Ch. 5

I woke up in a haze. My vision spun slowly as I attempted to stand. I tried to focus on something, anything, to make me feel less shaky. My breath came in short, little pants. The world was still out of focus.

Breathe.

I stood up and nearly fell over again. I decided that a crouched position better served my purposes at the moment. I looked up and saw people staring at me.

Shit. I blew it. I'm so screwed right now.

"How long was I out for?" I asked nonchalantly.

"Two minutes, approximately," I heard another voice reply.

I found the speaker with relative ease, and it was none other than Director Lazard, smooth and sleek in appearance and wearing that signature blue pinstriped suit and wire-rimmed glasses. He looked as though he jumped straight off of the covers of the newspapers and magazines. I don't know if it was from the lack of oxygen to my brain or the fact that I had never seen any of these money-hungry company CEO's, but I was floored by the lackluster way he exuded existence. He just looked so plain compared to all of the hype I'd heard and read.

I'd read so many tabloids in the convenience store and heard so many news casts about how Lazard was this company power house, about how he managed to rise to a position of power at such a young age. And yet, I was not impressed. Who would have known from all of the publicity that he talked so quiet and stood so motionless? Without all of the strong words and powerful rumors he was just another business man you would run into on the streets.

On another note, I had just then noticed Zack standing behind Lazard. Zack looked strangely interested in me, those mako blue eyes boring into mine. He grinned, broad and excited. He reminded me not so subtly of a dog with a new chew toy. I could practically see that invisible tail wagging. The question was why he seemed so pumped.

"You did well. No one yet has deterred the hound from attacking," Lazard stated.

"Well, I try," I panted. I tried to stand upright again. My abdomen screamed in protest and my chest binds felt like they were crushing my chest. Funny, I don't remember them being that tight.

"What Lazard is trying to say is that you have potential." Zack practically jumped up and down with all of that energy.

"Yeah, potential to break ribs."

My head snapped over to look at the infantryman who had brawled with me earlier. He seemed a little rough around the edges and I mentally patted myself on the back. He, whatever his name happened to be, sat on a chair that someone so thoughtfully dragged into the room. A medic of some type stood over him, bandaging his shoulder. His ankle was already in wraps. That injury must have been from when his feet were swept from underneath him. I must admit it felt good to know that the jerk got his ass whooped by me. I was so sick of people underestimating me.

"Maybe I should have kicked a little harder," I huffed under my breath. Lazard stared daggers at me.

"The purpose of the exercise was not to damage another recruit, but to simply see if you would follow orders. You may have potential, but your fowl attitude and lack of respect for authority is disconcerting."

In other words, Lazard saw only fighting potential, not obedience. I couldn't necessarily complain though. Lazard's assessment was fairly accurate, and I was not one to follow orders. Anger and an unfair world and recognition of a damaged system is what led me here, not the will to obey orders and fight someone else's battles. The courage that drove me was not hewn from the strength of my body, but from the strength of my mother's waning spirit.

Zack noticed my resolve in an instant. It seemed almost peculiar to me that he would recognize such a thing as resolve, looking at the way he carried himself. Zack had the appearance of what I imagine it would feel like to be weightless in a world with twice as much gravity. Maybe it was just me.

After this escapade, I felt like going home, but apparently the medic had a different idea. He stomped over to me with an obvious frown plastered on his features. He gave me a cursory glance and asked how I felt. I said fine, but he must be hard of hearing because he asked me to show him any spots that ached in ways they shouldn't.

"I'm fine, really," I insisted.

"You passed out. You either experienced some type of head trauma or there is most likely some type of pain. I need to check if you have a concussion or other such injuries." He then gestured toward me in a more than apathetic manner. "I was asking how you were feeling so that it might save me some time, but I see that you're going to be difficult about it."

He whipped out some fancy scanner, intent on using it. I'd only seen this once before. The small, pocket-sized device was used in well-off hospitals and doctors' offices as a way to diagnose basic ailments. A clinic on the surface scanned my mother with one to try and uncover a lead as to what was destroying her from the inside out. The problem with the scanners isn't in their efficiency, but in their cost. Even the wealthiest in the slums (not that wealthy really means much if you live there) weren't so keen on resorting to this. Back home scans would cost upwards of 1,500 gil, and that was for one small part of the body. A scan could include the face, a forearm, one side of a hand, but nothing so powerful and so intricate as a whole body scan. I was focused so much on the thought that one of these scans was so unaffordable under normal circumstance that I almost didn't register the actual action that the medic took as he scanned me.

"You seem alright," the medic concluded.

"That's it? Alright? Are you sure? He got his fair share of damage, too." Zack chimed in, adamant that I not be passed up for inspection.

He. That meant my cover wasn't blown.

The med just sighed and hit some submenus on the body scanner. "What's your account number, son?"

Account number. There was no way I could afford that bill. My med account was already maxed out with costs from my mother's extravagantly expensive medicine. If I charged anymore to the account, I wouldn't have enough left to buy the meds she needed. I froze. I should have declined, but I couldn't have. Everyone in the room saw my obvious hesitation. What they thought, I couldn't guess. Most people knew their med account numbers by heart; it was a fast and efficient way to receive care and pay clinics for service, but I didn't dare say mine aloud.

"Account number?" the med asked again.

"I don't remember," I lied. The prospect of losing that much money over a simple brawl was not optimal. Everything I'd worked so hard toward would come crashing down. My mother and I were already part of the community welfare for most of our food and medical bills. How would I explain to her the lack of funds in our account? How much gil was it for this one scan? 20,000? Without company compensation from my mother's unemployment, we didn't have insurance to help pay.

"I'll look it up. Last name?"

"Uh, I…" I stuttered and stopped. What was I supposed to say? What was I supposed to do? If he looked up my fake name, no account would come up. If that happened, my chance of getting this job slipped like sand through my fingers.

"I'll take care of it," Zack piped up. "Think of it as my hopes that you'll keep going. A favor from me to you."

"Why?" I asked him. My voice cracked a bit, and I think I almost cried. "We don't even know each other."

"I really want to be your mentor. The reason I'm actually here today is to scope out some 'apprentices' for me to work with. Part of the SOLDIER regimen is to take on apprentice once you hit first class. This way, knowledge and skills are passed on, so that one day another SOLDIER can teach his apprentice and so on. I was scrawny and out of my element when I joined SOLDIER. The only reason I learned so much and grew so fast was my mentor, Angeal. He was one of the greatest men I know, and I think it would do much by way of honoring that if I took on an apprentice as he did. Besides, mentors take care of their apprentices, don't they?" Zack's sunshine smile almost broke me. I had never experienced such kindness from someone foreign to my cause. The slums were filled with the scum of Midgar, and no one helped unless it benefitted them in some way.

The only word that popped into my head from this exchange was friendship. Is this warm feeling real?