Once upon a time, there were rumours that if you collected all twelve of the 1/35 soldiers, a good clone of Sephiroth would appear and fight by your side, impressed by your skills.

The last two, were the difficult ones to hunt down. Cloud had found ten others and only needed the last two to complete the set, and his hobby had started when he learned that they had made a 1/35 soldier of Zack fair. The last two he needed were Genesis and Angeal, and after two months of tracking down who sold the exclusive, collectors items to whom, where they were stolen and where they had disappeared he was running out of leads. The last one he had was a vague, blurry image on a security camera of a tall man with a bandanna across his face, waist-length black hair tied back in a braid and the bangs held down with beads so that they framed his face. Thick sunglasses, a scarf and baggy clothes had obscured so much of the individual that it really came down to only two identifying traits that he could rely on was the hair and the height, which was anywhere from six foot to six three.

Either one of these things could have pointed to a tall woman, but there had been something feline about the movements that had Cloud skittish about his final lead.

(But why, he thought to himself, why would -HE- break into a hobby store, steal a 1/35 soldier, and then never be seen again? There was no conceivable way that it could be used to destroy the planet. He tried not to think about it too hard.)

He found himself, finally, standing outside of a beach house just south of Costa del Sol. There was a large porch, one of those mesh recliner lawn chairs and a table with the remnants of some sort of orange coloured drink. Two surfboards were leaned against the wall beside the door, one of which was cracked. Sandals were set next to the screen door, and as he watched a tall man opened the door casually with one hand, the other holding a new drink and stepping into his sandals. He paused, as he noticed Cloud watching him, and two black eyebrows rose from where they were hidden by the sunglasses.

Mister 'Stephen Raul' eased the door shut behind him, and took a sip of his drink. Each recognized the other in the moment that blue eyes met green ones laced with a faint mako glow, regardless of the dark sunglasses that covered them. Cloud was the first to break the unintentional standoff, stepping forward and resting a hand on one of the swords in the harness across his back.

Sephiroth had always been quick, but the blond had barely finished the step forward before the cracked surfboard came careening through the air towards Cloud, the door snapping open. Long black hair disappeared through it as the delivery boy brought the sword across to bat the surfboard out of the air, and he charged across the lawn to catch the door as it finished swinging closed. Tearing it open, he charged in to see his quarry slinging a pack over his back and charging out the screen door across the open concept building from the entrance and bolting out.

By the time Cloud made it to the back door, Mister 'Stephen Raul' was gone. A search of the house revealed nothing useful. It looked largely like the home of someone on vacation, flower necklaces and brightly coloured tees that buttoned up the front. A search of the trash revealed a number of empty boxes of black hair dye, a local newspaper and a recipe for kabobs with large sections crossed out.

Of the two 1/35 soldiers he had gone there for, the only sign that remained was two small circles on one of the bedside shelving units that otherwise had a slight coating of dust on it.

"I know it was him." Cloud paced restlessly, trying to puzzle out what was going on. Vincent watched him from a few feet away, attention divided between the pacing almost-soldier and gun maintenance. "He ran when he saw me. That all but proves it."

"What does Tifa think about this?"

"She thinks it can't have been him, because he wasn't trying to destroy the planet." Cloud turned to stare at former turk, Vincent's words having garnered a slightly raised eyebrow. "... You don't believe me either."

"I believe..." The gunman looked back to his work as he finished reassembling his Cerberus. "That you and he have a unique ability to recognize one another. It's also safer to assume that it might be."

"Why now, though? Geostigma was cured four years ago. The planet is healing. Wouldn't he try and stop it?" The swordsman resumed pacing, hands clasped behind his back. "I have to find him again. I have to stop him. I've spent two weeks trying so far, and haven't turned up anything. Feel up to a manhunt?"

The former turk considered the words for a moment, and then nodded slowly.

Stephen Raul, or so he had accidentally chosen as a name for himself, was camped out in the mountains around Nibelheim. West of the ruined city by a few days, though he was currently on his way down into the valley to see what he could do about warmer clothes. Whatever he could scavenge from Nibelheim would have to do, considering he was convinced he would have to lay low for some time. It was a risk, but even he had to admit that wearing flip flops, shorts and a button up tee (colourfully patterned with jungle flowers, at that) was a bad idea for the mountains. He could build a rough shelter, but it wouldn't do more than take the edge off.

He knew he had made a mistake when he saw the black motorcycle parked between two buildings, and mentally cursed to himself. Briefly, he considered retreating but knew that - cold and hungry as he was - this was a better opportunity (and less of a risky one) than trying to take on a pack of wolves bare handed to kill, try and skin, cook and cure the hides of. He would simply have to step carefully and quietly as he broke into one of the restored houses.

And he was. The window barely made any noise as he carefully broke it and then reached in to open the latch. Easing through, he felt that he was practically silent and wraith-like in his passage. Pants and a shirt, socks and shoes (none of which fit quite right, made for someone a little smaller than him) were found and he quietly swapped his clothes for them. The kitchen was next, and Raul was careful to pick a few cans of easy to cook soup before snagging one of the kitchen knives. Useful in the event that he needed to open one of the cans and for killing the wolves he felt he inevitably would need to-

Broken glass crunched faintly.

Stairs, he thought to himself as he turned and tried to make his way along as quietly as possible. Upstairs, out a window, then run without looking back. He adjusted his grip on the knife as quiet footsteps cautiously padded down the hall towards the living room that was across from the kitchen. Easing out, he glanced at the blond's back as Cloud studied the living room, making his way up the stairs even as the swordsman turned to start searching the kitchen. At the top of the stairs, Raul turned to face the direction he was traveling only to pause and blink at the triple barreled gun inches from his face. There was a quick estimation of the average gunman's ability to pull a trigger that was compared to his ability to duck, and decided it would be a Bad Idea(tm) to try.

Footsteps started on the stairs below him before stopping.

"Sephiroth."

"I only came for food and clothes. Let me leave, and I will be on my way."

"What are you planning this time, Sephiroth? How are you going to try kill the planet this time?" The accusatory, angry tone drew a sigh out of the man with the knife, and he slowly turned to face Cloud.

"I'm not." There was a sense of bitter satisfaction that washed over him at the disbelief and confusion that flit across the blond swordsman's face, a sort of told you so that came from within and resounded in his head before it was squashed. "I just want to live."

"You're lying."

"Look at me, Cloud. I have a kitchen knife and I'm wearing stolen clothes." He slowly reached and pulled one of the cans of soup out of his pocket, showcasing it. "Food. A way to defend myself."

"You don't need a knife, you have Masamune-"

"A sword that I can't call. A sword that only responds to Jenova cells. I'm a clone, Cloud. I want no part in the destruction of the world. I only look like him." Mostly true. All attempts to summon the sword had ended in failure and frustration, and he honestly had given up on sailing the cosmos. He was also fairly certain that he was a clone, though the way his memories were muddled and fragmented before he had found himself wandering the Forest of the Ancients aimlessly made it a guess at best. He certainly felt like the Silver General, though he wasn't about to admit it when it meant he was likely to die.

The point of the sword dipped slightly as blue eyes turned thoughtful, suddenly unsure of the conviction that had brought them there before they hardened once more.

"If that's true, then you won't complain or resist when we bring you in to the WRO. Sephiroth has a high count of J-cells. A clone would have less, and even if you're not him, if you have too high a count he could control you." The tip of the sword inched back up, and Raul was made perfectly aware of the gun that was still pointed at the back of his head by how leather creaked as the gunman shifted his stance slightly.

"... Very well. But I want to get my backpack from the outskirts of town before we go."

"Do you still have the two soldier replicas?"

"... I do."

"Give them to me."

Mako-laced green eyes snapped over to Cloud as the swordsman kept pace beside Raul.

"... No."

"You're not in a position to-"

"Cloud, they're all I have of the two people that-... That Sephiroth would have moved the world for. I need them."

They got onto the boat to Junon in silence, blue and red eyes watching warily for any signs of aggression. One set was confused, while both met and shared a contemplative glance.

The WRO headquarters was a sprawling, cliff-side complex that had been reinforced and rebuilt a few years ago after the Deepground incident. They marched the clone (who still insisted on being called 'Stephen' or 'Raul') through the doors and down to one of the Labs. Reeve had set up the required staff and facilities, though he remained notably concerned. He refused to allow anyone with Hojo-like tendencies to stay with his company for very long, and while he had agreed that testing had to be done when they talked to him over the phone he was worried about how 'Raul' might react to it.

Marked indifference, was the reaction, as the clone sat on the bench and obligingly held out an arm for them to take a blood sample. When asked about it, he simply shrugged and remained outwardly silent. Internally, he had already resigned himself to the worst and was banking heavily on their humanitarian methods with rebuilding and healing the planet. He had gone willingly, he hadn't fought, he had shown no ill intentions. If they planned to end him for being manageable, then he would fight but until then...

(Another time, he could have killed them all and walked out as the buildings burned down behind him. He still could, but he didn't like the odds he faced with the Heroes of the Planet slowly piling into the observation room so that they could gawk and talk among themselves as if he couldn't hear them. Self preservation, as much as a general exhaustion where the topic of fighting was concerned stayed his hand. Besides, maybe they would leave him alone afterwards, a 'reward' for good behavior.)

The blood test results would be back in a few hours as the labs rushed to work on them. In the meantime, he was left under the watchful gaze of the gunman and the hyperactive ninja. One watched silently as the other peppered him with questions and accusations about the war against Wutai. It had ended years ago, so he found little reason to do more than try and ignore her. Notably, when she sat next to him to fume and continue running her mouth, she also tried to rifle through his pockets. He didn't bother to contain the smirk as her frustration grew when she found nothing.

The arrival of Tifa broke the constant chatter, as when she stepped into the room the princess shut up and threw her hands into the air, stalking out. Brown eyes shot through with hints of red watched the clone warily before she came to a stop in front of him.

"... Are you really him?"

"No more than Cloud was really Zack." Or so he hoped.

"You know about that?"

One shoulder rose in a partial shrug before dropping just as smoothly. "My memories are... Scattered. Piece-meal."

Tifa frowned, before taking in his appearance. "... Why did you put beads in your hair?"

Because my bangs defy gravity otherwise and give me a very visible silhouette. "Because I like the way they click against each other." Because it would have made even Angeal laugh.

"And the black? Why didn't you cut your hair?"

I swore to only ever trim it, because it was one of the few things I could control. Because it irritated Hojo. "Black is far more common than silver. You have long brown hair." Aerith had long brown hair. Zack's hair was long and black.

"Why don't you want to kill the planet any more?"

Because destroying it won't bring them back. "Because I'm one of the people who lives on it. The Promised Land-..." He paused, before sighing and dropping his gaze. "... Sephiroth was wrong. This planet, wherever you spend time with those you care for, is the Promised Land. Sailing across the cosmos to forge a new civilization on a distant planet... Is pointless."

Tifa regarded him for a long moment before turning around and exiting the room.

It turned out that any S-cells or J-cells had been 'sterilized', similar to how Geostigma had been cured without removing them or preventing his body from maintaining its proper functions. He had enough humanity (physically at least) to adapt and survive with what he had, though the 'extra' cells no longer reproduced and were slowly being overtaken by 'normal' ones. He was still infused with mako, to the degree that the average person likely couldn't withstand but otherwise relatively human.

This surprised him perhaps more than the others, but he did his best to hide it. It was nothing when compared to the next surprise that awaited him.

"Would you consider working for the WRO?" Reeve Tuesti smiled and offered out a clipboard with some paperwork on it. "We're trying to help the planet, and that seems like something you want too."

Raul couldn't help but think that it was so very Shinra of him, and found himself mildly impressed.

Yeah I don't know what I'm doing either. I don't own ff7, but I wish I did. Thanks goes out to Inyri Ascending, as reading her story Equivalent Exchange (a swtor fic that is -really- well written) gave me the idea to have some of the clone's thoughts in brackets and separate from the rest. I like how it breaks things up. This entire thing was prompted by the recent resurgence of rumours regarding a ff7 remake.
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-KD