Chapter Text
They send Vincent after him because when Cloud goes away, he usually only lets Vincent find him. That's how it works and that's what they're used to. But sometimes – especially this time – Vincent wishes it could've been someone else who was the Next in Line. Cloud in a fit of temper – whatever that temper might be – was a strange thing to handle, and he doesn't know how to approach the man when he finds him on some rooftop, some cliff, in a valley, a forgotten mansion, or an ancient forest, and doesn't know what he's thinking.
This time, Cloud sits on the cliff that overlooks what remains of Midgar, where one can only barely tell Edge from the ruins – where the rusting Buster Sword stands in silent watch over the ruined city, a marker, a tombstone, a remembrance. Cloud sits there almost like a boy, shoulders slumped, legs hanging over the edge and swinging in the air. He looks like someone else, someone less powerful – someone he might've once been, all those years and fights and masteries ago, and Vincent doesn't know how to approach this simile of weakness in a man so strong.
"They're finished," he says instead, keeping his distance, waiting for an order or a dismissal. Cloud does nothing and says nothing for a long while and the gunman lifts his head to look at the city, wondering what the other man sees – what it is, what it had been, what it never would be?
Then there is a pat – a gloved hand against the rough rock beside Cloud, telling Vincent to sit. The gunman doesn't, can't – but he steps closer and crouches down beside the blond man, the only allowance to acquiescence he can make unless he's forced. And he is – he always is because despite everything, Cloud is what he is.
Vincent doesn't look at the man beside him, and Cloud's eyes don't shift from the ruined city, and for a moment it feels as if it might not happen. But of course…
It still jolts him, to feel the hand brushing past his collar and his hair, to the back of his neck where the gloved fingers grip hard just at the sides, in that vulnerable spot between vertebrae where one forceful twist of those fingers would've easily separated them, breaking his spine and ending his life. It makes him tense and jolt, almost get up but he can't anymore, because Cloud is stronger and is keeping him down – and forcing him further down still, pushing him steadily but with definite force; not cruel, but insistent. Vincent fights against it, tries to raise his head, pushes himself up – has to, can't help it, because he too is what he is – but Cloud is stronger.
The gunman falters and goes down, his knees hitting the rock. Cloud uses the sudden jerk to force his head down completely until Vincent can't see the city anymore, and is instead bowed there, staring furiously at the rocky valley below. He is stiff, but now that the force has been exerted, the tension is leaving him, leeched away by the reality of the situation – and he relaxes into the submission begrudgingly, but with a certain sort of relief.
Cloud holds him down for a little longer, waits until Vincent is completely relaxed, and the muscles of his neck are completely pliant, before he draws his hand back, satisfied with the show of submission. Vincent sighs, closing his eyes and doesn't look up immediately. It never stops feeling wrong. Right too – the submission turning him completely tranquil and willing in a way that makes him want to curl up, not on the ground but at Cloud's feet, revelling in the other man's strength and dominance. But the wrongness of it feels worse, because he would've preferred to feel only the tranquillity – only his own nature won't allow it, and so it comes unnaturally to him, with the strangeness of submission clashing with the forced tranquillity.
It never gets easier, being the strongest Alpha in the world – and then being thrown in this man's presence.
"Sorry," the blond swordsman says – always says. Never used to the fact of what he has to be, has to do.
The gunman grunts in answer and tries to force back the urge to rub a hand along his neck – he still feels the bruising grip. "I prefer this to you Asserting," he answers and finally manages to bring back enough of his own strength of will to look up.
"I know," Cloud sighs and turns to face him. There is still a hint of the power in his eyes, somewhere beyond the Mako glow that somehow hides the actual strength, but it’s passing and in a moment Vincent knows he can pretend that it's just a normal mortal man beside him. "What was that you said?"
"They're finished," the gunman answers, and straightens his back a bit – not getting up from his kneeling position just yet. He can, but if he does Cloud would only see it as rebellion and force him down again, and Vincent doesn't have in him the power to pick himself up after a second go so soon.
"That was fast," the swordsman says and turns to look at the city again. Vincent looks at him, wondering what he's thinking. Cloud carries his heart on his sleeve with most of the simple things – children and what passes for his family – always plainly obvious and almost open. Not with this though – he only looks distant and weary.
"I should go with you," Vincent says before he can really think differently. No, he doesn't want to go, but he should. He could help, be of use – he could aid his… whatever Cloud is to him. Whatever he is to everyone on the Planet. The Alpha inside Vincent fights against it, but he is subservient to Cloud and the need to appease, though always fought against, never goes away. He could help. Gaia knows Cloud needs help.
"You can't," Cloud says, almost regretful – and it makes the gunman shiver a bit to realise that he's not the first to consider it. Cloud would've liked for Vincent to go with him, or maybe he would've liked just anyone to go. Probably Vincent the most because he could keep up with him, now and then, while the others couldn't. Cloud had considered it – and dismissed it.
Vincent bows his head and looks at the valley. Dismissed. It makes sense, though. They don't match and never will – no Alpha can with Cloud. It would turn into constant fighting and power play and eventually Vincent would only grow to hate the man for his power. He wouldn't want to, would try not to, but he wouldn't be able to help it.
The blond swordsman glances at him and then chuckles. "There's a chance I won't be what I am, back there," he says and swings his feet, looking up and to the sky. He looks younger, different – weaker. "I used to be an omega, you know. Always the omega, of every group I was in."
That, more than anything, makes everything feel so strange about Cloud – because there is still a hint of the weak in him that makes the strong so out of place. Cloud doesn't act properly – he acts like a much weaker man. He doesn't have the personality for dominance or control; not now, that his delusions have passed and what he stole from Zack Fair – the personality, the strength of will, the ability to lead and rule and dominate – is gone.
"I might become an omega again," Cloud murmurs, and he looks almost wistful.
"Would you like it?" Vincent asks with morbid curiosity – he can and can't imagine it. For as long as he has known the man, Cloud has been what he is – well, not quite. Cloud had been an Alpha first – with the strength of one given to him by Hojo and the behaviour of one stolen by him from his dead SOLDIER friend. And then… he had become this other thing, this something else – this stronger than Alpha being. And for all that Cloud acts weak, Vincent can't imagine him being weak.
How weird it would be, to walk up to the man and not be forced to his knees?
"I don't know. It was… peaceful," Cloud says. "Omegas never have to make any decisions – and there is a certain allure in being led."
Vincent snorts at that – how right the man was. He had never been as weak as an omega – by the time his strength had begun to show, he had already known how to fire dozens of different weapons and how to fight in four different styles of hand to hand combat. His father would've never endured an omega son and so instead Vincent had emerged as the beta of his classroom at the age of thirteen. He had been a beta for most his life, gamma for a while, and delta for a brief moment in Turk training, but mostly a beta. For a while, he had been a beta to Cloud too.
It could be wonderful, being led by a competent Alpha – to know and feel every moment that he was watched over, that everything that happened was controlled by a stronger being, that he and those below him, their gamma and delta and all the way to their omega, were protected by their Alpha. Cloud had made an awkward but a good leader at the time –strong enough to maintain perfect control, but relaxed enough not to make them feel restricted or forced. Caring enough to look after them, trusting in them enough to let them be strong by themselves.
And then… Chaos had happened to him – and Ultimate Weapon to Cloud.
And now everything feels unnatural between them.
Vincent shakes the thoughts away, the Alpha in him unwilling to consider just how much he wishes at times that he could still be a beta. Betas didn't have problems with Cloud – they could submit without going against their nature. No. He isn't thinking about it. "The others are waiting," he says. "I believe there is a timeframe we need to meet."
Cloud sighs and closes his eyes before shifting back and standing up – Vincent waits until he's upright, before doing the same. They turn to face the motorcycle Cloud had used to get there, and while the blond swordsman mounts it, Vincent looks at the city in the distance – a city which had once been the greatest on the Planet. Which had nearly been turned to cinders by Meteor. Which, for a while, looked like it might live.
Which is now dying before his eyes.
He snorts, while the Fenrir comes to life with a powerful mechanical purr. Cloud waits for him, not saying a word but with the slightest bit of impatience that makes the Alpha inside Vincent roar again – how dare he, how dare he try and make me submit – but the fight is futile, meaningless, and he gives in to the need to submit to the man's wishes, wordlessly turning to the motorcycle and then sliding to sit behind the man.
Soon, there would be no need to worry about any of it anymore. Soon, there would be no one left to worry – and Cloud would be on his way to frustrate other Alphas in another time.
As Cloud turns the motorcycle around, driving along the cliff-side towards a downward slope that would take them down and to the valley, and from there to the plains and finally to the city, Vincent looks at the wrecked nature passing them by, not a hint of greenery in sight anywhere. It had once surrounded Midgar like a ring, the dead zone. Now it stretches all the way to Kalm, to the southern mountains, where it's met with the ring of dead plains that surrounds Junon.
Yes, he thinks, leaning back to avoid touching the man in front of him, holding onto the seat instead. Soon, there'd be no one left to worry about anything, Cloud or otherwise. "Do you think," he speaks, too low for a normal human to hear but Cloud isn't normal. "Do you think it will work?"
"Gotta try, either way," Cloud answers, equally low but loud enough for the gunman. "Nothing else left to do, really."
Vincent hums in agreement and closes his eyes, enjoying the fake wind, an illusion of it created by the speed at which they were going. He should – could – be going with Cloud back in time, but he is rather glad that he isn't. He isn't even sure he could face those times, knowing what he does, being what he is. As a beta, maybe he could've done it. As an Alpha?
Cloud is of a higher level but he can ignore the instincts that can plague an Alpha, so he isn't in danger of slipping because he can't stand not dominating someone. He has the impulses, a lingering side effect of Zack Fair, but they're not natural to him so he can ignore them in a way most can't. The only reason he forces submission onto someone – onto Vincent, onto other Alphas he encounters – is because he knows they'd end up in a fight if he didn't. If he didn't have to, he wouldn't bother with it at all. Vincent wouldn't be able to do that, just ignore the hierarchy like that. He is too strong – the strongest Alpha since Sephiroth – to not dominate.
He'd ruin everything, in some fit of instincts.
Though really, that's just an excuse.
"When you get there, will you seek my younger self out?" Vincent asks after a moment, as Edge comes nearer, in more ways than one.
"I don't know. Should I?" Cloud asks, glancing back at him.
"I would like you to. Don't let me linger in the darkness," Vincent says and closes his eyes, imagining it: that coffin, that mansion, the laboratories. More than that, though, he imagines the way he had been then, still weaker, without Chaos, still a beta. And with this Cloud – granted that Cloud kept what he had, the power he possessed – that Vincent would also remain a beta, never having to endure the clash of mixed instincts that tore at him from the inside.
Enjoying the natural subservience that Vincent sometimes could admit he wished he still had.
"It might be bothersome though. Before Chaos, I… didn't have much control," Vincent muses, remembering. Cloud had to overpower him nearly every hour back then, because the beasts inside him had been raging so wildly, nearly out of control. It had been… excruciatingly satisfying.
"I remember," Cloud answers, low, and drives on.
"They're here," Rude says, and Reeve glances up from the computer, to see the former Turk watching the screens that displays the footage from what few security cameras the complex has. On the video, Cloud is parking the Fenrir – for the last time – while Vincent is already inserting the code into the reinforced door.
"Good," Reeve murmurs and turns back to the data, shifting a bit as he feels Cait Sith climbing up his side and to his shoulder, where the robot hugs his neck with its legs – reading his expressions and body language, and instantly moving to comfort him like its programming commands it. Not that it helps much.
There's not much comfort to be had, when he knows that in a short while – a very short while, most likely not even an hour – he would cease being. And not just him but everyone he knows, the world he lives in, the universe he is part of – all of it would simply cease existing. And it would be mainly his fault.
"Are we ready?" Rude asks, looking at him seriously.
"We're ready," Reeve promises, but can't help doing some last check-ups, to make sure that everything was as it should be, that the power levels held, that the Materia was calibrated just so. Nothing can be wrong with this, not even the smallest thing. If it does, it would be over and for nothing. Everything must be right. Everything must be perfect.
A door hisses open and then shut, and activity in the room ceases. A bit reluctantly, Reeve looks up from the computer screen and to those who had entered – Cloud at the head, as always, and Vincent coming up as a looming shadow just behind him, almost near enough to seem insubordinate, but not quite. They look as they always do, Cloud the same as he has been for years now, in his dark clothing, perfectly suited for a traveller, and Vincent in his red cape, never changing. But they look different too.
Cloud looks different.
"Vincent tells me we're ready," Cloud says quietly, looking over the room with that look that Reeve has never been able to put a word to. Cloud had had it even before he had changed, back when he had been an Alpha – the strange mixture of indifference and confusion. Because he sees the way people look at him, back then and now even more, look up to him, and he still doesn't completely comprehend it. Can't wrap his mind around it.
For some reason, that's always made him seem more powerful than anything else in him does, not his physical strength, not his fondness for massive swords. That confused look, unaware of his strength, brings it home every time. And Reeve knows he's not the only one affected by it – everyone else in the room is, the haphazard crew of what few scientists there are left on the Planet, and those of them who still live. Those of the people who had, once upon a time, looked up to Cloud as an Alpha.
There's not many of them, though. Yuffie is gone. She had fallen ill a year or so ago, and not recovered. Tifa is there, but she's not the same since Denzel's and Marlene's deaths, and now sits in the corner, silently watching, not taking part. Barret, though alive, had wanted nothing to do with the project, and so he is not here, and no one knows where he is. Nanaki is still in CosmoCanyon, the last place still the same as before, though possibly only because the desert canyons had never been teeming with greenery in the first place. Cid stands not far from Tifa, as silent as she is – he had said his curses, probably, and felt that there wasn't really any room for more.
There are others too. Rude, but no Reno – no one knows what happened to him, or to Rufus, or Tseng, or any of the other Turks, they are simply gone now. Some other scattered people from ShinRa, a few old friends, a few old enemies. All working together, because it's the last thing they can do. The last thing anyone can do.
Idly, the former head of what had once been ShinRa's Urban Development wonders. What are their rankings now, what is the hierarchy? Cloud hasn't been theirs or anybody's Alpha in a long while, but Cloud is still… their superior, their dominant, the one they turn to. And Vincent, though an Alpha now, still defers to Cloud. Did that make Tifa the beta now? Or the gamma? Where did Rude fit in? What was Cid? What was Reeve? Did he even want to know?
"We're ready," Reeve promises, his fingers twitching towards the keyboard one last time, for one last check up, but… no, they are ready; there is nothing more to be done. "Are you?" he asks, the words coming out choked. It's extremely difficult to question Cloud.
The blond man looks away from him, towards the pattern. There is no other name for the doomsday device Reeve had concocted from bits and pieces of bastard sciences, things ShinRa had once experimented with, things that came from long before ShinRa, from the old governments and their projects, from the kingdoms before, from the ancients. It is an ugly mess of Materia, Mako and technology, lines drawn in the metal floor with orbs of Materia glowing here and there, with trickles of Mako shimmering in between.
It would be their last resort.
And their death.
"Cloud," Vincent says, not quite a question but questioning all the same.
"I'm ready," Cloud answers with a sigh. "We've certainly prepared for this long enough," he adds in an almost surly mutter that from anyone else might've been amusing. It wasn't and it hadn't been amusing for Reeve to teach him all the knowledge he needed to possess to do what was necessary. It was just… very, very hard to teach someone so much more superior to him; and so hard not to stumble into stuttering and incoherent babbling under Cloud's slightest of frowns and pointed looks.
But he has done his job as well as he could. Cloud has memorised everything – they had certainly tested his memory enough, while Reeve had still been finishing his monster that now lies on the floor, waiting for its user, for its final purpose. Everything was done, as far as it could be done.
"Then… will we begin?" Reeve asks, a bit uneasy – he doesn't want to press the button, doesn't want to pull the plug that switches off the universe. Doesn't want to be accountable, even when there'd be no one left to blame him.
"Hm," Cloud nods, looking around again. "I suppose everyone has made their peace, said their goodbyes?" he muses more than asks, but everyone nods or mumbles an affirmative answer.
"Cloud?" Tifa asks from the corner, pushing herself up as the blond man turns to her. She doesn't falter – of all of them, she's always taken Cloud's power the easiest, somehow, even if it brought her down as hard as it did everyone else. She stands straighter than she has in months, lifting her chin, looking their not-quite-an-Alpha in his eyes. "Assert. Please. And do it properly – we… deserve as much. We need it."
The blond man hesitates, frowning, glancing around. No one argues, no one looks unwilling – Reeve isn't either. It's horrible and beautiful to feel Cloud's Assertion, and though Cloud does it so very rarely, he could never forget. And Tifa is right. If these are the last moments of their existence, he wants to have that feeling go with him. Not just the power or the painful awareness of it, but the tranquillity, the comfort, the assurance.
He needs to feel that just before everything ends, and to know what it's all for – what Cloud's capable of and what he can do. What he can do, with them making this sacrifice for him, for the Planet, for the past they can't change, but Cloud can. Yes. Reeve wants that as the last thing he feels.
"Alright. If you really want it," Cloud says finally and turns to look at the only Alpha in the room, the strongest one left. "You can leave," the blond man says almost softly and Vincent jolts just slightly, scowling.
Reeve doesn't envy the gunman for the words, for whatever it is that makes Cloud offer and Vincent look so uncomfortable. Reeve himself had never been much of an Alpha, even as the head of his department he hadn't been more than a low level Alpha, barely above a beta, only in his position due to his knowledge and skill, not his power. Nothing like Vincent, who is strong, immortal, and immensely powerful – and who, like all truly powerful Alphas, can't endure Cloud's power easily.
"I'll stay," Vincent says finally, while those who had been seated by their computers or the few empty tables in the hall stand up, stepping clear from the furniture. Reeve does the same, lifting Cait Sith – the last one of a long line of them – from his shoulders and dropping it to the table. Cloud watches them all, his gaze powerful as he takes them in, the ragged people who still somehow had managed to scrounge up enough strength to perform this last miracle – this last act of pure desperation.
Then, feather soft, Cloud orders them, "Kneel."
And they all go down, some with sobs like Tifa, others with sighs like Rude, and Vincent with a barely smothered growl. Reeve goes down without a sound like a puppet with his strings cut off – and like always, the sensation is beyond explanation. It feels like someone had cut off his legs and short-circuited his nervous system. His legs just turn numb and give in, the biological imperative taking over his whole body for that one, crucial moment – and then his knees hit the metal floor with the all too familiar bang that leaves behind bruises and aches.
It's nothing compared to the sensation that follows, the peace that comes over him, and for a moment there is nothing but him on his knees and Cloud, looking down on him with satisfaction. Rationally, he knows that Cloud probably isn't looking at him – Cloud rarely looks at people when he Asserts – but it feels like that. Feels like he has done what he ought, pleased his not-quite-an-Alpha, and the pleasure of having followed the order so promptly leaves his mind empty and sweetly quiet. This is right – it's right to let go of everything, because his not-quite-an-Alpha is there, looking over him, and he has to do nothing but submit to that controlling, protecting power.
Cloud holds them down with his order for a while – how long, Reeve doesn't know. He drifts in the mindlessness of it – Cloud Asserts like nobody ever has, leaving nothing behind but the sweet, sweet submission, and Reeve greedily revels in the lack of control. Things have been so hectic, so horrible, so full of desperation, that letting go is unspeakably beautiful. He had been thinking so much. Planning and worrying, fretting and panicking. And now… nothing, but the urge to wait and obey.
For a while, he wishes he would never have to come out of it.
Then, almost remorsefully, Cloud orders them again. "Get up. It's time to get to work."
And they get up, shaking and shivering and wavering, dazed and half intoxicated. It takes a moment for Reeve to figure out how to use his hands again, and then reality comes back and he turns to the computer, helplessly following the order, knowing it would be the last one he ever got.
It is time to get to work.
It's a quiet day, in more ways than one. Aerith, standing at the edge of the tiny field of flowers she has spent what seems like years – and no time at all – cultivating, listens to the silence. It's around her and more than that it's in her head, the voices of Gaia being quiet and waiting. Anticipating.
Something is coming.
It's not something dangerous though, or the Planet would've told her. No, it's just something a little unknown, something that makes Gaia a bit uncertain – because it's not sure how it's possible, how it can be possible. But it's good, somehow? Good, with the tiniest hint of it perhaps being bad. Unknown and vague, but there, certain – and certainly coming. Coming towards her even.
She sighs, and sits down, knees bent, hugging them. She knows what she is and what she can do, and usually it's good. She can do things – make flowers grow where they couldn't before, heal wounds that others can't, do magic that people just aren't able to. And she can sense people before they come, meetings before they happen – she can follow the people she has met to the end of the Planet, sometimes even people she’s never met. Her mother's husband, for one – they had never seen each other, never so much as glanced each other's way, but she had known him. Known him, followed him, and felt him pass away.
Most of the time, she wishes she was normal, yes, but she knows her powers and is glad of them. They kept her safe, they kept her ahead of the things after her – even if they aren't after her actively, they are still there and she needs to protect herself somehow. In that, the powers are good.
But this? This something that's coming, something Gaia can't quite understand, this… thing that's fast approaching. She's scared a bit, because she knows why – it's coming because it knows her somehow. Gaia knows that much, knows that the something knows her and is coming for her because it knows her. And the last time that had happened, while she hadn't been aware of it at the time, too young to understand… she and her birth mother had ended up in ShinRa's grasp for years.
Will this something capture her? She doesn't know. Gaia can't tell, but it's not afraid, not really. Of course it wouldn't be – it's the Planet, it has very little to fear – but it's not afraid for her. It reassures her a bit, but not enough. Not enough at all.
There is a clang as the doors are pushed open, and then footsteps. It's here, behind her – and Aerith can feel it now, too. The oddness, the strangeness, the power. She doesn't want to turn around, too afraid – maybe if she doesn't look, it'll go away? But it's there, coming closer. Coming to her.
"Hello?"
That makes her tense a bit, her heart skip a beat – but not because of fear. The voice is a surprise. It's a soft voice – a man's, no, maybe a boy's? Not rough in the slightest – soft, kind, and uncertain. Not scary at all.
She turns and blinks. There is a boy standing behind her, younger than her – fourteen, or maybe fifteen? Wearing a sky blue jumper and ragged jeans, carrying a bag on his shoulder, no weapons whatsoever. He's smaller than her, with wild blond hair and bright blue eyes and a look about his face that doesn't match the power he seems to radiate.
"Hello?" she answers, uncertain, and relaxes a bit as he smiles. Whatever he is, he's not unkind. That eases her a bit, but not entirely. "What… what can I do for you?" Aerith asks, wanting to be polite, but also wanting to know.
The boy hesitates, turning away from her and to the flowers. He bites his lip, looks so normal that she almost doubts what she's feeling, but then he asks, "Do you know me?" and the feeling of unease rushes back.
"Well… no. But I feel you," she answers, shifting where she sits, wishing she was on the other side of the pool of flowers. "You are… special. Strong."
"Ah," the boy answers, and crouches down. "Hope I don't frighten you."
"You do, a bit," Aerith admits and then, after looking at him closely for a moment, adds softly, "Gaia doesn't know what to make of you."
"I suppose she wouldn't," he answers a bit amusedly, a bit sadly, and looks at the flowers. "What is she saying about me?"
"She?" Aerith wonders at that. A feminine pronoun for a planet. She's never thought of it. Does it fit? Maybe. "She's… not saying anything. She's just aware. Wondering. A bit uncertain."
"Could you ask her?" the boy inquires, glancing at her. "Ask her what I am?"
"You don't know?" Aerith asks, turning to face him completely now. That surprises her a bit – and eases her mind. Is he like her, in some way? With a power he's aware of, which makes him aware of things, but which he doesn't completely understand?
"I know what I am, what I can do. I've been this way a while. I just don't know if it's on… purpose," the boy admits. "It came about so suddenly, and I never got a straight answer from anyone. No one knew, I guess. I was wondering if Gaia knows."
Aerith nods slowly and then, after a moment of consideration, clasps her hands together, closing her eyes. She doesn't do it often, because it leaves her feeling like she's floating and somehow disembodied, but she does it now, reaching for the Planet, for that part inside herself and below her feet that connects her to it – that bit of power that pulses somewhere in her heart and mind, that makes her part of the ground beneath her feet.
Does the Planet know?
Yes. No. It does but it's not possible – hasn't happened, cannot happen, but it did, somehow, somewhere. There is a way, a moment, a fight – a victory over something – that makes a being like this man, this boy. But it hasn't happened. Not here? Not now or in the past. Perhaps… perhaps…
Aerith frowns, as the voices of the Planet grow more incoherent – the Ancients who still retain their minds enough to actually speak to her. They only have one thing to say though, one word that they speak, whisper, scream and sing somewhere just below her hearing – and Gaia agrees with them. That is it. It is impossible. Not now, not then, but it has happened somehow somewhere in time.
"You are… you were victorious and because of that you are different now," Aerith says finally, opening her eyes. "You defeated something and this is the result. You are… the Ultima."
The boy frowns at that, but doesn't seem surprised. "I figured that was it. That was when it started, and it was the theory people believed the most," he murmured. "Defeat the strongest life form on the Planet, and take its place," he says and stands up. "Thank you. It's good to have a name for it."
"But you didn't defeat it," Aerith says, unable to help herself. "It is still there, isn't it? It's still alive."
"Here, yeah," the boy agrees. "I was kind of hoping that maybe because of that, I would go back to the way I was. It would've ruined everything but I… sometimes I wish I could be that person still." He shakes his head and smiles at her. "I'll be going now. Shouldn't have come anyway."
"Already? I don't even know your name," Aerith says, hesitant.
"You shouldn't either," the boy agrees. "Might get you in trouble. Best you forget I was here," he adds, turning to leave and then hesitating. "Though… could I have a flower, before I go?" he asks. "I kind of miss them."
She blinks at that, confused – almost comprehending, because he's not actually doing much to hide it, whatever it is, but… no. She's not meant to understand. Not understanding will protect her. Shaking her head, Aerith turns to the flowers, picks one of them – a small one, but with a brilliantly white blossom – and snaps the stem. He accepts it with a grave smile, holding it gently like it was something impossibly precious.
"Thank you," he says, turning to leave.
"Your power," she says before he's at the doors. "What is it?"
He pauses and then chuckles. "I forgot," he murmurs, turning to look at her over his shoulder. "You don't fall under it, do you, being an Ancient? You are lucky, you know, not having the instincts."
She shifts, uneasy. Is that it? That, the thing that makes people so strange to her somehow – that thing which she somehow can't be a part of. The thing that makes her mother kneel in front of her boss, and the people in the slums fight to become stronger so that no one can force them down, only managing to fall down faster most of the time. The ancient, somehow bestial instincts that humans have, but she as an Ancient can't even pretend to understand.
"You should do better to hide it, though. People notice these things," the boy says. "You need to pretend. If I can do it, so can you."
She frowns and nods. She knows that – and she tries, her mother teaches her more about submission and dominance each day. It doesn't come naturally for her, but she's learning and she can convince most people. The rest… she can avoid. "What does the Ultima do?" Aerith whispers, a bit worried now.
"Makes the world kneel," the boy says with a shake of his head, and walks out of the church without another word.
Kunsel waits in the training room, having arrived a few minutes early to give himself time to mentally prepare. He still isn't entirely sure what he's doing here, or why he has been given the position of a trainer – it would've made much more sense if they had given it to someone like Zack, or better yet, someone at a higher level, but then… it isn't like the Firsts had time for something like training cadets. And he is, despite his ranking, one of the more knowledgeable Second Class SOLDIERs.
And Gaia, he has no idea what he's doing. Zack, he thinks with something like a mixture of dismay and horror, would've had a blast with something like this. Zack would've been perfect at this. That guy is a natural leader and a people person to boot, and could easily shake off the actual hierarchy to take over something like the position of a trainer, but Kunsel? He is a bit more introverted, not to mention that he's spend most of his life as a gamma, and quite happily so.
There is a sound of a mechanical door hissing open and then shut and the Second Class SOLDIER looks up. The first of the cadets entered in a group of three – and he can already tell these are at the top of the list, though time would tell whether they'd be Alphas or betas.
The potential Alphas are easy to tell – they are the confident, often arrogant lot who flexed their muscles and tended to become the ringleaders of their groups, so one can figure them out just by the way they walk – swagger – into a room. The potential betas follow closely behind them, in step with them to partake in their confidence and show of strength but trying not to appear so – keeping themselves as close, trustworthy shadows. The rest are harder to tell.
None of it matters one jot in SOLDIER, of course. What can make a natural born Alpha in a normal sort of group can very well end up being just an omega in SOLDIER, where the Shifts are more dramatic and so are the changes in hierarchy. Someone completely unnoticeable and weak can go to being the strongest of his group in a matter of days – and vice versa. Especially so when you take Mako injections into account.
Up until that point they all will seem like Alphas to the un-enhanced.
Of course, it's all trickier than that, Kunsel muses and considers those who've arrived so far – strong boys, confident and proud, clustered in a group with the potential Alphas standing closest to him, the rest falling behind. Normally, SOLDIER only gets the potential Alphas and betas, because normally no one lower than that in their former social hierarchies even try to make the attempt of becoming a SOLDIER. But even when you put a lot of Alphas and betas together, they start falling into line and gammas and deltas start to show in their midst – and, unavoidably, the omega.
He can't see an omega quite yet, though. One epsilon, maybe, one boy who is talking to someone who Kunsel already can tell will fall in rank somewhere behind a beta, but no one who shows the usual signs of an omega.
Well, that would follow.
As the minutes trickle by, the rest of the boys arrive until they're all there – twenty four in total, those who passed that year's SOLDIER exam. As Kunsel glances at the clock hanging over the entrance and calls "Attention!" and they form a haphazard, but tale telling line – from the tallest boy to the shortest one, with the tallest ones on the right side and the shorter ones on the left. It makes him smile – it's such a civilian thing to do. He still remembers his own cadet days, they used to do that too – up until the point one of the shortest guys somehow started lifting twice as much as everyone else on the bench, and one of the biggest ones turned out to have absolutely no body coordination whatsoever.
Height meant very little, if one didn't have the strength to back it up.
"Well then. I am Kunsel Second Class, and I will be your training Alpha during your SOLDIER preparation," Kunsel started, clasping his hands behind his back to appear relaxed – mental play, mostly. You don't claim to be an Alpha and then show your bare hands to a bunch of hormonal teenagers, most of whom would likely see it as a challenge. "That means that not a single one of you is an Alpha anymore," he adds, to gauge the reactions.
The words have an impact, and a few of the biggest boys frown, one of them grumbling slightly. They make no further noise or move forward though, and he has to credit them for that. Hormonal teenagers or no, they knew what even a SOLDIER Second Class could do. Good.
"You will be divided into four groups of six for your basic training," he explains after being certain that no one will make any fuss about his claim for now. "And you will remain in these groups until you either become a SOLDIER or leave the program. The ranks within the groups will start at beta, who will be the commander of the group – with the ranks of gamma, delta, epsilon, zeta and lastly omega to follow."
That, he notes with some displeasure, does bring about some noise. There are grins, and a few glance towards the shorter boys, leering while some of the shorter boys flinch reflexively. Again, civilian behaviour – but this one is not good. There are a few boys among the group who stay impassive and don't bat an eye, and he will keep an eye on those – they’re the ones who have prior knowledge of the program's ways. But the rest…
"The groups will be ranked by performance," he continues, wondering how to word the facts to these hot headed kids before they got any notions. "Both by general and personal performance. That means everyone in the group must perform well, including the omega. And if a group itself is responsible for an omega's failure, the group will be disqualified." He trails away, narrowing his eyes. It's not getting through, and probably wouldn't so easily. "Also, for your information: when Commander Rhapsodos was a cadet, he started out as an omega," he added, wondering if that would make any difference.
It makes some, but not the one he was hoping for. The stronger kids glance at the weaker ones and scoff at them, like the idea that any one of them could become an Alpha like the Commander was absurd.
Kunsel smothers the urge to sigh, really wishing someone else would've been made the trainer. He already has a bad feeling about the whole thing.
"Alright," he says. "Each group will be instructed individually later on, according to their training schedules. You will have other trainers and you will work under other Alphas, but I am your Alpha while you're in training," he says, putting a bit more force into the words than he has so far. "So if you need something, if you have something to ask, if one of you breaks another's jaw, you will come to me first. Understood?"
Some mumbles and Kunsel scowls – something which is mostly invisible beneath his helmet but the line of his lips ought to do the trick. "When an Alpha asks you a question, you answer with Yes, Alpha or No, Alpha. Is that understood?" he asks, growling the question out in a slightly harder tone.
"Yes, Alpha," the answer comes out a bit haphazard but time and some physical training would take care of that – as well as the eventual struggles where he'd be forced to wrestle someone to the ground. Something which he isn't much looking forward to, but he'd be prepared once the time came.
"Now," he says, clasping his hands. "Starting from the right side. Assert."
The boys pause at that, staring up at him with wide eyes before glancing at each other in confusion. Kunsel almost smiles at that – these guys probably have never Asserted before an authority figure before. "One by one, starting from the tallest, Assert," he says slowly. "You do know what Assertion means, right?"
That makes them stand up straighter in embarrassment, and do what they’re told. The tallest boy straightens up a bit further, squares his shoulders, takes a breath and tries – oh, he tries so hard, it's almost cute – to make his voice low and commanding as he barks out the age old order to "Kneel!"
The result is pretty much as Kunsel had expected. The majority of the boys go down, some falling to their knees pretty fast, others struggling as they go down, trying to fight the instinct to obey. The SOLDIER watches the reactions, both from those who do not kneel, those who do, and of course the boy who had made the command – the boy grins, but not happily as he realises that he's not the strongest of the group, that he couldn't make all of them go down.
"Everybody up," Kunsel commands, putting just enough authority into his voice so that it overrules the boy's Assertion. "Those who didn't kneel, go to the right," he says, pointing, and the line shifts accordingly, leaving the boy who had been the rightmost one as the fourth in rank. It doesn't make him happy, but that's the way of things. "Now, the rightmost one, Assert."
And they do. One by one they Assert their power over each other, and Kunsel shifts the line as they do, arranging them by strength from right to left. The neat civilian line vanishes and turns more haphazard – leaving behind the notions of height being an indication of strength, as one of the shortest boys gets the fifth rank, and one of the tallest ends up as seventeenth. The process continues until there is only one boy left – a small slip of a youth with spiky blond hair and wide blue eyes, who had so far knelt for everybody.
"You don't have to try," Kunsel says to the boy, who had been standing in rigid nervous attention after the last Assertion which had only worked on him, and who instantly relaxes at the chance to avoid embarrassment – and there isn't embarrassment quite like ordering someone to kneel and having nobody submit. The allowance makes some of the boys grin and snicker towards the ultimate omega of the group, but the blond boy doesn't seem to be listening.
Hadn't he been one of the boys who hadn't reacted to the mention of omegas…? He hadn't batted an eye at Kunsel's original command to Assert either. Must be well informed about the SOLDIER program.
"Okay. Now, every fourth of you go over there, every third of those remaining over there, and every other of those remaining over there," Kunsel orders and watches as the boys awkwardly split apart, first the fourths, then the thirds and then the last ones split apart until there are four groups of six boys.
"These," he says. "Are your groups. You will be sharing a room, you will be eating together, you will be working together, studying and learning together and if you're good enough, some of you might even become SOLDIERs together," he says, as the boys look at each other thoughtfully. "And every single morning you will Assert."
He looks at them and then smiles. "Welcome to SOLDIER basic training," he says and watches, waiting until the boys relax a bit and let down their guards before unclasping his hands and resting his hands on his hips instead. "Now, kneel!" he orders, putting as much authority and force into the order as he can.
They all go down instantly, the new leaders of the new groups looking wide eyed as they too crash to the floor, most of them wincing at the impact, a few looking horrified at the force of the command. Kunsel smiles. Not bad, for a lifelong gamma.
It isn't until morning that Tseng hears about the break-in at ShinRa HQ's records department. Normally, he wouldn't have heard of it at all – someone at a much lower level would've looked into it, probably dismissed it as unimportant as there’s nothing particularly valuable in the records department, just old documents and even older computers that are mostly open for everybody in the building. But there is something about this particular break-in that catches the attention of his gamma, making him wake the beta of Turks at entirely too early an hour to view the tapes.
"What, precisely, am I looking at?" Tseng asks, staring at the screen of his terminal while Reno fiddles with the mouse, to get the surveillance tape to the right moment.
"The security cam from level 45, boss," the redhead says with a frown and makes a sound of satisfaction as he reaches the right point. "This happened around two a.m. and yeah, normally I wouldn't give a damn – everyone's always breaking into places like these at ShinRa, just last week it was this janitor and one of the secretaries and damn I wish I hadn't seen that tape, but anyway…"
He hits play, and Tseng watches. It is an overhead view of the older records room, an empty hall with a few computers lining the wall and the rest of the space taken by cabinets. Twenty second pass by in the flicker of the night lamps, before the closed doors in the image roll open, revealing a slim, dark clad figure who walks right in. Tseng's eyes narrow, and he reaches for the mouse, to enlarge the picture in the hopes of catching a better view of the details, but the picture only gets blurrier the larger it becomes.
"Whoever it is, he's wearing a mask," Reno says, utterly unhelpful.
"I can see that," Tseng answers and they keep watching. The slim figure checks the room quickly with a few expert glances before moving to one of the computers and turning it on. The picture is too small, too blurry, to see what he's doing as he sits down and begins to do something, they can only see the screen flashing in vague colours, white, green, black, and how the figure types away.
"How long was he working there?" Tseng asks, leaning back while Reno pauses the video. He keeps his mind blank, knowing this wasn't all of it, and not wanting to draw any flawed conclusions before he had all the facts. Reno wouldn't be bothering him about someone just using a computer in the middle of the night if there wasn't more.
"Three hours in total," the redhead says, moving the timeline of the video ahead again until he reaches the point where the figure leaves. He goes back a bit, and then lets the video play at a normal pace.
On the screen, the dark clad figure finishes and then pulls out a PHS from his pocket, hooking it to the computer with a short cable, probably transferring data from or to the computer, it's impossible to tell. Whatever he's doing, it's finished quickly and the figure flips the phone shut, pocketing it again before turning back to the computer. A minute or so later, he's finished doing whatever he was doing, and is standing up, the computer shutting down as the figure heads for the hallway.
"There's no hallway camera and whoever this is he didn't use the elevator – so he pretty much vanishes right there. Could've gone anywhere, if he was using the stairs," Reno says, backtracking the video and leaving it frozen on the image of the figure leaving, black clad and utterly unrecognizable except for the diminutive size.
"Alright. What was he doing then?" Tseng asks, turning to the redhead, knowing he must've had the computer searched.
"Impossible to tell. That computer's totally wiped. I went there as fast as I could but the computer was totally shot. It doesn't even have an operating system left anymore, We can get nothing useful out of it, not to mention trying to get our hands on the logs," Reno scoffs, folding his arms. "After I figured that, I thought you ought to see this. Because you don't do something like that unless it's something serious."
"No, you don't," Tseng agrees, eyeing the screen. The figure doesn't seem like he could belong in AVALANCHE, the clothing is completely wrong, as is the method of operation. AVALANCHE is bad at spying and intelligence gathering – they would've stormed the room with a good number of men, if they had wanted something from it. Though if they had ever managed to get into ShinRa HQ, they wouldn't have bothered with the archives. They would've gone after the President, the science department, possibly the Weapons Development floors…
"Any indication of where he came from?" Tseng asks. "How did he get in?"
"Sorry boss. It's almost like he pops in and out of existence right there. And like he knew the locations of the cameras, and could avoid them – used the stairwell rather than the elevator because there are no cameras there. And from there he could've gone anywhere."
"So. Someone walked in, took something from the old archives, walked out and no one even noticed until this morning, and we have no idea what he was doing? Why were you looking at the surveillance tapes anyway?" Tseng asks, raising an eyebrow. Reno normally wouldn't bother with something like that.
"I know a guy who works at the security booth, he noticed it around morning, and called me," the redhead shrugs.
"I see. Do you know what he could've gotten from the computer?" Tseng asked, not entirely sure what sort of access the archive terminals had to the database. The archives themselves – at least those in that particular room – couldn't be anything useful, they were mostly from the time before ShinRa and the intruder hadn't even glanced at them anyway. So, something on the computer.
"I got no idea, boss. I've been going through the stuff you can do with those things and it's not much. They're so low tech that no one even makes them anymore, and most of the time they don't even work – all the stuff in them is old, half corrupted, mostly forgotten and no one cares about it. Old documents about stuff no one remembers anymore," Reno shrugs. "A bit about the old database, from back before HQ. Some old projects, mostly construction work that never got completed. A ton of ancient photographs and stuff like that. Nothing really interesting – it doesn't even have ShinRa's blueprints or anything."
"There must be something. Either there was, or someone put it there for the intruder to find," Tseng says, considering the matter, though that doesn't make much sense. If there is a spy in ShinRa – and there are several most likely – they wouldn't leave whatever intel they gathered on a ShinRa computer if they wanted to pass it on, or sell it – they'd take it out of the building. No, it was something in the computer the intruder had wanted. But that couldn't be it, not if the intruder had worked at it for three hours. But what?
"Can't tell anymore which it was, or if it was either. It's all gone," Reno answers and looks at him. "You gonna tell Alpha?"
Tseng considers it, eyeing the screen. It is peculiar, and there are warning signs – the intruder had gone to certain lengths that indicate certain sorts of intentions. But what could there be on a computer like that; ancient and probably never used, there shouldn't be anything… nothing that would truly threaten the company.
"No, for now this isn't high enough priority," he finally says. Veld would only tell him to keep his eyes open for more of the same, and he could figure that out for himself. "Look into what can only be done on those old computers," the beta orders the redhead, turning away from his own terminal. "Whoever this intruder is, he must've gone after that archive computer for a reason – no one breaks into ShinRa just to use a computer when there are many easier ways to access machinery like that. It must be something about that computer especially which interested him. Something that was in it and something that could be done with it; otherwise he would've just taken what he was after and completed his work elsewhere."
"You're thinking about some old program, maybe?" the gamma asks, easily falling behind his decision not to inform their Alpha just yet and only considering the matter at hand. "Something our modern toys don't have anymore?"
"Maybe, maybe not. Just look into it," Tseng says and stands up. "And see about adding a camera to the stairwell, at least at the first floor entrance."
"Will do, boss."