[That is something that Sephiroth would rather die than admit to — that he shares even a modicum of anything similar to that man, especially something so unflattering, a propensity to obsess over the unknown to the degree that it flirts with mania. But Cloud’s assessment is correct, of course; he can likely feel it in their Bond, that want to know. The need to understand what’s been hidden and why. Shinra has couched so much in the softness of lies, and he’s grown tired of dealing with them, of simply accepting them for what they are. It wears at him, and has been for a while yet.
This, however, is more than what he expected. Sephiroth knew that the news was not going to be easy to bear — again, not after how that woman had reacted to him, a stark recollection of that day tossed his way like blame — but the revelation of experimentations in the rector itself would be enough weight to bear on its own. Yet the mention of his mother, the name Jenova, is its own burden that presses deep into his mind, felt once more through their Bond.]
What...?
[Sorry, Cloud, but that’s requires a bit of processing on his part, his thoughts wheeling with the plainly-spoken revelation that all he’s been led to believe has been a lie. That Jenova is an it (not human); that he died?
He shifts to properly look at him, demanding without speaking that he requires the same attention in turn.]
Why would Shinra tell that kind of lie, then? How could I have died?
[A reality hard to parse, even for one such as himself. Maybe especially because he knows himself, and the scope of his abilities, so well.]
[Avarice, probably. Or Hojo blowing his own trumpet. Or, perhaps even the fact that his mother- the woman that Vincent had described long ago, wasn't important after she'd gave birth to him. Could be any of those things. Could be all of them.
And... he doesn't like this. He really doesn't. There's the obvious. That even if his first suspicion of what would happen should he tell Sephiroth the truth- that Aefenglom would probably burn down wasn't all that true- (what could be said. That initial assumption was before he knew him.) he... really doesn't like this.
He can feel what Sephiroth feels through the bond. And while it's not exactly fear, it's similar. It pierces. It's... horrible. So he keeps his eyes low, taking a deep breath. ]
But I know that Professor Gast left. He defected some time ago. You were close, years ago, right? At that time, he found someone. A cetra, called Ifalna. Aerith's mother. He was supposed to be studying her with the company, and back then, he thought Jenova was a cetra. He was wrong.
It... [A pause.] It's some kind of alien virus. There's recordings up in Icicle, where he and Ifalna lived after he ran. She explained it came around 2000 years ago, on a meteor that hit the planet. It ...contaminated the cetra. Drove 'em mad, killed 'em all, near enough. That's what wiped them out as a whole. The last of them sealed it away. Thousands of years passed. Then the Shinra found it.
[Another pause. He moves himself, to view Sephiroth properly. ...Not out of fear. Even though.... yeah. Part of him worried about that. It's more concern. It's... well, strange to feel concern for Sephiroth of all people. He'd always seemed above it. Not undeserving of it. Just... above.
But this feeling is horrible. And Cloud knows it's only a fraction, an echo of what he must feel.]
...Look. When someone gets into SOLDIER, they get mako showered, right? ...Firsts get something extra. S'why they're so strong. They get Jenova cells transplanted into them. [ Via G cells, normally. But that... is something that can wait.] ...You're stronger than them. Much stronger. Because with you, you...
[....This is awful.]
... Your mother was implanted with Jenova's cells while she was pregnant. You're the result. The you I remember, from Nibelheim, believed what Gast did, before he learned the truth. That Jenova was a cetra, and that you were the last one. And that the planet was your birthright.
[He remembers Gast, even if the recollection is blurred along the edges by the passage of time, like a smeared painting or a photograph left out too long in the sun — one of the few men in the research and science division that he had grown to respect, his kindness uncharacteristic for a man of his standing and chosen career at Shinra.
To learn from Cloud that he suddenly fits into this overall narrative is just one more shock piled on top of the rest; to learn that Aerith is his daughter is yet another, one that hardly has time to settle along with everything else the man is telling him.
Because that everything else is heavy, so much, that Sephiroth’s mind shores itself up, doles out nigh disbelief, for lack of a better way to process it.
He’s told of a virus and its hungry, warping nature, ravaging an ancient civilization so long before their time. Of Shinra finding such a monster and stealing its cells away to give to the strongest of their armies, the SOLDIERs who fight their wars and end their conflicts for them. For a moment, it makes his skin crawl (even though this revelation should be nothing that surprises him, given what he knows of Angeal and Genesis), as though he is suddenly aware of an invasiveness come to light, years late.
If only that were the worst of it.
The world warps a little when Cloud speaks of his mother and the circumstances behind his birth. There is the pressing issue of how he even knows this, even with years of experience and assumed knowledge ahead of his own time, but that takes a backseat to the implications of this new revelation. A truth that makes their Bond twist for the malaise and confusion and discontent between them.
It is more than mere invasiveness, then. Whatever Shinra did to him, likely what Hojo did to him, is so twined in his body that there is no differentiation between where Sephiroth begins and the experimentation ends. A monster in his veins. Just like his friends had feared, on their own terms.
For a moment, he has no words, allowing only their Bond to smother them in its twisting uncertainty.]
You’re saying that I'm built from a monster's DNA.
[This is the crux that Cloud will have to unstick him from, else no other revelation will sink in; even the relayed information about misinterpreting his heritage takes a backseat to the core of his self being shaken.]
[The feeling twists and lurches, and he feels like he's going to be sick. The fire at his back feels too hot, His stomach roils and revolts, every muscle in his body feels like they're tensed up to the point of tearing. His knuckles are white- the soil they press into feeling like shards of glass. Every breath hurts.
It's not his feeling, he has to keep reminding himself. It's Sephiroth's. The uncertainty though- it hurts.]
You're like anyone else. ...I'm. not exactly a scientist. But it was explained to me. You're a mixture of your mother's DNA, and your father's. She altered hers. The parts of you that're her, are modified. But you're still human.
[He means it in more ways than the technicalities, in ways that would imply that he still carries something dreadfully inhuman in him, a difference that sets him apart by degrees he could have never accounted for. Certainly in ways that he never wanted. It is hard to soften that hard reality in his mind, lined with edges as it is — Cloud’s attempt is only a small balm against a vast chasm of insecurity that he’s kept hidden for a long time, an abyss with a depth hard to judge until it all falls to pieces. Until he snaps, like the other man had seen, couched in the fires of Nibelheim. (Or in the doomsday sky of Meteor, an even more significant revelation that he remains ignorant to.)
Still, Cloud’s movement to turn and set his eyes upon him is magnetizing, causing Sephiroth to lift his gaze, in turn, to fix those cat-eyes on him. They’re sharp but churning, like their Bond trying to squeeze the life out of both.
Even now, it is hard to enunciate how he feels, despite how obvious it must be between the two men. That closed-off space that Sephiroth resides in is ever a hard line for him to cross, even with news that could shatter the earth beneath his feet, and his attempt to do so is middling— faltering.]
But I’m still not like you. Not like anyone. How can you tell me what you’ve just said, and not say that I’m no different than the rest of Shinra’s projects? Another— experiment.
[An experiment. It's a word with a certain connotation to Cloud- a Not Very Good one for sure, and something which... is disarming. It wasn't this man that stood in his memories of Nibelheim as it burned. It wasn't this man that told him he was an experiment. A nameless one- that latched onto a young woman's memories of a younger, stupider boy, and believed himself as him.
Lies, of course. He knows that now. Words carefully chosen to hurt, to destroy- But what had told him that wore Sephiroth's skin. It used his mouth to form the very same word. With different emphasis, different meaning than this, yes, but... just that enough to elicit a long, silent sigh from the younger of the pair, a movement of his eyes away to signal conceding that point.
Cloud didn't know, so he couldn't argue it. He'd seen the fallout from Project G, most certainly. In both the Genesis copies as well as the fact he knew Zack took Angeal down, but he hadn't known enough about what was really going on to reference Angeal as another person of which had been altered the same way as Sephiroth had- in utereo. Much less make the comparison to bolster his point of that procedure not making any sort of difference with regard to humanity. That was something only Zack could do. And...
Obviously, he wasn't here. So he's silent for a few seconds, before he raises his eyes to him once more.]
You're different from their experiments. Believe me, I know. You're you. What they did to augment you was terrible. There's no getting around that. They weaponised you, lied to you, used you as a one-man army to settle their shit for them for all of your life.
[He keeps staring him right in the face.]
...My eyes. You never asked. I guess you just assumed I made SOLDIER eventually, right? Well, I didn't. Standards never got that low. [A faint pause.] I don't remember any of it. Don't care to, either. But listen to me- as one of their experiments, I can tell you. You're nothing like any of Hojo's mistakes. You were born in a fucked up way, sure. Raised about the same. But you're you, right? You're not Jenova, just like you're not the woman that carried you. ...Or your father.
[Hojo. Given, well, that shared mania. But possibly someone else, at least in his mind- given a sad story in a crypt once. A pending act of revenge. Little did he know.]
...Just like anyone else isn't defined by who brought them into the world. SOLDIERs get Jenova cells transplanted into them, right? You're different only because of how.
[Another pause. And, reluctantly:]
...Look. I can show you what a monster is.
But you need to know two things. First, is I'm not who you remember from Nibelheim. If different timelines exist at the same time- [...Fuck the science behind it. He's not a sciency type. What is, is. That's enough.] - then who you remember's a version of me, right. Someone who isn't me any more.
...Just like the you I remember from Nibelheim isn't you now. You've...
[A shake of the head. That could wait.]
...Second, is it's not pretty. You need to know that.
[Cloud spins a foreign argument to Sephiroth — comparison, like to like. The glow of his eyes had always been a curiosity, though he had begun to wonder at their origin, given their extended conversations about Shinra and what happened to the man afterwards. A SOLDIER’s eyes, yes, but not a SOLIDER’s loyalty any longer. They burn into his features much like Sephiroth’s own do, of course, permanent proof of the company’s mark left on them. Experiments.
It is hard for Sephiroth to view someone as the same as him, not always out of pride, but the distance wedged between himself and the world over the years. But Cloud’s words work to bring them to a similar level, coupled with reassurances that do not take away from the wrongness of his past, but validate the humanity that still resides at his core. He cannot latch onto them fully, or confidently — such bone-deep uncertainties are not so easily banished in a single conversation — but they are grounding enough for him to wonder at, later. And to focus on what the other man is saying now.
Mention again of his real mother. A father, too. He wonders at what else he knows about them. But his reply overrides all of that, uncaring for the talk of timelines and their alternate realities, not when he can take what he’s learned today and figure out where the pieces fit later.
Like steel—]
I don’t care. What you’ve told me doesn’t paint a flattering picture. None of it does.
[And yet he asked for this truth, in all its raw ugliness, even if it feels suffocating, or like claws digging into his heart.]
[It's not exactly enough to dispel everything. He feels it, in his gut- the way their shared bond transplants Sephiroth's feeling into him. He feels that his heart's in his throat, that everything seems only moments away from spiralling away from him- far, far out of control and with no semblance of any kind of hope of ever catching up with it.
But what he says makes it change, slightly. It feels like it's been pushed down- shoved down, actually- just a little bit. But, firmly, and in a flat manner, far from what Sephiroth's accustomed to:]
You should care. It's not flattering. But you need to care, because it's not you. Not yet. ...You've got a choice to make. I can only show you what happens when you don't know what I've told you, and when you don't pack up your shit, and leave Nibelheim.
[He turns his head away, finally, and ... yeah, he needs to breathe. He shoves his back against the others.]
The 'you' I'm going to show you didn't have that choice. Doesn't make him anything like who you are. You've got to understand that.
[Sephiroth’s lips press into a hard frown, Cloud’s words once again hammering home the point — that this will be unkind, whatever he sees. That he must remember that it is a future that hasn’t happened, that there are choices that can still be made to circumvent whatever ‘monster’ will be put on display for him.
Easier said than done. Something he will choose to accept or reject only after he has seen what exists in the other’s memory.
With eyes like steel, yet a heart twisting in his ribs—]
Like I said. Show me.
[—his hand reaches for Cloud’s without hesitation. Their Bond churns, overwhelming, heated, desperate.]
[Maybe this couldn't be done. Maybe after all of this, there would be nothing to show for it. Someone... actually getting in had only happened in the Lifestream. Someone normal anyway. The thing that took Sephiroth's form had managed it well enough on their world regardless.
But like he said, that wasn't this man. If he had that power even while he was alive, (doubtful. But who knew, really?) he wasn't aware of it. Maybe this'd all be for shit, and frustration was all that awaited them. But maybe... maybe some part of the Lifestream clung to him. Wasn't exactly something that just went away. Perhaps their bond would facilitate it somewhat. Who knew? Regardless, it was worth a shot.
He doesn't respond to the other's demand. Instead, all he does is close his eyes- his eyebrows furrowing faintly in concentration.]
...
[Seconds pass. ...Minutes(?) pass. And.
The second that Sephiroth would perhaps decide to speak, perhaps even to tell him to hurry it up, or even question the validity of method, he should find they're no longer in a clearing.
All around them is blank. Whereas someone else, some time ago, may have seen things- odd refractions of light in the distance indicating synapses firing, planets even, as indicator of thought- the area around them is distinctly filled with...
well, nothing. There's no real smells, either. There's three paths. Two are blocked off, again with... well, what seems like nothing. Incredulously, they're blocked. But with what seems undeterminable. Even describing what impedes vision, movement beyond the end of said paths is a difficult thing to do.
But one, to the north, shows what should be a familiar sight. The gates of Nibelheim.
Should Sephiroth cross the boundary, the shock of icy, mountain air should fill his lungs. The underside of his boots should be marred with dirt different to the lush soil of the woodland he'd previously been in. This kind is acrid. More sand than anything.
...And he should detect two things. One, something's following him. It's a humanoid shape, but it's entirely dark. And in front...
A child drops from the creaking watertower before him. He's ...scrawny. Eight years old, perhaps, but his size is more fitting for a 6 year old. His hair's long, pulled back into a clumsy ponytail, bright, and...
...well. Certainly in need of a good brush. His clothes are clean, but far too big for him. And his arms are littered with bruises and scrapes. A band-aid is actually placed on his cheekbone, and his face looks scraped up in other places, too. Fighting? Some of his bruises look like fingermarks. So fighting... probably.
Most apparent though, are the child's knees. Scarred. Deeply. Probably permanently. That injury seems far beyond any fight.
It shouldn't be difficult to determine who he is, even with (minor) injuries and said scarring. As he lands, he points his weapon- a sharp stick- at Sephiroth.]
Once, we wanted to meet you. Me most of all! I never wanted you here though. But he insisted.
[A gesture to the figure. It's standing now. Silent. Motionless.]
Don't mind him. He's just- Wait- you don't care about that, right? You just want to see what he promised you.
[Another point of said stick.]
He trusts you... But I don't. It's my job to look after him. So don't try anything. Okay?
[He thinks nothing will happen when minutes pass. Sephiroth is a patient man, usually, but the information doled out to him has set his mind hungry for a truth that is fed to him only in small increments. Heavy, hard, impossible to fathom at times — but not the whole of it, and not what will satisfy him and his innate need to know more than he should. And so he nearly opens his eyes and shatters the whole method to pieces, until—
Until he’s in a place surrounded by nothingness. Until the only available path takes him forward to the sight of familiar gates, the mountain air coiling cool in his lungs. How strangely surreal, this place— carved from memory? Pulled out from the depths of Cloud’s mind, his subconscious thought? It must be, he thinks, when the young boy — scraped and bruised at the knees — approaches him. When he twists his attention away from the dark figure elsewhere to pay attention to what must be Cloud as a child speaking, pointing that stick at him in a laughable manner of defense.
...
Sephiroth is still frowning, brow pulled tightly together when he replies.]
Who else is here with us?
[That figure; it might not be part of what he requested to see, but is not everything in this impossible space relevant?]
I don't answer to you. Telling you won't help him, so...
[A bright laugh escapes the child at that, reverberating throughout the town as if it's, impossibly, coming from multiple directions all at once- note for note perfectly aligning. He turns on his heels and starts to walk.]
So I'm only going to answer questions that're important. But you get this one! Only because you don't understand how this works yet.
...It's him. Cloud. You thought I was him, pulled from the past? Nope! I protect him. And you need to understand that. I was created to protect him. It's what I do- and what I'll always do. It's the most important thing in the world to me.
[A swish of his stick accompanies that- with a loud clack against the side of a house. He stops to give it a few more whacks. Clearly, whatever apparition this is, it's a little hooligan.
...He moves his gaze from where he'd hit the house, and then focuses on Sephiroth. And his face seems to sober, his tone turning solemn.]
Couldn't protect him from you, though. Not that time. But this is different. I switched off everything you can hurt him with. Just in case. So...
[His gaze shifts beyond Sephiroth's figure, to the darkened figure. It's motionless, but it's also moved. Just a meter behind the SOLDIER.]
So he's good. let's go.
[Instantly, everything around them changes. They're literally right outside the Nibelheim reactor. An infantryman stands just in front of the walkway leading up to the bastardisation of steel, cabling and iron- and the ground underneath them seems all the more unsteady. Giant, grasping tubes connect the reactor to the earth, cementing it's hold into the ravaged, pallid, sickly-looking ground.]
I skipped the dragon. We both know you're really cool, so it's kind of pointless to show it again, huh.
[A girl stands in front of the infantryman. She's barely a teenager. She looks exasperated. The child walks through them both.]
C'mon!
[He walks inside. Something... seems off. Almost immediately, actually. The identification numbers on the reactor's components seem jumbled, scrambled. A mixture of letters and numbers which... while Sephiroth certainly wouldn't know their correct order, would still perhaps seem... different to things he's probably passed enough times to know the right configuration.
Let alone other things.]
Soooooo. Um... This isn't his memory. Zack went in with you, right? Everything here is uh... kind of... borrowed. From what Zack told him about what happened. It's new for you though, right? This is the first time you visited the reactor.
[The smell is accurate at least. If it's ...pretty apparent outside, it's enough to make anyone's head spin inside. And it only increases the lower and lower they get. Eventually, they come to the bottom of a ladder, the end of a catwalk, and...
This sort of reactor configuration isn't as standard as what first appears. Where a converter should lie at the end of the mako containment bay, instead, there's another room. The child seems to hesitate, his boots scraping along the corrugated iron floor.]
You and Zack went through here. Through this door...
[The dark blue of his eyes seems to grow darker- almost black.]
...You asked for this. Remember that.
[The room, even with Sephiroth's (extensive) knowledge of reactors, should be entirely foreign. At the center is a long, steep staircase- surrounded by multiple rows upon rows of ...strange looking pods. To cool mako, perhaps? That should be right, if the blue indicators which pierce through the dim gloom of this room are anything to go by.
Mako cooling is innocuous enough. Most reactors did it. But here, in some unmapped, udocumented room which sure as hell shouldn't be any part of any blueprint of any revision Sephiroth would have been aware of? Perhaps Sephiroth would see it for what it was. Perhaps he would recognize it for what could only be- Unstandard. Unsanctioned. Hojo's handiwork.
Thick, membranous pipes litter all around the staircase. It's almost as if they're pulsing- humming with the mako they transport to and from said pods. At the back- at the very top of the stairs, is another door.
Inside, two tall men are talking. One has wild hair, and a ...gullotine of a sword at his back- his arms crossed, pensively, in front of him. The other one is dressed all in black. He's... standing at the top of the stairwell, attempting to open yet another door. One which appears to have no control panel. The man with dark hair speaks.
This is... Jenova, right? It won't open.
The man in black does not deign to answer. Instead, he walks down the stairs. His eyes examine the connectors of each row of pods as he passes. And, at the bottom row...
This is the reason for the malfunction. This part is broken. Zack, close the valve.
He walks away. And the dark-haired man rolls his shoulders, before settling in front of the pod. Upon returning to the man in black...
Why did it break?
There's no answer to be had. The dark haired man tilts his head, even raises a broad arm to toy with the finer spikes at the back of his head. Meanwhile, the man in black has found another pod. So, he looks inside. His eyes widen. But he steps down, bringing a gloved hand to his face. His eyes are both piercing, and distant.
Now I see, Hojo. ...But doing this will never put you on the same level as Professor Gast.
The dark-haired man tilts his head. He opens his mouth in a faint 'huh?' and the man in black's eyes snap back to him.
This is a system that condenses and freezes mako energy. That is, when it's working correctly. Now. What does mako become when it's further condensed?
A playful question. Or is it playful? Something in the man in black's tone certainly has a playful element- as if commenting on a little faux pas the other had made on the way over- but it's also clinical. Starkly so.
In complete asymmtery, the dark haired man looks at the ceiling.
Uh... ummm... Oh yeah!!
The dark-haired man snaps his fingers, and grins, clearly pleased that he knew the answer to this question. ....He really was like a puppy. One might even expect a tail to wag.
It becomes Materia!
The man in black seems hardly affected by such a display. His eyes are still wondering- still distant.
Right, normally. But Hojo put something else in there. ...Take a look.
He steps aside. The dark-haired man hoists himself up, to do so.
....And he falls down. His eyes are wide with shock- his face pale. The whites of his eyes are apparent, and he's gasping- as if he's just seen a ghost.
Wha-What is that?!
The man in black seems unaffected. If anything, his voice is glacial.
Normal members of SOLDIER are humans that have been showered with mako.
His voice lowers. He mumbles something small. Something nondescript. ...Something personal.
'You're different from the others, but still human.'
Then his voice returns to normal. But what are they? They've been exposed to a far higher degree of mako than you.
The dark haired man picks himself up. Is this some kind of monster?
The man in black nods. Exactly. And it's Hojo of Shinra that produced these monsters. Mutated living organisms produced by mako energy. That's what these monsters really are.
The dark haired man's brws are furrowed. His eyes follow the man in black, even as he turns away.
Normal members of SOLDIER? You mean you're different?
The man in black holds his head in his hands. Should Sephiroth have the urge to approach, the child would hold his stick before him.]
Don't. These aren't his memories. They're unstable. The whole thing could collapse if you mess with it, and you wanted to see, right?
[The child falls silent when the dark-haired man reaches out for the man in black.
H-hey, Sephiroth!
No... Was I?
Instantly, his sword is out. He slashes one pod apart instantly, a burst of acrid fluid tearing forth from the blow- hissing as it hits the floor. It's all the dark-haired man can do to jump clear.
Was I created this way, too?
Another pod is practically split in two at the next blow. Split in half lengthways- then diagonally- again and again.
Am I the same as all these monsters?
The dark haired man tries. He really does.
Sephiroth...
The man in black strikes the pod, over and over. Even when the platform is coated in hissing, burning mako, the creture inside is pulped, and all that there is to strike is shards of the metal it was forged from. Still, he strikes.
You saw it!! All of them... were humans...
The dark-haired man doesn't get it, still.
Human?! No way!
The man in black seperates himself from the very, very totalled pod.
Ever since I was small I've felt... ...That I was different from the others. Special, in some way.
His head lowers. He shakes it.
But... Not like this...
WARNING. WARNING. MAKO COOLING SYSTEM PRESSURE REGULATION SYSTEM MALFUNCTIONING. REPEAT. MAKO COOLING SYSTEM PRESSURE REGULATION SYSTEM MALFUNCTIONING. WARNI-
It's instantaneous. Something explodes. Fortunately for the both of them, it's a pod which is on the upper shingled row. It shakes and it vibrates- an odd sound comes from it- a scream? And then... the front of it is entirely ripped off. Mako comes out in jets from it- and the front is blown several meters from where it once stood.
Curled up, against the door, in a foetal position, is a creature. It has no lips. It's mottled blue and green scale, a series of hardened tumors, hands twisted into claws, mutated bone growing outward from the skin into sharpened tusks and horns. It's fearsome indeed, but it's no arm to anyone, this thing. It's entirely blind, grasping at nothing in the air, its every breath sounding like a fish out of water, drowning in oxygen. Perhaps the only indicator of what, or who it was is a set of human legs. The rest of it....
Is nightmarish.
It screams again- this time, a dim echo of the high-pitched shriek it gave while inside the pod- and...
...And it dies. Instantly.
The scenery changes. They're both standing at Nibeheim's town square again. And:]
You thought you were just like those things. You never learned the truth.
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no subject
This, however, is more than what he expected. Sephiroth knew that the news was not going to be easy to bear — again, not after how that woman had reacted to him, a stark recollection of that day tossed his way like blame — but the revelation of experimentations in the rector itself would be enough weight to bear on its own. Yet the mention of his mother, the name Jenova, is its own burden that presses deep into his mind, felt once more through their Bond.]
What...?
[Sorry, Cloud, but that’s requires a bit of processing on his part, his thoughts wheeling with the plainly-spoken revelation that all he’s been led to believe has been a lie. That Jenova is an it (not human); that he died?
He shifts to properly look at him, demanding without speaking that he requires the same attention in turn.]
Why would Shinra tell that kind of lie, then? How could I have died?
[A reality hard to parse, even for one such as himself. Maybe especially because he knows himself, and the scope of his abilities, so well.]
no subject
[Avarice, probably. Or Hojo blowing his own trumpet. Or, perhaps even the fact that his mother- the woman that Vincent had described long ago, wasn't important after she'd gave birth to him. Could be any of those things. Could be all of them.
And... he doesn't like this. He really doesn't. There's the obvious. That even if his first suspicion of what would happen should he tell Sephiroth the truth- that Aefenglom would probably burn down wasn't all that true- (what could be said. That initial assumption was before he knew him.) he... really doesn't like this.
He can feel what Sephiroth feels through the bond. And while it's not exactly fear, it's similar. It pierces. It's... horrible. So he keeps his eyes low, taking a deep breath. ]
But I know that Professor Gast left. He defected some time ago. You were close, years ago, right? At that time, he found someone. A cetra, called Ifalna. Aerith's mother. He was supposed to be studying her with the company, and back then, he thought Jenova was a cetra. He was wrong.
It... [A pause.] It's some kind of alien virus. There's recordings up in Icicle, where he and Ifalna lived after he ran. She explained it came around 2000 years ago, on a meteor that hit the planet. It ...contaminated the cetra. Drove 'em mad, killed 'em all, near enough. That's what wiped them out as a whole. The last of them sealed it away. Thousands of years passed. Then the Shinra found it.
[Another pause. He moves himself, to view Sephiroth properly.
...Not out of fear. Even though.... yeah. Part of him worried about that. It's more concern. It's... well, strange to feel concern for Sephiroth of all people. He'd always seemed above it. Not undeserving of it. Just... above.
But this feeling is horrible. And Cloud knows it's only a fraction, an echo of what he must feel.]
...Look. When someone gets into SOLDIER, they get mako showered, right? ...Firsts get something extra. S'why they're so strong. They get Jenova cells transplanted into them. [ Via G cells, normally. But that... is something that can wait.] ...You're stronger than them. Much stronger. Because with you, you...
[....This is awful.]
... Your mother was implanted with Jenova's cells while she was pregnant. You're the result. The you I remember, from Nibelheim, believed what Gast did, before he learned the truth. That Jenova was a cetra, and that you were the last one. And that the planet was your birthright.
no subject
To learn from Cloud that he suddenly fits into this overall narrative is just one more shock piled on top of the rest; to learn that Aerith is his daughter is yet another, one that hardly has time to settle along with everything else the man is telling him.
Because that everything else is heavy, so much, that Sephiroth’s mind shores itself up, doles out nigh disbelief, for lack of a better way to process it.
He’s told of a virus and its hungry, warping nature, ravaging an ancient civilization so long before their time. Of Shinra finding such a monster and stealing its cells away to give to the strongest of their armies, the SOLDIERs who fight their wars and end their conflicts for them. For a moment, it makes his skin crawl (even though this revelation should be nothing that surprises him, given what he knows of Angeal and Genesis), as though he is suddenly aware of an invasiveness come to light, years late.
If only that were the worst of it.
The world warps a little when Cloud speaks of his mother and the circumstances behind his birth. There is the pressing issue of how he even knows this, even with years of experience and assumed knowledge ahead of his own time, but that takes a backseat to the implications of this new revelation. A truth that makes their Bond twist for the malaise and confusion and discontent between them.
It is more than mere invasiveness, then. Whatever Shinra did to him, likely what Hojo did to him, is so twined in his body that there is no differentiation between where Sephiroth begins and the experimentation ends. A monster in his veins. Just like his friends had feared, on their own terms.
For a moment, he has no words, allowing only their Bond to smother them in its twisting uncertainty.]
You’re saying that I'm built from a monster's DNA.
[This is the crux that Cloud will have to unstick him from, else no other revelation will sink in; even the relayed information about misinterpreting his heritage takes a backseat to the core of his self being shaken.]
no subject
[The feeling twists and lurches, and he feels like he's going to be sick. The fire at his back feels too hot, His stomach roils and revolts, every muscle in his body feels like they're tensed up to the point of tearing. His knuckles are white- the soil they press into feeling like shards of glass. Every breath hurts.
It's not his feeling, he has to keep reminding himself. It's Sephiroth's. The uncertainty though- it hurts.]
You're like anyone else. ...I'm. not exactly a scientist. But it was explained to me. You're a mixture of your mother's DNA, and your father's. She altered hers. The parts of you that're her, are modified. But you're still human.
[He has to force himself to turn now, properly.]
Listen to me. You're not a monster.
[Yet.]
no subject
Still, Cloud’s movement to turn and set his eyes upon him is magnetizing, causing Sephiroth to lift his gaze, in turn, to fix those cat-eyes on him. They’re sharp but churning, like their Bond trying to squeeze the life out of both.
Even now, it is hard to enunciate how he feels, despite how obvious it must be between the two men. That closed-off space that Sephiroth resides in is ever a hard line for him to cross, even with news that could shatter the earth beneath his feet, and his attempt to do so is middling— faltering.]
But I’m still not like you. Not like anyone. How can you tell me what you’ve just said, and not say that I’m no different than the rest of Shinra’s projects? Another— experiment.
no subject
Lies, of course. He knows that now. Words carefully chosen to hurt, to destroy- But what had told him that wore Sephiroth's skin. It used his mouth to form the very same word. With different emphasis, different meaning than this, yes, but... just that enough to elicit a long, silent sigh from the younger of the pair, a movement of his eyes away to signal conceding that point.
Cloud didn't know, so he couldn't argue it. He'd seen the fallout from Project G, most certainly. In both the Genesis copies as well as the fact he knew Zack took Angeal down, but he hadn't known enough about what was really going on to reference Angeal as another person of which had been altered the same way as Sephiroth had- in utereo. Much less make the comparison to bolster his point of that procedure not making any sort of difference with regard to humanity. That was something only Zack could do. And...
Obviously, he wasn't here. So he's silent for a few seconds, before he raises his eyes to him once more.]
You're different from their experiments. Believe me, I know. You're you. What they did to augment you was terrible. There's no getting around that. They weaponised you, lied to you, used you as a one-man army to settle their shit for them for all of your life.
[He keeps staring him right in the face.]
...My eyes. You never asked. I guess you just assumed I made SOLDIER eventually, right? Well, I didn't. Standards never got that low. [A faint pause.] I don't remember any of it. Don't care to, either. But listen to me- as one of their experiments, I can tell you. You're nothing like any of Hojo's mistakes. You were born in a fucked up way, sure. Raised about the same. But you're you, right? You're not Jenova, just like you're not the woman that carried you. ...Or your father.
[Hojo. Given, well, that shared mania. But possibly someone else, at least in his mind- given a sad story in a crypt once. A pending act of revenge.
Little did he know.]...Just like anyone else isn't defined by who brought them into the world. SOLDIERs get Jenova cells transplanted into them, right? You're different only because of how.
[Another pause. And, reluctantly:]
...Look. I can show you what a monster is.
But you need to know two things. First, is I'm not who you remember from Nibelheim. If different timelines exist at the same time- [...Fuck the science behind it. He's not a sciency type. What is, is. That's enough.] - then who you remember's a version of me, right. Someone who isn't me any more.
...Just like the you I remember from Nibelheim isn't you now. You've...
[A shake of the head. That could wait.]
...Second, is it's not pretty. You need to know that.
no subject
It is hard for Sephiroth to view someone as the same as him, not always out of pride, but the distance wedged between himself and the world over the years. But Cloud’s words work to bring them to a similar level, coupled with reassurances that do not take away from the wrongness of his past, but validate the humanity that still resides at his core. He cannot latch onto them fully, or confidently — such bone-deep uncertainties are not so easily banished in a single conversation — but they are grounding enough for him to wonder at, later. And to focus on what the other man is saying now.
Mention again of his real mother. A father, too. He wonders at what else he knows about them. But his reply overrides all of that, uncaring for the talk of timelines and their alternate realities, not when he can take what he’s learned today and figure out where the pieces fit later.
Like steel—]
I don’t care. What you’ve told me doesn’t paint a flattering picture. None of it does.
[And yet he asked for this truth, in all its raw ugliness, even if it feels suffocating, or like claws digging into his heart.]
Show me, if you think you can. I want to know.
no subject
But what he says makes it change, slightly. It feels like it's been pushed down- shoved down, actually- just a little bit. But, firmly, and in a flat manner, far from what Sephiroth's accustomed to:]
You should care. It's not flattering. But you need to care, because it's not you. Not yet. ...You've got a choice to make. I can only show you what happens when you don't know what I've told you, and when you don't pack up your shit, and leave Nibelheim.
[He turns his head away, finally, and ... yeah, he needs to breathe. He shoves his back against the others.]
The 'you' I'm going to show you didn't have that choice. Doesn't make him anything like who you are. You've got to understand that.
[His hand moves toward his.]
Last chance to back out.
no subject
Easier said than done. Something he will choose to accept or reject only after he has seen what exists in the other’s memory.
With eyes like steel, yet a heart twisting in his ribs—]
Like I said. Show me.
[—his hand reaches for Cloud’s without hesitation. Their Bond churns, overwhelming, heated, desperate.]
no subject
But like he said, that wasn't this man. If he had that power even while he was alive, (doubtful. But who knew, really?) he wasn't aware of it. Maybe this'd all be for shit, and frustration was all that awaited them. But maybe... maybe some part of the Lifestream clung to him. Wasn't exactly something that just went away. Perhaps their bond would facilitate it somewhat. Who knew? Regardless, it was worth a shot.
He doesn't respond to the other's demand.
Instead, all he does is close his eyes- his eyebrows furrowing faintly in concentration.]
...
[Seconds pass. ...Minutes(?) pass.
And.
The second that Sephiroth would perhaps decide to speak, perhaps even to tell him to hurry it up, or even question the validity of method, he should find they're no longer in a clearing.
All around them is blank. Whereas someone else, some time ago, may have seen things- odd refractions of light in the distance indicating synapses firing, planets even, as indicator of thought- the area around them is distinctly filled with...
well, nothing. There's no real smells, either. There's three paths. Two are blocked off, again with... well, what seems like nothing. Incredulously, they're blocked. But with what seems undeterminable. Even describing what impedes vision, movement beyond the end of said paths is a difficult thing to do.
But one, to the north, shows what should be a familiar sight. The gates of Nibelheim.
Should Sephiroth cross the boundary, the shock of icy, mountain air should fill his lungs. The underside of his boots should be marred with dirt different to the lush soil of the woodland he'd previously been in. This kind is acrid. More sand than anything.
...And he should detect two things.
One, something's following him. It's a humanoid shape, but it's entirely dark. And in front...
A child drops from the creaking watertower before him. He's ...scrawny. Eight years old, perhaps, but his size is more fitting for a 6 year old. His hair's long, pulled back into a clumsy ponytail, bright, and...
...well.
Certainly in need of a good brush. His clothes are clean, but far too big for him. And his arms are littered with bruises and scrapes. A band-aid is actually placed on his cheekbone, and his face looks scraped up in other places, too. Fighting?
Some of his bruises look like fingermarks. So fighting... probably.
Most apparent though, are the child's knees.
Scarred. Deeply. Probably permanently. That injury seems far beyond any fight.
It shouldn't be difficult to determine who he is, even with (minor) injuries and said scarring. As he lands, he points his weapon- a sharp stick- at Sephiroth.]
Once, we wanted to meet you. Me most of all! I never wanted you here though.
But he insisted.
[A gesture to the figure. It's standing now. Silent. Motionless.]
Don't mind him. He's just-
Wait-
you don't care about that, right?
You just want to see what he promised you.
[Another point of said stick.]
He trusts you... But I don't.
It's my job to look after him. So don't try anything. Okay?
no subject
Until he’s in a place surrounded by nothingness. Until the only available path takes him forward to the sight of familiar gates, the mountain air coiling cool in his lungs. How strangely surreal, this place— carved from memory? Pulled out from the depths of Cloud’s mind, his subconscious thought? It must be, he thinks, when the young boy — scraped and bruised at the knees — approaches him. When he twists his attention away from the dark figure elsewhere to pay attention to what must be Cloud as a child speaking, pointing that stick at him in a laughable manner of defense.
...
Sephiroth is still frowning, brow pulled tightly together when he replies.]
Who else is here with us?
[That figure; it might not be part of what he requested to see, but is not everything in this impossible space relevant?]
no subject
[A bright laugh escapes the child at that, reverberating throughout the town as if it's, impossibly, coming from multiple directions all at once- note for note perfectly aligning. He turns on his heels and starts to walk.]
So I'm only going to answer questions that're important. But you get this one! Only because you don't understand how this works yet.
...It's him. Cloud. You thought I was him, pulled from the past? Nope! I protect him. And you need to understand that. I was created to protect him. It's what I do- and what I'll always do. It's the most important thing in the world to me.
[A swish of his stick accompanies that- with a loud clack against the side of a house. He stops to give it a few more whacks. Clearly, whatever apparition this is, it's a little hooligan.
...He moves his gaze from where he'd hit the house, and then focuses on Sephiroth. And his face seems to sober, his tone turning solemn.]
Couldn't protect him from you, though. Not that time. But this is different. I switched off everything you can hurt him with. Just in case. So...
[His gaze shifts beyond Sephiroth's figure, to the darkened figure. It's motionless, but it's also moved. Just a meter behind the SOLDIER.]
So he's good. let's go.
[Instantly, everything around them changes. They're literally right outside the Nibelheim reactor. An infantryman stands just in front of the walkway leading up to the bastardisation of steel, cabling and iron- and the ground underneath them seems all the more unsteady. Giant, grasping tubes connect the reactor to the earth, cementing it's hold into the ravaged, pallid, sickly-looking ground.]
I skipped the dragon. We both know you're really cool, so it's kind of pointless to show it again, huh.
[A girl stands in front of the infantryman. She's barely a teenager. She looks exasperated. The child walks through them both.]
C'mon!
[He walks inside. Something... seems off. Almost immediately, actually. The identification numbers on the reactor's components seem jumbled, scrambled. A mixture of letters and numbers which... while Sephiroth certainly wouldn't know their correct order, would still perhaps seem... different to things he's probably passed enough times to know the right configuration.
Let alone other things.]
Soooooo. Um...
This isn't his memory. Zack went in with you, right? Everything here is uh... kind of... borrowed. From what Zack told him about what happened. It's new for you though, right? This is the first time you visited the reactor.
[The smell is accurate at least. If it's ...pretty apparent outside, it's enough to make anyone's head spin inside. And it only increases the lower and lower they get. Eventually, they come to the bottom of a ladder, the end of a catwalk, and...
This sort of reactor configuration isn't as standard as what first appears. Where a converter should lie at the end of the mako containment bay, instead, there's another room. The child seems to hesitate, his boots scraping along the corrugated iron floor.]
You and Zack went through here. Through this door...
[The dark blue of his eyes seems to grow darker- almost black.]
...You asked for this. Remember that.
[The room, even with Sephiroth's (extensive) knowledge of reactors, should be entirely foreign. At the center is a long, steep staircase- surrounded by multiple rows upon rows of ...strange looking pods. To cool mako, perhaps? That should be right, if the blue indicators which pierce through the dim gloom of this room are anything to go by.
Mako cooling is innocuous enough. Most reactors did it. But here, in some unmapped, udocumented room which sure as hell shouldn't be any part of any blueprint of any revision Sephiroth would have been aware of? Perhaps Sephiroth would see it for what it was. Perhaps he would recognize it for what could only be- Unstandard. Unsanctioned. Hojo's handiwork.
Thick, membranous pipes litter all around the staircase. It's almost as if they're pulsing- humming with the mako they transport to and from said pods. At the back- at the very top of the stairs, is another door.
Inside, two tall men are talking. One has wild hair, and a ...gullotine of a sword at his back- his arms crossed, pensively, in front of him. The other one is dressed all in black. He's... standing at the top of the stairwell, attempting to open yet another door. One which appears to have no control panel. The man with dark hair speaks.
This is... Jenova, right? It won't open.
The man in black does not deign to answer. Instead, he walks down the stairs. His eyes examine the connectors of each row of pods as he passes. And, at the bottom row...
This is the reason for the malfunction. This part is broken. Zack, close the valve.
He walks away. And the dark-haired man rolls his shoulders, before settling in front of the pod. Upon returning to the man in black...
Why did it break?
There's no answer to be had. The dark haired man tilts his head, even raises a broad arm to toy with the finer spikes at the back of his head. Meanwhile, the man in black has found another pod. So, he looks inside. His eyes widen. But he steps down, bringing a gloved hand to his face. His eyes are both piercing, and distant.
Now I see, Hojo.
...But doing this will never put you on the same level as Professor Gast.
The dark-haired man tilts his head. He opens his mouth in a faint 'huh?' and the man in black's eyes snap back to him.
This is a system that condenses and freezes mako energy. That is, when it's working correctly. Now. What does mako become when it's further condensed?
A playful question. Or is it playful? Something in the man in black's tone certainly has a playful element- as if commenting on a little faux pas the other had made on the way over- but it's also clinical. Starkly so.
In complete asymmtery, the dark haired man looks at the ceiling.
Uh... ummm...
Oh yeah!!
The dark-haired man snaps his fingers, and grins, clearly pleased that he knew the answer to this question.
....He really was like a puppy. One might even expect a tail to wag.
It becomes Materia!
The man in black seems hardly affected by such a display. His eyes are still wondering- still distant.
Right, normally. But Hojo put something else in there.
...Take a look.
He steps aside.
The dark-haired man hoists himself up, to do so.
....And he falls down. His eyes are wide with shock- his face pale. The whites of his eyes are apparent, and he's gasping- as if he's just seen a ghost.
Wha-What is that?!
The man in black seems unaffected. If anything, his voice is glacial.
Normal members of SOLDIER are humans that have been showered with mako.
His voice lowers. He mumbles something small. Something nondescript. ...Something personal.
'You're different from the others, but still human.'
Then his voice returns to normal. But what are they? They've been exposed to a far higher degree of mako than you.
The dark haired man picks himself up. Is this some kind of monster?
The man in black nods. Exactly. And it's Hojo of Shinra that produced these monsters. Mutated living organisms produced by mako energy. That's what these monsters really are.
The dark haired man's brws are furrowed. His eyes follow the man in black, even as he turns away.
Normal members of SOLDIER? You mean you're different?
The man in black holds his head in his hands.
Should Sephiroth have the urge to approach, the child would hold his stick before him.]
Don't. These aren't his memories. They're unstable. The whole thing could collapse if you mess with it, and you wanted to see, right?
[The child falls silent when the dark-haired man reaches out for the man in black.
H-hey, Sephiroth!
No...
Was I?
Instantly, his sword is out. He slashes one pod apart instantly, a burst of acrid fluid tearing forth from the blow- hissing as it hits the floor. It's all the dark-haired man can do to jump clear.
Was I created this way, too?
Another pod is practically split in two at the next blow. Split in half lengthways- then diagonally- again and again.
Am I the same as all these monsters?
The dark haired man tries. He really does.
Sephiroth...
The man in black strikes the pod, over and over. Even when the platform is coated in hissing, burning mako, the creture inside is pulped, and all that there is to strike is shards of the metal it was forged from. Still, he strikes.
You saw it!! All of them... were humans...
The dark-haired man doesn't get it, still.
Human?! No way!
The man in black seperates himself from the very, very totalled pod.
Ever since I was small I've felt...
...That I was different from the others. Special, in some way.
His head lowers. He shakes it.
But...
Not like this...
WARNING. WARNING.
MAKO COOLING SYSTEM PRESSURE REGULATION SYSTEM MALFUNCTIONING.
REPEAT.
MAKO COOLING SYSTEM PRESSURE REGULATION SYSTEM MALFUNCTIONING.
WARNI-
It's instantaneous. Something explodes. Fortunately for the both of them, it's a pod which is on the upper shingled row. It shakes and it vibrates- an odd sound comes from it- a scream? And then... the front of it is entirely ripped off. Mako comes out in jets from it- and the front is blown several meters from where it once stood.
Curled up, against the door, in a foetal position, is a creature. It has no lips. It's mottled blue and green scale, a series of hardened tumors, hands twisted into claws, mutated bone growing outward from the skin into sharpened tusks and horns. It's fearsome indeed, but it's no arm to anyone, this thing. It's entirely blind, grasping at nothing in the air, its every breath sounding like a fish out of water, drowning in oxygen. Perhaps the only indicator of what, or who it was is a set of human legs. The rest of it....
Is nightmarish.
It screams again- this time, a dim echo of the high-pitched shriek it gave while inside the pod- and...
...And it dies. Instantly.
The scenery changes. They're both standing at Nibeheim's town square again.
And:]
You thought you were just like those things. You never learned the truth.