god, I was afraid you were going to want to drag that thing along with you.”

“It’s not just any sword,” I answered, feeling defensive. “I need to know it’ll be safe.”

“I know a thing or two about contraband,” Tifa smiled. “It’ll be okay. You’re planning to come back, then.”

“To the city, yes. I haven’t decided how I feel about your group yet.”

“I think they’d feel a lot better about helping you if you were—” Tifa fell silent as she heard footsteps on the stairs outside. I stepped away from Tifa and wondered if the MPs were returning.

The young woman who’d been here yesterday walked through the door, followed closely by a large black man. He was broad and solidly built with an old fighter’s look to him – one of his hands was a prosthetic, and he didn’t hide it. When he got closer I realized he was taller than he appeared; his width made him look shorter. His hair was shot through with grey and he looked tired as he scanned the room, his eyes passing right over me.

“Did you get it?” Tifa asked.

“Yeah,” he answered. “I hope this sucker’s worth it.”

“I hope I’m worth it, too,” I said, trying not to sound sarcastic.

The man looked at me in surprise. “Damn, Tifa, that’s some good work. He don’t look nothing like himself.”

Tifa smiled even as she shook her head. “It’s a rush job, Barret, very basic.”

“Fooled me,” Barret said, coming up to me for a closer look. “So you’re the one great Sephiroth who set eight on fire?”

“Not intentionally, but yes,” I answered.

I saw the punch coming and decided not to react. Fighting here and now would serve nothing, and the man and his group were doing me a favor. It was quite a punch, but I’d expected as much from the way he was built. I was just glad he hadn’t used the metal one.

“Barret!” Tifa shouted.

I shook my head, as much to clear some of the pain as to quiet Tifa. “It’s fine. I may have deserved it.” The pain was a good sign. It meant the mako was clearing out of my system.

“More than maybe,” Barret added.

“That was the only free shot you get,” I said to him, wanting to make sure this didn’t go any further. “Most people don’t get that much, but it would be bad form to repay my debt to Tifa by destroying her bar.”

Barret glared at me for a minute, but seemed to consider it. “Fine.” He handed an envelope to Tifa. “That should get him at least as far as Costa del Sol.”

“Thank you for your assistance,” I bit the words.

“This is a favor for Tifa, not you,” he answered.

Tifa dropped the dishrag on the counter. “Place is all yours, Marlene. I should be back in an hour or two.”

“You sure you’re okay going along?” Barret asked her, and I didn’t think he was worried about her ability to get back to the bar.

“I’ll be fine,” she said, and I followed her outside. “We’re going to take the fastest route I know, which also happens to be pretty quiet. I don’t know if they’re still expecting to find you downplate or not, but I’d rather not take chances.”

I nodded and let her lead. I wanted to ask her questions, but I couldn’t quite put them into words, and I was busy enough trying to imagine how a normal person should be walking. I slouched a bit, rolling my shoulders forward, and tried not to be so conspicuously tall.

She didn’t make small talk. “Is something bothering you?” I asked her.

Tifa shook her head. “I just don’t usually chat a lot in public. You never know who’s listening.” I guessed she didn’t want to accidentally detour into a political argument. We reached the sector five gate soon enough anyway. There was a line to get out of the city, and at the head I could see a pair of MPs checking paperwork.

The MPs at the gate were jumpy and distracted. Ahead of me, I heard someone get mouthy with one, and get cuffed for his trouble.

“Just look at that,” Tifa grumbled. “They don’t have to act like that.”

The line crawled forward. Someone else didn’t present his papers fast enough and got pulled out of line.

“The irony,” Tifa whispered, “is that it’s nearly impossible to put the proper documents together legally anymore. Even honest people buy fakes.” Was she serious or exaggerating? I couldn’t tell. I fiddled with the envelope she’d handed me, looking at the papers inside. I wondered if I looked casual.

It didn’t matter. All of the MPs’ attention was on the same mouthy guy ahead of us, who was yelling now and had been pulled aside along with the man with the incomplete documents.

“I did my time in SOLDIER!” he was yelling. The line trudged ahead to fill his place. “And I got sick for my trouble! Now we’ve got two-bit wannabes like you harassing innocent people-” He broke down in a coughing fit.

“Joe, let it go,” a woman still in the line begged him.

“I will not!” he shouted, but clearly one of the MPs begged to differ, because he hit the veteran in the back of his head with a rifle. The man went down in a heap. Beside me, I felt Tifa tense.

The woman rushed over to him, only to be pushed away by the same MP. The line was getting louder. People were starting to shout at the MP, to leave him alone or get the line moving. The MP was yelling back and waving around his rifle a little too freely.

“This doesn’t look good,” Tifa said.

“I wish I had–”

“Your sword?” Tifa shook her head. “You’d probably do more damage here than you did in sector eight, and you’d never get out.” I knew she was right, but it galled me just the same. I wondered how long it would take me to put the MPs down, if I had to, without any weapons on me. I guessed about ten minutes, assuming I had to fight all of them, but Tifa was right. It would get messy fast no matter how it went.

“How do you stand it?” I asked her. The MP’s partner finally came around and shook his head, telling the brash one to stand down.

Tifa shrugged. “We make a difference when we can. We don’t waste people needlessly.” With that, she stepped out of line and slowly approached the MPs. I studied her. She walked casually, but she was clearly showing that her hands were visible and empty.

“I’d like to help him,” she said, facing the calmer MP. “I know first aid.”

The first one started to say something, but the second stopped him and spoke from behind his faceplate. “Please do. It was an accident.”

Nobody in the line believed it was an accident, but Tifa didn’t argue. She knelt beside him as his companion worried, cleaned the wound and held it shut while she applied a light cure spell. The man, Joe, groaned and looked up, eliciting a happy shout from the woman.

The second MP took off his helmet and thanked Tifa. “Sorry about that,” he said to Joe and his wife. “The situation’s got everyone pretty tense.” Because they’re looking for me, I thought, surprised how disconnected I was from the conclusion.

In a minute, Tifa was beside me again. “It’s not usually this bad,” she told me.

“I hope not. It’s embarrassing.”

“It is?”

“A few days ago, these men were my responsibility.”

Tifa nodded thoughtfully. “One last thing before you go.” She pressed a PHS into my hand. “Just in case. Call if you need anything, and I’ll see what I can do.”

“Thanks,” I told her as we reached the front of the line.

“Can I see your IDs and travel passes?” the MP demanded. He was the one still in his helmet, and I briefly thought about putting my fist through the face plate. Instead, I handed him my documents.

“And you?” he asked Tifa suspiciously.

“Just seeing him off,” she answered, calm.

“Quite a girlfriend you’ve got there,” the guard told me, handing me back the travel pass. He studied the ID, and then my face, a minute longer. “Do I know you from somewhere?”

“Hard to tell when I can’t see your face,” I said, hoping it sounded funny and not sarcastic. “I used to work with the MPs, though. Long time ago.”

He laughed and pulled off his helmet. He didn’t look much older than Marlene back at the bar. I recognized him then, though I couldn’t remember his name – Denton? Denzel? – I’d spent some time in the gym with his unit a few weeks ago, trying to get a feel for how the MPs were doing. Ironic, probably.

“I don’t think so, old man. You’d have been long before my time. Never mind, say goodbye to your girlfriend and get going.” He handed me back the ID.

“Good luck, honey,” Tifa said, kissing me on the cheek. Before I could say something ridiculous in response, she pushed me forward and I stepped past the MPs.

I looked back just before I went through the gate, but she was gone.

I needed to get down under the plate. I would be too easy to spot up here. I could take the train, assuming first that the ID scan wouldn’t catch me and second that I wouldn’t murder everyone else in the car.

I thought of the maps of the city I’d studied with Tseng, discussing routes for Turk units who needed to get under the plate unnoticed. There was an access hatch somewhere behind the building. I slipped around carefully, trying to avoid being seen; no doubt there would be Turks and SOLDIERS swarming like cockroaches out here any minute.

The hatch was locked, but I pulled on it and felt the metal give beneath my hands. Had I forgotten this? How could anyone forget this rush? I pulled the hatch closed over my head as tightly as I could. It was broken, of course, and it would be found eventually. Hopefully I could make some progress before then. I didn’t have a proper sheath for Masamune, but I used my tie to secure her to my back.

I walked along the train track for a while, looking for the next downward access. I quickly lost track of where I was in relation to the sectors below, but I supposed it didn’t matter much. I didnt have anywhere in particular to go.

When I found an open hatch, I climbed down a service ladder to the bottom of the plate. The endorphins were wearing off now and the metal rungs were hard on my foot. I guessed it was broken. The smell seemed to gather up here and I tried not to gag as I swung out of the tunnel and landed on the platform overlooking the slums. Below me, people hurried in all directions, moving their little clods of dirt to make new tunnels, paying tribute to the queens in Wall Market, bringing food home to the larvae.

That was an odd train of thought. I shook my head and started down the final climb to the ground below. This was turning out to be a very long day.

As I slipped through a hole in the fence to reach the populated sector outside Wall Market, I realized I hadn’t eaten since last night. I looked around for a place that looked open and decent, and settled on the cleanest-looking one on the street. The sign proclaimed it “Seventh Heaven”.

When I walked in, the place was empty aside from a group of six or so people talking near the back. They all turned to stare at me and then one, a brunette girl who was probably not even out of her teens, came over to me.

“Can I help you, sir?”

“Do you serve food here?” I asked. She nodded. “Then I’d like some.” Another woman stood up, a striking one who might have been her mother or her sister. I guessed she was closer to my age than the girl’s. She stepped into the kitchen.

“Do us a favor and leave the, ah, weapon by the door, sir?” I pulled Masamune loose from the impromptu harness and set her carefully into a rack behind me. The waitress showed me to a table.

“What’ll you have?” she asked.

I wasn’t in the mood for anything I could put my finger on. “Bring me whatever is your favorite.” She looked toward the kitchen again and the cook nodded to her. The waitress flicked on the television set next to the bar as she began mixing a drink.

“-death of our beloved President Rufus Shinra today at the hands of terrorists,” the reporter was saying in a voice dripping excitement and false sympathy. The waitress brought my drink and a cheesesteak over to my table.

“Disgusting,” I sneered at the television. “Terrorists didn’t kill Shinra any more than I did.”

As if on cue, the reporter continued, “Former General Sephiroth, seen in this photo, is believed to be working with the terrorist group and to have had a hand in the President’s death.” I was suddenly very aware that all the eyes in the room were on me again.

“Do you want to turn me in?” I asked no on in particular. “Go ahead. Try.” The young waitress looked toward the cook, who shook her head slowly.

“Okay, Tifa,” the waitress said and retreated to the far side of the bar.

Tifa stepped out from the kitchen and walked slowly to my table. I could tell by her posture that she was a fighter, but she tried hard to look harmless. Her curves were impressive to the point of distraction, and I’m sure that on most people, the effect worked. I gave her the benefit of the doubt. After all, the food was good.

When she laid her hand on the chair opposite me, I nodded and she sat down.

“What are you doing here?” she asked, sounding tired.

I looked down at the plate, then back up at her. “Eating.”

Tifa crossed her arms and frowned at me. “And what about that?” she pointed at the television. They were running some sort of retrospective photomontage of the president now.

“Look, I came in here because I was hungry. I didn’t kill Shinra, and I’m not going to kill you if you leave me alone with my sandwich.” My hackles were up, and I realized they actually were, I wasn’t just thinking the phrase because it was sharp-sounding.

“So you expect me to believe it’s an accident that you walked in on an AVALANCHE meeting,” she snapped right back, her voice even. I set the sandwich down and really studied her. She was either lying or she had nerves of steel, I could tell that much right off. She didn’t look like she was lying. Her face was serious and mature, with the dark hard eyes of someone who’d lived under the plate for too long. She probably wasn’t a native, though. Her curves suggested farm-girl muscle underneath.

I decided to take her seriously despite the insult that after years of pursuing AVALANCHE, I’d managed to find an unknown cell in the city entirely by accident. “Believe what you want. I’m here to eat.” She watched me chew my way through half the sandwich.

“Shinra really does turn on everyone eventually,” she said finally. “I believe you didn’t kill him.”

“And why’s that?” I asked her.

“Two reasons. One, intuition. Two, you’ve been hunting us for years, you think we wouldn’t know your patterns by now? I can’t imagine you managing anything as messy as the photos we saw on the network an hour ago.”

“Shinra released photos?” I almost spit out the last mouthful of cheesesteak.

Tifa laughed. “No. Our private network.”

“We shut that down last year– we didn’t, did we?” I sighed.

She smiled and stood up. “Look. You’ve obviously got a bone to pick with Shinra now. We could use someone with your background and skill. Obviously no one’s going to trust you anytime soon, but I’m willing the play go-between for the good of the cause.”

“The cause?”

“Yeah.”

“What cause is that? Destroying civilization?” I snapped before I stopped myself.

She frowned down at me. “I just happen to have enough faith in humanity to think we’re civilized without the benefit of Shinra Electric Power Company.”

“I can’t help you. Not right now, I need to figure out what I’m doing, and I need to start by getting out of Midgar. I might… I might think you’re right. But the last thing I want to do is do something stupidly retaliatory.” I finished my drink. Tifa nodded and walked away, leaving me space to think.

Whatever had come over me this morning, it was fading fast now and I got a good look at just what I was doing. No more job, obviously. I tried that thought on for size and decided I rather liked it. I was still wearing my work clothes; that would definitely have to be remedied soon. No doubt they were watching my apartment and my bank accounts, so no more nice things. I could live with that, I’d gone without things before.

No direction, but I hadn’t really had direction before, only momentum. Now I was falling from grace. I had gravity alone.

I still had the key to Hojo’s apartment. I wondered if Irena had told anyone else about that, whether it would be safe to go there. It was worth a shot.

I told Tifa that I would be back, and I would appreciate their help getting out of the city, but first I had to go somewhere.

“I understand,” she said. “Just remember, if you get caught, we never saw you.”

“Of course.” I wrapped Masamune in some fabric so it would draw less attention and started walking toward sector eight.

The walk to Hojo’s apartment took longer than I’d expected. It was easy to forget how big the slums were if you never came down here. The air seemed a little cooler today, but I might have simply been getting used to it. Either way, it didn’t help that I could feel a headache swelling up behind my eyes.

Eventually, I found myself in an area that looked vaguely familiar, and then it was only a few more minutes to the University Arms. I looked around carefully for signs of army presence, but there didn’t seem to be any more MPs than usual. I waited until they went on their way patrolling and slipped into the building.

Inside his apartment, I dug around until I came up with a decently-sized leather satchel. I emptied the briefcase of notes into it and looked around for anything else that might be of use. There were a few weak materia that I grabbed and some jewelry I figured I could sell. I paused to use the weak cure materia on my foot. It wasn’t set properly, but it would do. I looked for something to wear as well. Even though the professor had been almost my height, he was a lot thinner than I was, and I doubted there would be any useful clothing here, but I figured I was here so I might as well look.

At the bottom of the box of women’s clothing was a pair of old-fashioned Turk suits. They must have been as old as I was, judging by the thickness of the trouser material and the dated styling of the jackets, but they also included the leather trenchcoat that used to be standard issue. It was didn’t look much like my old army coat, but it and the trousers fit well enough and would be practical. I wondered who they’d belonged to.

I froze when I heard the door open. I’d left Masamune in the front room, still wrapped. Hopefully there was enough clutter in there that whoever it was wouldn’t notice. I heard papers being rifled in the living room, then the kitchen cabinets being opened and shut. The step was light, probably a woman’s.

“Irena,” I said, stepping out of the bedroom. She jumped and shrieked.

“I didn’t know you were here!” she said, shoving something into the cabinet behind her. I pulled it back out and glanced over it.

“Nibelheim?” I asked her. “What’s this?”

“Just another of the Professor’s projects. Something he left unfinished.” It looked interesting, but I didn’t have time to read it just then. The tiny print was just making my eyes swim and my head hurt more. I set the file down and rubbed my temples.

“Something wrong?” Irena asked, sliding her hands in under mine and taking over the headache massage.

I flinched, but she persisted and it did help. “Just a migraine. Usually I’d go by the lab to get something for it, but I’m not exactly welcome up there right now.”

“Lucky for you the science department happens to be right here,” she answered, her voice low. Her hands slipped away from my face and into her purse. “I think I have… yes, this should work just fine on you.” She handed me two small pills. I swallowed them and then filled a glass with water from the sink and drained it.

“You’d best come in the bedroom and lie down,” she told me, taking my wrist. “Just in case you have a stronger reaction than I expect.”

I wobbled just before I got to the bed and nearly collapsed onto the mattress. Irena tried to support me and I pushed her away. She was the one who’d given me… whatever this stuff was, after all. Nothing the lab gave me was ever this bad. I crawled across the bed and laid my head on the thin pillows. She sat down on the bed beside me. I tried to push her away, but she caught my wrist tightly and leaned over me, and then it went black.

The first time I woke up, Irena was in bed with me and I was naked. The room was spinning and I thought I was dreaming.

I woke from that to a soft blue light, and the woman I’d seen twice before, once in my apartment and once in the lab, was at the foot of the bed.

“Jenova?” I asked, sitting up. She shook her head.

I wracked my brain for the other name from the journal. “Lucrecia?” I think she smiled a little at that.

“What do you want?” I asked her. She hadn’t answered last time, but maybe this time she could.

She opened her mouth, but no sound came out. I shook my head and shrugged at her. She frowned and then stepped forward, laying her hands on either side of my face. Her touch was chill, soothing the jumpy feeling in my muscles in a way that radiated outward from her.

This wasn’t a hallucination. At least, I didn’t think it was. Obviously I was seeing something that wasn’t there, but it was at least real, wasn’t it? I could almost hear Hojo laughing at me.

“What can I do? Please, tell me,” I said.

She leaned in very close, placing her cold lips against my ear, and I heard a whisper that sounded far too distant. “Release Vincent. Release Hojo. Release me.”

“But– Hojo’s dead. And I don’t even know who Vincent is,” I protested, pulling away to look at her. She seemed sad, and her face was pulled tight. He realized that this was costing her considerable effort and leaned back in toward her, not wanting to cost her any more.

“Nibelheim,” was all she could seem to manage. She faded, and I jerked forward, reaching for her.

I woke up wincing at the neon and sodium light coming in through the dirty window and its thin curtains. I felt sticky inside the borrowed clothing. My head was still pounding and I felt like I’d swallowed an entire hot Costan pepper. That was when I realized I knew these symptoms. Headache, light sensitivity, touch sensitivity, the feeling like my veins were on fire. I was coming fown from a mako treatment.

But the professor hadn’t given me one of those in years, so where–

Irena. And of course now she was gone. Thank Gaea I was at least dressed. I dialed Hojo’s PHS again, figuring she still had it.

“What did you do to me?” I demanded when I heard the other end pick up.

“Ah, Sephiroth,” drawled the voice on the other end. “Irena told us you might try this number. You really should turn yourself in, man, save everyone a lot of trouble.”

“Damn, Reno.”

“Oh, it’s okay, I understand. None of us really liked him, you know? But his old lady’s nagging so we have to bring you in.”

“I didn’t–”

“Now I don’t want to embarass you, you know? I’m sure you don’t want video of a couple of scrawny turks kicking your ass to be all over the evening news, so why don’t you turn yourself in?

“I– wait, turks kicking my anything? Reno, you must be kidding me.”

“Hey, I just call them like I see them, Seph, and you’re not exactly the demon of Wutai anymore.”

“I’ll show you–” I started, but then I heard a click on the line and realized that Reno had just been stalling to trace the call. Slow. Stupid. I really had lost my senses, hadn’t I?

“Nice talking to you, Seph. We’ll see you soon.” The line went dead. I threw my PHS against the wall and watched it lodge in the drywall.

Now what? They’d trace me here, but that gave me about five minutes to get out. I could work with that. I’d been ready to go when Irena showed up, I just needed to grab the satchel. I went into the front room to get it.

It was, of course, gone. On the floor by the couch I did find the small journal that I’d begun reading. Irena must have overlooked it. I pocketed it before I checked the kitchen. The Nibelheim report was gone as well.

I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. Ground. Center. Breathe. Center. This wasn’t as bad as it seemed. They couldn’t track me if I lost them here. I had a destination in the short term — Seventh Heaven. I had a destination in the long term too — Nibelheim.

After that, I didn’t know, but a soldier worries about the battle first and the war later. Breathe. Center. I opened my eyes. Go. I grabbed Masamune and then I was out the door.

Apparently I wasn’t fast enough.

Two turk-suited punks came at me from either side as I stepped out the front door. I hadn’t expected them to get here this quickly, but I could adapt. I knew them, of course. It was Tseng’s job to train them, but there were never more than a dozen on staff and I had always thought it important to know the people I was asking the worst of.

“Nae,” I said, nodding to the young woman, and then her partner on the right. “Daniel. You must expect that I won’t go easy on you.” Each of them smirked a little as they drew their weapons. These two had been considered Reno’s specialty unit and they carried a lot of the older man’s attitude in their style. (Also, his fashion sense. I’d never been pleased that Nay insisted on wearing her uniform shirt untucked and unbuttoned in Reno’s style. At least Reno had never had cleavage to show off.)

Daniel flung ice at me. “Don’t worry, old man, we never expect anything.” Old man? Hmph. I stepped aside, but he wasn’t aiming for me– he hit the ground beneath my feet and I almost lost my footing. As I struggled to stay upright, I was hit from behind.

I looked up from the ground to see Nae with her mythril staff, decorated with Cosmo-styled feathers and beads against every line of regulation and good sense, standing over me. I rolled off the ice and jumped to my feet just in time to feel one of Daniel’s throwing knives glance off my borrowed leather jacket. I pulled Masamune from the fabric I’d wrapped her in.

Nae’s eyes were unfocused and energy was buzzing around her head. “Holy shit, Dani, his energy levels are crazy! No materia, though, doesn’t even have anything equipped in his sword. If we just keep hitting him, he’ll go down eventually.” She shook her head to clear the magic and refocused on me, swinging her staff for another blow.

I parried with Masamune. I felt energy flaring up beside me and assumed Daniel was preparing another spell. I braced myself for it and focused on forcing Nae back. Her heart was strong but her technique was weak and she was giving ground without realizing it. I managed to turn her so that she was between me and her partner.

He released the energy anyway, letting it sink into Nae. I watched her movements get jumpy and her attacks flew at me twice as fast. I’d guessed wrong again, but now I knew he was planning on playing support today and I could take advantage of that.

I led Nae on with a few feints and took her hits until I fell backward, then dodged and went for her knees, using her own speed and momentum against her. She went sprawling past Daniel, who answered with another course of his knives. This time I felt a two bit into my skin through the coat.

I wanted to end the fight. I wanted to get out of Midgar once and for all. Fire crackled from my fingertips and along Masamune’s blade. At least I had the sense to release the energy before I stopped to think about what the hell I was doing.

“I thought he didn’t have any materia!” Daniel shouted as he dodged.

“He doesn’t!” Nae answered, her eyes wide, as the flames ripped into her. She screamed.

He hurried to pull her out of the way. “Nae! Fuck!”

“Now get. Out. Of my way,” I ordered Daniel. He bit his lip and looked like he might do it for just a minute.

“Stand down, Daniel,” came the shout from behind him. The young turk looked entirely happy to do so. Behind him was Reno, looking entirely too pleased with himself, and a unit of SOLDIERs.

“Looks like you got stalled out again, Sephiroth,” Reno announced, “and I’m glad to see you can still hold out against a couple of kids. But do you really want to try your luck against an entire SOLDIER unit?”

Now these guys weren’t punks, or kids. Most of these guys had served under me when I was still in SOLDIER. I knew them. Reno was playing dirty. Of course, that was what Shinra paid him to do.

“Sephiroth, just turn yourself in and I promise you we’ll make a full investigation.” That was Nightblade, behind me. That made me proud, that Zack wasn’t afraid to get out here in the streets with me after so long.

I spun to face him. “You and I both know that’s a lie, Nightblade. This is only going to end one way, and it’s not going to be fun for you.”

“It’s not going to be fun for you either, sir,” he said, resigned, and signaled the rush. A dozen well-trained SOLDIERs — men I would have considered as close as I got to friends — advanced on me with swords drawn. My head hurt. My skin burned. It had been years since I threw raw energy like that without materia, another in the long list of my accomplishments that weren’t technically humanly possible. Now it felt like everything had been building up, frustration alongside flames under my skin with nowhere to go.

I swung Masamune once, twice, two dozen times, not even willing the fire that flew around me. It was simply there. My body remembered the passion now but I was losing the precision, dancing among the SOLDIERs increasingly erratically.

I found myself six inches from Zack’s face, Masamune pressed against his buster sword, and when I looked him in the eyes he knew me. I could almost see him flashing back to Wutai, to Da Chao and every time he’d dragged me back from the edge, every time I’d cursed him for it.

He screamed and it took me a minute to realize it wasn’t fear. I smelled his skin as it burned raw. He collapsed. There were no SOLDIERs left standing. Reno and his brats were gone. Most of the street was on fire.

Nightblade looked up at me and I dared him to follow. I didn’t look back; I knew he wouldn’t. I had appointments to keep. Some other Shinra lapdog could clean this up.

I never really got used to the subways. They were my least favorite thing about living in Midgar. They’re enclosed spaces filled with people, and short of throwing me in a phone booth with the entirely of the Shinra executive board, they’re the worst way to experience either of those things. I was the Great General Sephiroth, I was built for blood-covered fields and lonely missions.

More specifically, I was built to kill anything that got in my way. Learning to suppress that instinct on the packed commuter train remained one of the hardest things I’d ever done.

The only thing that made the train ride home that day tolerable was the fact that I had just escaped from a board meeting, which was very much like being shoved in a phone booth shared with the most powerful and obnoxious people at the company. As head of Peace Preservation, I had to be there, but I certainly was not expected to enjoy myself. I had spent most of the meeting fantasizing about nailing President Rufus Shinra to his desk with my sword. Not that I’d actually do it, and surely most of the rest of the employees felt the same way. Would he ever start taking responsibility for the bad things as well as the good?

No, of course not. Some things never changed.

I didn’t feel like going home immediately, though, so when I escaped the commuter train half a block from my apartment building, I took my time wandering the shops before going home. Most of them were quiet this late in the day. The only one still busy was the liquor store.

I wasn’t a social drinker; I hated the taste of alcohol and it never seemed to have any effect on me. But Midgar was grating on me more than usual today and I felt like I couldn’t relax, couldn’t stop shaking. Alcohol was a tranquilizer. It should do, assuming I took enough of it.

I stepped inside and, disdaining the crowded aisles, went straight to the counter. “I need two large bottles of the strongest thing you carry.” I knew nothing about alcohol, and I wasn’t particularly interested in learning. I just wanted to calm down.

The clerk nodded and pulled something down from the shelf behind the register. “Will that be all?” I nodded and paid, hurrying out of the store.

My apartment was a welcome relief from the crowding of Midgar. I paid for space and I got it, tons of it, with clean white paint and little in the way of furniture or even walls. It was quiet and open and not at all like the city it sat in the center of.

Leaving the paper bag on the counter, I went into my bedroom and peeled off the too-tailored suit, relishing the feel of cold air on bare arms and legs. After a few stretches to remind myself that I had the full range of motion again, I went back to the kitchen in my boxers and undershirt.

I opened one of the bottles and sniffed at it. No, I still didn’t like the smell of it, and probably not the taste, either. There had to be some way to keep from choking on the stuff. I looked in my refrigerator for ideas, and pulled out a bottle of vegetable juice. It was thick and had a strong flavor, it should do.

I filled a glass about halfway with alcohol and added juice until I could stand the taste, then swallowed the whole thing as quickly as I could. I had finished the first bottle and was well into the second before I began to feel anything. My muscles slowly warmed and relaxed, and I took the half-empty glass over to the couch with me.

This was nice. I leaned back and watched the ceiling spin a bit. The alcohol effects washed over me in waves, piling up until I wasn’t sure I could move. I shut my eyes for a minute.

When I opened them, there was a blue woman standing in my apartment. I blinked at her.

“Hello?”

She didn’t say anything, only looked at me.

“You’re in my apartment, you could at least answer me,” I said slowly. She was still silent. I felt myself getting angry slowly, like I was pulling sand through a sieve.

“What are you supposed to be, the absinthe fairy?” I demanded. The blue woman didn’t answer.

“No, wait,” I answered myself. “She’s green. And I don’t think I’m drinking absinthe.” I realized I was having a hard time thinking.

“Who are you, lady?” I stood up fast and bashed my shins against the coffee table. My glass jarred to the floor on the other side and shattered. I barely noticed; I was too busy screaming.

“Who are you? Say something!” But she only looked sad and turned away. Half-mad, I dove over the table at her, but caught only a floor full of glass. She was gone when I looked up, and for the first time in years I fell back on the language I’d picked up in SOLDIER.

“Fuck.” Though bits of glass in my forearms hardly competed with some of the injuries I’d received in the army, the coarse language was grounding. The fuzz in my head started to lift as I stared at the blood on my hands. Hallucinations? Must be. But that wasn’t like me.

Though, neither was getting drunk while locked away alone in my apartment, now that I thought about it. What was wrong with me?

The job was killing me. That ridiculously overblown, paper-pushing desk job that I never wanted in the first place was papercutting me to shreds. Why had I ever let them promote me out of the field?

“Because I was tired of serving under morons,” I answered myself out loud, tossing the last bit of glass into the trash can. This could not be as good as it got.

“Please, Gaea,” I whispered as I dragged myself to bed, “tell me there’s more than this.” I went to sleep praying that something would change. I woke up to the screams of my PHS, and the screen’s light was harsh in the still-dark morning. Something had to be wrong.

“Emergency board meeting first thing, sir,” the nameless secretary told me. She didn’t know why, but that wasn’t surprising for Shinra. My head hurt from last night’s despair, or maybe last night’s hangover, and so did my arms. I was glad to note that my dress shirt covered most of the scabbed cuts.

It was too early to catch a train, but I was glad for the excuse to walk. The sun was just peeking over the plate when I arrived at the Shinra building.

The doormen, I noticed, were wearing black armbands. Someone had died, then? Things would be crazier if something had happened to the President, considering Rufus’s son was only six and hardly ready to take over the company, so it had to be someone else.

I climbed into the elevator with Scarlet of Weapons Development, a woman I’d worked closely with on several projects. She’d been something of a mentor to me when I first got stuck with a desk job in Midgar. I knew it was as much because she’d been grooming me to take over for her rival Heidegger as because of any genuine fondness for me, but we’d remained close.

“Did anyone tell you?” I asked her. She shook her head. The rest of the elevator ride was silence.

When we disembarked in front of the conference room, Reeve and Cid were already there talking to a red-haired woman I vaguely remembered having seen around the Science department.

“Who died?” I asked as we got off the elevator.

“Hojo did,” Rufus announced, throwing open the conference room’s door. “Now come inside, we need to sign off on his successor.” Scarlet looked genuinely distressed as we stepped behind Rufus. I wondered if she and the professor had been closer than I thought.

“We sure he’s dead?” Cid asked as we were sitting down.

Reeve frowned at him, but I nodded. “Yeah, I’m somewhat surprised he was… mortal.”

“He wasn’t even seventy,” Scarlet pointed out. “It only feels that way because he’s been here so long.”

“He’s been running that department since most of us were kids,” Reeve added.

I tuned out their conversation. Hojo was dead? The old man that had been the center of the universe for the first fifteen years of my life was gone? I hadn’t been very close to him after I joined SOLDIER, but he was the man who made me what I was. Literally, yes, but the words still held. He was the closest thing I’d had to a father.

I knew as I thought it that it sounded dysfunctional. I was a science project to him and little more, I didn’t have any illusions about that. I hadn’t asked in years, so I assumed that the knowledge of my parentage (including my questions about how on earth he’d found a Cetra) had died with him.

“Sephiroth, sir,” the redhead started saying to me, but Rufus interrupted her.

“Irena, you’ll be a department head in five minutes, you don’t need to call anyone ’sir’ except me.” Rufus smiled and — I think — winked at her, but she glared at him in return. Clearly there was still no love lost between the Science Department and the presidency. I remembered Hojo’s rants during my childhood about how Shinra expected him to create gods and raise the dead on the same budget Weapons Development got for building oversize BB guns.

I didn’t miss him. I told myself this.

Rufus continued. “Any objections to Irena’s appointment as head of the Science Department? No? Great. Let’s call out for breakfast.”

“If you don’t mind, sir,” Irena said with a touch of venom on the word. “I need to speak to Sephiroth about some of the late professor’s… effects.”

“Oh? Yes, of course,” Rufus said dismissively. “Now Reeve, we should probably name something after the old bastard, don’t you think?” Cid was rolling his eyes and Scarlet picking at her nails as I stood and followed the scientist.

“How did he die?” I asked her when I judged we were out of earshot.

She shrugged. “Natural causes, or as close as he ever got to natural. He just slumped over one of the specimen tanks. When the night crew found him, they figured he’d fallen asleep at work again. That wasn’t unusual…” She was rambling. It sounded like Hojo’s death had genuinely bothered her, but the idea of someone missing him and mourning him still seemed strange to me. She led me upstairs into the lab. Between the mood and the still-early hour, it was almost silent.

On the second floor of the lab, we passed the storage area full of boxes and specimen tubes. She stopped in front of one and laid a hand on it.

“Is that…?”

“Yes,” she nodded. “It’s fitting, I think. He devoted the last twenty years to her, at least.”

I stepped forward to see this mysterious woman to whom he’d given so many years. Once I laid eyes on her, though, my breath stopped. The blue-toned skin, the silver hair… and I was sure that under her sleeping eyelids lay the violently glowing eyes of the woman who had appeared to me last night. I wanted to pull away, but I couldn’t.

My vision settled on her headpiece. It read: JENOVA, with dates in Cetran underneath.

“Why,” I choked out, “why is my mother’s name on this specimen?”

Irena took my arm gently and pulled me away from the tank. “Jenova is the name of the specimen.”

“But–” I tried to pull away.

“Sephiroth, please. I need you to see something.” She tightened her grip, surprisingly strong for a scientist. “Don’t make me try to explain.” I didn’t want to fight her, so I let her drag me away from the woman.

She swiped a keycard — I noticed it was Hojo’s, not yet deactivated — and let me into his office. She went straight to a file cabinet and unlocked it.

“He burned most of these, he told me once, years ago,” she said as she unlocked the cabinet and pulled out the first set of neatly-bound notes. “I think enough survived, though. You need to read them.” A stack was quickly forming on the desk. I picked up the smallest volume, a leather journal, and flipped the pages.

They were Hojo’s notes, written in his small, calligraphic hand. After browsing a few pages, I shut the book.

“I can’t deal with this right now.”

She nodded.

“Have you read them?”

“…no.” I could tell she was lying, but there was no point in pushing the matter. Irena pulled an old-fashioned briefcase out of the closet and started stacking the notes inside. It had kanji on the name tag, but it took me a minute to recognize it as the old man’s name.

“Here, take your time,” she told me, holding out the briefcase.

“You trust me with them?” I asked, remembering years of Hojo telling me not to touch anything in the lab.

“They’re your inheritance. I know it isn’t much. I’ll send his apartment keys down to your office later.”

“He had an apartment?” Sephiroth asked, knowing the question was absurd. Of course he did.

Irena smiled a little. “Surprising, isn’t it? Considering how little he left the lab.”

“Why is all this coming to me?”

“Who else?” she shrugged. “Read the journals.” Why didn’t she want to admit she’d read them? Was she afraid Hojo’s ghost was going to see her? Maybe we would never be free of the man.

I took the briefcase downstairs and set it on my desk. It looked innocuous enough. I opened it and took out one of the volumes.

“X Year, X Month, X Day. Jenova confirmed to be an Ancient…” I blinked. My mother was an Ancient? I flipped ahead.

“X Year, X Month, X Day. I reassured Lucrecia of safety measures…” Lucrecia? That name was new to me. I saw Gast’s name as I scanned through, and Jenova’s name many times, and this Lucrecia person as well. I tossed the book back into the briefcase and snapped it shut. I had a headache, I realized. My office was stuffy. I was having a hard time breathing.

I pulled my sword, Masamune, from the hooks over my desk and headed for the gymnasium. The hallways were busy by now and I was surrounded by black armbands. I gripped the scabbard tightly and wondered why I was dizzy.

Thankfully, it was late enough in the morning that the locker rooms were empty. I laid Masamune down on the bench and unlocked my locker, stripping out of my business clothes, pulling back my hair and putting on the black workout pants I felt so much more comfortable in.

The main gymnasium floor seemed deserted. I laid Masamune’s scabbard aside and began my workout. I didn’t get to do this as often as I liked — it seemed there was always some emergency that needed to be taken care of. It had been even longer since I’d fought a real battle. Tseng had even argued that I needed a Turk security detail when I was going out on official business. The Legendary Soldier Sephiroth flanked by a security detail, can you imagine?

In my routine, Masamune swung in a clean arc, and I pictured her taking apart those who thought me weak, Turk heads rolling across the floor.

Of course, to hear Tseng describe it, there were plenty of good reasons for me to have a security detail, but I only heard one:

“People might see you as an easy target,” he’d said.

“Why would they think that?” He didn’t respond, which was all the answer I needed.

“Because you are,” said the echo of his voice in my head, even though he refused to say it out loud. I knew he was thinking it.

He wouldn’t say it because he wasn’t completely sure he was right, wasn’t completely sure I wouldn’t kill him on the spot, but he was sure enough to plan for it and come up with all his little excuses and contingency plans.

Maybe that was why these movements suddenly felt empty. I was beginning to share in the doubts everyone else seemed to have about me.

Maybe I was just a tiny bit upset about Hojo’s death. He had been virtually the same hunched, scrawny, obnoxious man since my earliest memories. If he could die — if that constant of my forty-four years on the Planet could shift so violently — then couldn’t anything? Couldn’t I be a weak and useless soldier like Heidegger before me?

I heard a gasp behind me but I ignored it. With the passion gone, concentration was all I had to fight for. When I finished, I turned to see who was watching.

“You look good with your hair pulled back,” Irena said. She was wearing a towel over her swimsuit and her hair was dripping.

“Thanks.” I picked up the scabbard and put Masamune away. Obviously she’d just come from the pool. She wasn’t following me, that would be ridiculous.

“I’ll, ah, I’ll see you later,” she hurried off towards the locker room. Strange girl, that one. She’d do just fine in the Science Department.

When I got out of the shower, I checked my PHS. There was a note from Rufus saying he wanted to see me, so I dressed quickly and headed for his office.
Still feeling frustrated with my workout, I decided to take the stairs.

As I neared the President’s office, I heard shouting echo down the hall.

“I made you, Irena!” Rufus was screaming. Irena again? She’s going to think I’m following her at this rate.

“Hojo made me,” she answered, so cold and quiet that I could barely hear it through the door. “You just broke me.”

“Get the hell out of my office!”

I stepped back just moments before the door flew open and Irena stalked out. I started to go after her, but hesitated, thinking of Rufus’s order. She’d be fine.

Rufus was slumped over his desk when I went in.

“Oh, Sephiroth, there you are,” he said, sounding tired. “I feel like shit. You’re probably lucky you didn’t stick around for breakfast.”

I nodded and, when he didn’t continue, asked, “You needed me?”

“Oh, right,” he raised his head from the desk and flipped his hair out of his face. “Just a few things. You’ll need to say something during the memorial service tomorrow. It’s going to be televised, so don’t get too personal. After that, er, if you want some time off…”

“I’m fine,” I snapped back, probably too quickly, but Rufus nodded. I sighed and left.

There was a key waiting for me when I got back to my office. I stared at it for a long while before feeling a burning need to do something. Anything. Paperwork.

I rushed through the pile in my inbox, signing off on everything: Turk expense accounts, SOLDIER promotion nominations, a change in the mako infusion procedure… oh, look, Hojo’s signature, the same delicate handwriting, and then I was thinking about the briefcase again.

I signed it and kept going.

I’d spent years wondering about my parents, the answer was presumably right in front of me, and I was avoiding it. What was I so afraid of?

I was afraid of whatever Irena wouldn’t admit she knew.

I left the key and the briefcase, dumped the finished stack of papers on my secretary’s desk, and headed for the elevator.

I was tired. I didn’t want to think. Alcohol had worked spectacularly badly the night before, so I stopped at the drug store and bought some insomnia medication instead.

After getting home and changing out of my work clothes, I took two according to the instructions and flipped through a magazine for half an hour. Was two pills even the right dosage for me? I used to go to the lab for that sort of thing. Frustrated and still not tired, I took three more and turned on my television for the first time in months. Surely if something would put me to sleep, it was the mindless programming Shinra put out.

An hour later, cursing every enhanced gene in my body and almost entirely sure it wouldn’t kill me, I took half the bottle of pills and buried myself under the blankets on my bed.

I had forgotten to set my alarm the night before, but the memorial service wasn’t until noon and I doubted anyone would care if I didn’t come in until then. I dragged myself into the shower, still feeling the effects of the pills, and thought that today might be a good day to take up drinking coffee. I dressed as conservatively as I could, finding my most formal black suit and tie and adding a dark grey shirt.

For the second day in a row, I walked to the building. I didn’t trust myself on the train.

The service was being held in the plaza out front. I couldn’t help feeling that the whole scene was almost generic. There was no body, of course, but didn’t memorial services usually have pictures or flowers or something? It had been a circus when the president died.

I walked past the line of security to the stage where Cid was already sitting, looking uncomfortable in his suit. Reeve and Scarlet arrived a minute later. He was dressed in an old fashioned style, and Scarlet seemed to be clinging tightly to his arm. Her black dress made her look washed-out and tired. Irena dashed up in a black-skirted suit at the last minute. Her face was red.

Before I could ask her if she was stable, Rufus made his grand entrance with his pretty Wutaian wife beside him in a white kimono. His speech sounded more like a press conference than a memorial, but I had expected that. Irena spoke of his inspiration. Scarlet, surprising me, spoke briefly about him as a friend. Then they looked at me.

I stood, as I was expected to, and opened my mouth, as I was expected to. It wasn’t easy to find something to say about the old man. Our relationship had never been warm or close or really even peaceable, but I couldn’t say I despised the man and the only emotion I felt at his death was relief. I’m sure I stammered out something before Rufus took over again and sent us on our way.

Simply thankful the entire exercise was over, I went upstairs to my office. Hojo’s things were still sitting on my desk. I pushed the notebooks aside and picked up the key. When I took a closer look at the key, it was stamped with a number, 407, and ‘University Arms’. I didn’t recognize the name, so I stopped by the receptionist’s desk on the way out.

“Oh, that’s one of the old apartment buildings in sector one, near where the university used to be, hence the name.”

“Are you sure?” The idea of a Shinra executive living under the plate didn’t make sense. Of course, nothing else made sense today either.

“That’s what they pay me for,” she answered with a smile.

I left the building shaking my head and headed for the trains. I might hate them, but I certainly wasn’t going to walk all the way down below the plate. I rested my eyes as the train swayed along the tracks and held tightly to the briefcase.

I exited through the double doors and gritted my teeth against the hot, sticky air. I was sweating almost instantly. I removed my jacket, but it didn’t help.

Sector one was about as nice as it got under the plate. The buildings were tired and sagging, coated in soot and mako deposits, but solid and in surprisingly good repair for something down here. I had to ask for directions twice, but eventually I found my way to the University Arms.

The front door had no one watching it, but it was locked. I tried the apartment key and heard the alarm buzz before the door swung open. I stepped inside and let it slam shut behind me.

The lobby was dark and damp and smelled like mildew, but the floor looked freshly mopped. There was a sign on the elevator proclaiming OUT OF ORDER, but the stairs were empty and only smelled a little of stale cigarettes, so it wasn’t a problem. I hesitated outside the door marked 407 before I slid the key in the lock.

The door swung open about a foot and stopped short. I slipped in and shut it behind me, flipping the light switch.

My first impression was that the apartment was full of books. Literally full, with the walls lined in tightly-packed bookshelves. Stacks of newspapers and academic journals were neatly lined up to create walkways to the furniture, an ancient-looking couch and chair and a coffee table still holding a half-finished cup of tea.

“He lived in this?” I marveled as I held the briefcase against my legs, sliding between the stacks. I definitely did not want to clean this up if I knocked them over. I noticed the headline on one of the papers proclaimed the end of clean-up operations in Wutai. That had been twenty years ago.

I dropped the briefcase on the couch next to a book left open, face down. I looked at the spine: Phoenix Down: Resurrection and Reincarnation in Cetran Poetry. The old man had interesting timing.

First things first, I took the teacup into the kitchen and tested the water. It seemed clean, so I washed the cup and the pot next to the small stove. I turned on the stove and put water on to boil. Going through the cupboards, ostensibly for tea, I found little food. There were copious amounts of tea and alcohol, a few canned things, and some wilted Wutaian takeout, along with even more books stacked in the cabinets.

It was warmer in the small, windowless kitchen than it had been in the living room. I loosened my tie and unbuttoned the top of my dress shirt.

While I waited for the water to boil, I stood on the threshold of his bedroom. More books. Cardboard boxes bearing the names of companies bought out by Shinra when I was still in my teens. I unfolded the lid of one of them.

… Women’s clothing?

I shut the lid and tried not to picture him wearing a dress. It almost worked.

Thankfully, the water was boiling when I turned back to the kitchen. I found some white pear tea that didn’t have too much dust on it and dropped it into the tea pot, pouring the hot water over it. I waited for it to steep and then poured myself a cup. Ignoring the bedroom for the time being, I went back to the living room and opened the briefcase.

The little journal was right on top and I pulled it out. The tiny handwriting, or the words it had recorded, gave me a headache, so I pulled my reading glasses out of my jacket’s pocket. There was more mention of this “Lucrecia” woman, and references to her increasing illness, alongside comments about Jenova’s use in the project. Why was… did this mean Lucrecia was actually my mother? This was definitely giving me a headache.

I was so engrossed in the reading that I didn’t notice Irena until she began apologizing for interrupting me. She looked like she’d seen a ghost, but I attributed it to her not expecting to find anyone here.

“There’s fresh tea in the kitchen and room if you want to sit down,” I said, moving the briefcase. If she had a key, surely she could manage herself in here just fine. She disappeared into the kitchen and returned a minute later with a full teacup.

“I didn’t know you wore glasses,” she said after watching me read for a minute.

“Only when I have to,” I told her. They made me feel vulnerable, but I wasn’t going to tell her that.

“Oh?”

“Glasses demonstrate a weakness. Luckily, I’m farsighted, so I don’t need them often.” Irena fidgeted self-consciously, reaching for her own glasses and wiping them on her blouse before putting them back on.

“They look good on you,” she said finally. I nodded, not looking up. She slid closer on the couch and the next minute her fingertips were on my face, turning me to look at her. She reached up, running her fingers through my bangs a few times, and then studied my face for a long, silent minute.

“What are you doing?” I finally asked.

“Just thinking,” Irena answered. She started to lean forward, then stood up abruptly and walked back into the kitchen. Eventually, Irena reappeared with a box of books.

“Do you mind if I take these?” she asked.

“Should I?”

“Well, I mean… this stuff is all yours now, Sephiroth. I’m taking your things. I think it’s only fair that I ask first.”

“Take anything you want,” I said, waving my hand at the piles filling the room. “I’m not going to have any use for it.” I went back to the journal and waited for her to leave without looking at her.

Finally she did.

It had been a few years since a woman had paid me so much attention, and I appreciated it, but I was not in the mood for romance right now. She should know that, considering she was the one who gave me all of this paper to read.

Right, back to reading.

The journal was missing certain basic explanations, such as who the people mentioned were (though I remembered the names Jenova and Gast from my own childhood, Lucrecia and Valentine were new to me) or what the project was on a grander scale. That must have been in an earlier journal. The notes made it pretty clear that Lucrecia was the one who was pregnant. Jenova seemed to be as much a chemical or an infusion, as a person.

Finally I got to the end of the pregnancy. The entries briefly lengthened, recording entire paragraphs of Hojo’s rambling thoughts on the impending birth and Lucrecia’s illness.

Her body is thoroughly corrupted. Her hair has turned white and her blood composition requires more injection on a daily basis than was planned.

Quite simply, she’s breaking down.

I’m going to have to put her in suspended animation asap if I want my son to be born at all.

His son. Well, that certainly explained why Irena had insisted I inherit the apartment and the notes on my creation.

Still, the idea that Hojo could go all those years without ever mentioning… I shivered. Then I stood and went into the small bathroom. Still had my glasses on so I only had to pull my hair back, running my fingers through my bangs to thin them out.

Once I knew what I was looking for, and once I was looking honestly at my face in the mirror, it seemed obvious. The forehead, the nose and, much as it pained me to notice them, the wrinkles around the eyes were all the same.

Suddenly angry, I threw my glasses in the sink and pulled the tie out of my hair. All those years, he’d known and he’d played with me. All those years he’d raised me. How dare he–

I needed to talk to someone. I felt like my head was going to explode. I flipped open my PHS and dialed Hojo’s number, betting I knew who had his phone.

“Hello?” Irena answered.

“I need to talk to someone,” I told her.

“Come up to the lab,” she said and hung up. I left the briefcase there and locked the door behind me. The entire ride to the building, my thoughts rushed back and forth from hating Hojo and not believing him. How could anyone go their entire life without saying something like that, without giving any indication to their own child?

I let myself into the lab and called Irena’s name.

“I’m in the back,” she answered. I followed her voice to the employee lounge.

“You finished it?” was the first thing she asked me.

“Yes.”

“So you know.”

“Yes.”

She reached up and brushed my cheek with her hand. “You look so much like him.”

“I can see a resemblance,” I turned away, “but I don’t–” There was a sharp pain in my neck. I looked at Irena, uncomprehending, and she smiled.

“I can help you with that.” Then it went dark.

When I woke up, I was barefoot and shirtless on the couch in the Science department lounge. It was cold and I couldn’t remember why I was there. I stumbled into the elevator, half-dressed and wondering what I’d had to drink that left me this hung over. I’d woken up alone, but was sure Irena had been there when I fell asleep. I just couldn’t quite bring myself to care where she’d gone.

I didn’t feel– no, the opposite was the problem. I felt everything. I felt sweat trickling down my back. I felt tiny changes in temperature between hallways. I felt dust particles in the air brushing against my skin.

Tseng and Nightblade were waiting outside my office when I arrived. That was definitely a bad sign. There was no love lost between the army and the Turks,and they avoided each other whenever possible.

They looked at each other as I approached. Nightblade nodded and Tseng stepped forward. “Sir, we have a problem.”

“I could guess,” I snapped. “Just tell me what it is.” Tseng met my eyes and flinched. Nightblade whispered something that sounded too much like “the demon”.

What was wrong with people this morning? They seemed so wasteful, hemming around whatever they needed to say. I thought about firing them, but I knew they were the best Shinra had to offer. The best! Ha! How had the human race ever gotten anything done?

I pushed past them into my office, curtly telling them that I’d be here whenever they felt the need to be useful. Tseng followed me inside.

“Ready to talk like an intelligible human being?” I asked as I pulled a fresh shirt out of one of my drawers and put it on. Before he could say anything, I noticed the empty space on my wall.

“And where on earth is my sword?” I turned to face the leader of the Turks.

“As a matter of fact, that’s related… Sir, the President is dead,” Tseng answered without looking up from the floor.

“What? How?” Could this morning get any worse?

“He, ah, was stabbed, sir. In his office.”

“And where was his security detail? Where were your men?” I was so angry I was shaking. Entire minutes had passed. I should have all the details by now.

“They were killed as well, sir. I’m very sorry.”

“You should be!” I stopped, realizing how loudly I was shouting. Tseng’s quiet manner made even my breath sound loud.

“The President was stabbed, sir.”

“Was he?” As soon as I asked, it clicked in my mind and I was waiting for Tseng to tell me what I already knew.

“He was, sir. With your sword.” I was on fire. I must have been. I could smell myself burning. When did the world stop making sense?

“Sir, I’m very sorry, but I’m going to have to–” I had far too good an idea where Tseng was going with that sentence and I didn’t intend to wait while he finished it. I was out the door before I could think about it. Nightblade jumped, but was too slow to stop me. I considered the elevator, but it would be too easy for them to trap me in there, so I headed for the stairs. I knew I wasn’t thinking straight, but I didn’t care.

I expected Nightblade and Tseng to be waiting for me, but they weren’t there yet when I emerged, only the President’s new widow.

“Have you come back for me?” she asked quietly.

“I haven’t come back at all, Yufuko. I didn’t kill your husband.”

“Too bad,” she said. “I might have thanked you.”

Ignoring her, I walked over to her husband’s body and reached for my sword. There was blood everywhere and the smell was overwhelming.

“You’re defiling the crime scene.”

“I’m investigating. I believe that’s in my job description,” I shot back.

“Haven’t you been relieved of command?” she asked. I thought of the sentence I didn’t let Tseng finish.

“Not verbally.”

“I’ll have to speak to Tseng later about that. Regardless, consider yourself relieved.”

“And who are you to say that?” I glared at her.

“President of Shinra Electric Power Company, unless you’re challenging me.” She had stood and was in my face now, or as close as she could get considering she was over a foot shorter. I turned away and returned to the body.

The elevator door opened and Tseng walked in. Behind me, I heard the stairwell door as well. I assumed it was Nightblade.

“About time you two got here!” Yufuko yelled.

“What are you doing?” I snapped at them. They ignored me and looked to her. How dare they treat me like that? Ignore me! Betray me!

I grabbed Masamune and shook it loose from the body. The blood that splatted onto my clothes and skin was cool. Obviously Rufus had been dead several hours. Tseng began to close in on me, his gun drawn.

“Is this what you think I’d do? Make a mess? Stupidly leave my weapon behind? It’s good to know you have so little regard for me. Now let me do this,” I demanded. I swung Masamune at him, then toward Yufuko and Nightblade, trying to keep them at a distance. Flecks of blood flew from the edge of the sword and dotted Yufuko’s face.

She grimaced and glared at me. I saw her hand move toward her bodice just as Tseng opened fire. I dodged, swinging Masamune at him, but Nightblade stepped in with his own sword and stopped my blow before it could reach him. I pushed away and was swinging for him again when something sharp bit into my shoulder. Jarred, I stepped back and reached for the wound. It was a metal throwing star in the Wutaian style. Must have come from Yufuko, but I didn’t have time to think about it.

I could have killed them all. I briefly considered it, but I told myself I didn’t want to kill them. I wasn’t sure I meant it.

Suddenly I realized this was what I had been missing after all. I’d let them domesticate me, put me in a suit and wash the blood off my hands, but that wasn’t me. I was never really tame, just a bridled animal waiting to throw its rider. They disgusted me almost as much as my willingness to be tamed did. Let them solve their murder case, then, and draw their own conclusions. I turned toward the stairs.

“Where are you going?” Nightblade yelled after me.

“I’m leaving. I’ve been relieved of my position, after all. I have no reason to be in the building. Unless you wish to stop me?” I could feel myself grinning. Nightblade recoiled again and I knew why suddenly: the fire in my head was bleeding through to my eyes, giving them the eerie glow people used to speak of. It was something I’d never been able to find in the mirrors of my penthouse apartment.

I heard no one follow me into the stairwell. I found myself thinking, oddly, about the last argument I’d had with Hojo. It was years ago, when I’d first gotten wind of a promotion inside Peace Preservation. Secure in my superiority, letting Scarlet whisper in my ear, I’d been excited about the prospect. Hojo had not been.

“This isn’t your battlefield,” he’d told me. “You won’t do well here.” All I’d heard in that was jealousy and a lack of confidence in me. I told myself that he thought me incompetent, that I’d play his games and I’d show him. But I’d been wrong. He was telling me I wouldn’t do well in Midgar, that it would make me something I wasn’t. I could see that now.

I had been wrong about something else, too, something I only realized when I got further into his journal, after the point where Gast left. The executive life, the politics and paperwork, was never Hojo’s game. He wrote about the same things I’d been thinking, the stupidity and redundancy and filing.

After that argument, though, and after my appointment to the board, I’d never really talked to Hojo again. Oh, we’d had professional discussions, but never anything personal. Very small in my chest, underneath all the flaming anger that powered me right now, I felt a tiny piece of stone that might — though I wasn’t sure — be regret.

But that was enough sentiment for the moment. I was in the middle of a battle, wasn’t I? I checked the numbering on the wall. 39th floor. It was good enough. I vaulted over the handrail and into the narrow space between flights of stairs, holding Masamune close to keep it out of the way, and allowed gravity to carry me down. It had been years, but my muscles remembered the way to fall and prepare to land.

I heard something in my foot crack as I hit the floor. Apparently I didn’t remember as well as I thought I did. I stood and tested my weight on that foot. It held. I ran through the door.

An MP squad was waiting for me just inside the lobby.

“Oh, good, I was beginning to think they were just going to let me go,” I said to the squad. A shield rippled into place around them. I could not only feel the energy, but see it shimmering in the air. That was new, and would take some getting used to. It buzzed as well, and the buzzing sound was getting louder.

No, I realized a minute later, the buzzing was getting louder because it was a different spell, one firing at me. I reached up with Masamune to block it, but it had taken me too long and some of the lightning arced across my body regardless. I was knocked backwards. I smiled.

“Nicely played! Who is that in there?” There was a moment of hesitation, then the squad leader removed his helmet. There was seriousness in his dark blue eyes.

“Sergeant Cloud Strife, sir.”

“Good shot, Strife. You caught me off-guard.”

“…Thank you, sir.”

“Now get out of my way.”

“I can’t do that, sir.”

I smirked. “If you insist.” Before he could answer, I rushed at him. The energy of the shield dispelled when I pulled it just so and by the time he realized it was gone, Masamune was swinging for his chest. Instead of backing up, he stood his ground and fired. I laughed as one of the bullets, still charged with lightning, bit into my side. A moment later, Masamune slid easily through his armor.

“Step aside,” I said to his unit as he dropped to his knees. They scrambled out of my way. I left Strife there on the floor and strode out the front door.

Masamune was bloody. My hands were bloody. I felt alive for the first time in years.

It was ritual.

I removed my clothing first, leather and canvas folded neatly and left to the side. On top of them went the heavy metal rings, black and silver mythril, that gave me a focus for my energy. The rings sat in a neat, straight line, military precision in miniature.

I turned the shower on, marking the precise angle of my wrist. The correct degree of rotation produced the correct temperature without requiring I worry about it. I stepped into the water without hesitation. It ran brown almost immediately.

Standing under the water, you might have expected me to think about the battles of that day or what would come next, but I did neither. I sat on the stool and watched the water run down my hair. I counted, slowly, until it ran clear.

Three hundred and twelve. It had not been a good day. By the time I finished counting I was a million miles away, in deep space or the heart of the planet. The water was colored with mud and blood again the minute I started shampooing it, but I ignored it. It took at least two applications to get my hair clean, it always did. Then I brought out the rough sponges and scrubbed until my skin was red and stinging under the water.

When I stepped out, I dried myself quickly, refusing to linger even on my hair. I dressed slowly and precisely, enjoying the weight of my rings and my uniform. A new man in an old skin, I walked out to begin the next battle.

I looked at my hands for a long time.

Occassionally I glanced up at the charred mass that remained of the Sample, but mostly I just stared at my hands. Because, you know, that’s where the fire came from. Not the materia — this was a no-materia exercise, just a training room operation so the Professor could track my responses. I’d been showing off a bit with my swordwork because I thought this was kind of a stupid exercise, but then the Sample had ended up being tougher than I expected.

Oh, right, the Professor was watching me. I looked up at him, but he was as impassive as ever. That bothered me, kind of, because I might have been only twelve and never been to a formal school but he’d certainly taught me enough to know that you needed materia for magic.

But there was fire. And if there was anything the Professor drilled into my head, it was that you had to believe in what happened, not what you expected to happen. So. Fire.

I was back to staring at my hands again.

I heard the observers from SOLDIER whispering in the corner. I couldn’t quite make out what they were saying. Their words were going too fast, and my world seemed to have slowed down to just me and my hands and the smell of burned flesh. I wasn’t going to come up with an explaination, and it seemed the Professor wasn’t offering one. Nothing to do but keep going then.

Once I decided, my body clicked effortlessly into the formal salute I saw SOLDIERs perform on the training field. “Objective complete.” Now the Professor smiled, and one of the men in the corner started slowly to clap.

“Excellent job,” the large, bearded man called out. “Welcome to SOLDIER, young man.”

I blinked at him and responded automatically with a thank you, sir, but my voice was drowned out by the Professor’s shout. “What? You can’t take him yet, Heidegger. He’s not finished!” I recognized the name as someone I’d been told about before, the general who oversaw SOLDIER.

“I’m fully authorized to draft him and any other ‘able-bodied person under the age of thirty five’ if you recall,” the General snapped right back. I’d never heard anyone but the President yell at the Professor before. This wasn’t like those meetings, though. Everyone know the President won when he yelled. These two were screaming at each other in minutes, and they were screaming over me.

I waited for them to finish. There wasn’t anything else I could do.

“Fine,” the Professor finally spat. “Take him. But I expect full access to him, and I am personally in charge of his medical care. I don’t want to hear about one of your mindless grunts trying to give him a makou treatment or even so much as a band-aid.”

“I have no intention of breaking the wonderful gift you’ve given to the world,” the General said, smiling behind his beard. It took me a minute to realize he meant me.

“Go with him, Sephiroth. Follow his orders,” the Professor said, not looking at me, and left the room without another word.

The General put his arm around me and it took all my willpower not to pull away. “Yes, Sephiroth, SOLDIER has great works in mind for those hands of yours. Let’s get you downstairs and I’ll put you in a unit myself.”