A/N: A KH/FF7 crossover sounds like an oxymoron, but this one is much more 7 than anything else! Playing FF7 is not required for the enjoyment of the fic... everything vital to the story will be, duh, explained in the story. XD

This will be some sort of odd mix of the plots and characters of both (/all in the universe, such as KH2, Dirge of Cerberus, Advent Children, the works) games, so I can't offer a better summary than the one on the main page.

Credit goes to abbysarajane and leafzelindor of Livejournal for Hojo's first name. u.u

Every chapter starts with a flashback. It's not italicized because that's really hard to read in large amounts, so don't be confused!

Enjoy!

1. The Stranger

CFile 01: Lightsedge, Ansem: The governor of Radiant Garden. Highly popular. Rumored connection with AVALANCHE, unproven. Studied under Professor Gast.

CFile 02: ?, Xehanort: No information is known. Investigation pending.

IFile 01: Shin-Ra Electric Co., The: Once a weapons manufacturer, the company took a new turn on the discovery of mako power. The company sometimes comes under fire for "questionable" tactics. It is Midgar's top employer and keeps the economy flowing.

IFile 02: AVALANCHE: A group of terrorists or heroes, depending on who is asked. Anti-Shin-Ra. No one knows who the leader is. Famous for having contacts in useful places.

26 Years Earlier.

Ansem leaned forward, tea forgotten on the table.

"Byron, listen to me," he urged again. "You must leave Shin-Ra."

His friend laughed, still unmoved.

"I have to make a living, Ansem," he said. "I have a family to support. You've been making it on your own, but you aren't feeding a wife and son. What's wrong with Shin-Ra? It's always served us well."

"Do you remember our teacher?" Ansem asked. Byron rolled his eyes.

"Of course," he said. "Professor Gast is a brilliant man. I know he left, and I know you followed his example, but that doesn't mean that I—"

"He's dead," Ansem interrupted. This was obviously news to Byron, for he stared.

"I didn't know," he said finally.

"Shin-Ra covered it up," Ansem told him. "He was killed two weeks ago."

"Why would they cover it up?" Byron asked. His relaxed posture had straightened. He was both intrigued and concerned. Ansem had hoped that the news of their teacher's death would alert him to the seriousness of the situation.

"Because it was their operation," he said, and Byron frowned.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean," Ansem said, picking his words carefully, "that the Professor had something that Alex wanted. And you know as well as I that whatever Alex wants, he gets."

Byron shook his head, and Ansem inwardly berated himself for going too far, too fast.

"Alex wouldn't do that," Byron scoffed.

"Alex would do anything to get his hands on a Cetra."

"But Jenova—"

"—is not a Cetra. That's why the Professor left."

Byron was silent, and for a moment Ansem felt sure that he would listen. Then he shook his head.

"I don't believe that," he said. "I have no reason to leave Shin-Ra."

"They'll come after you soon," Ansem said, dropping his voice and leaning closer still. "Byron, you have to listen. Think of Lucrecia. Think of your son. Shin-Ra will want more like Sephiroth."

"He's only four years old!"

"Yes, and already he's showing incredible strength, intelligence, power they've never seen. They won't be satisfied with just one… no, what if his brother has this sort of strength, too?"

"He's only his half-brother," Byron protested, but he looked anxious. "He doesn't. That's why we waited two years, to make entirely sure…"

"But he might," Ansem interrupted. "And Lucrecia. They'll want her to produce more—"

"Produce?" Byron cried, standing. "Is that all she is to them? A uterus?"

"Sadly, yes," Ansem said, raising a supplicating hand. "Byron, Alex wants both of them, and all Shin-Ra needs is an excuse. They'll claim that you are in contact with AVALANCHE."

"But we aren't," Byron argued, incredulous. Ansem sighed and ran his fingers through his hair.

"Yes, you are," he said quietly. He and Byron watched each other for a long moment. Byron was disbelieving.

"Alex would never… Ansem, no."

Byron hadn't sat back down. This was a bad sign, Ansem knew. He stood as well, sensing that this home was no longer open to him.

"Alex is our friend," Byron insisted. "I know him. He's not what you seem to think."

Ansem sighed, gathering up his coat from the arm of the couch.

"Think of your family," he pleaded, one last time. Byron shook his head.

"You're wrong, Ansem."

Ansem glanced at the long-cold tea, shook his head in resignation, heard the sounds of mother and child laughing in the kitchen, and gave up.

"I'll show myself out," he said.

Present.

Regret still clung to the governor of Radiant Garden. Cobwebs in the back of his mind could be brushed away with the slightest reminder, baring his failures for all the world to see. If only he had tried harder. If only he had stayed to help. Perhaps if he'd turned himself in, "terrorists" wouldn't have attacked Kalm. Perhaps Lucrecia would still be alive…

The most reliable way to escape the shadows of the past was to walk among his people, to bask in the light surrounding his adopted home. Shin-Ra could not reach him here, not around those who supported him, although SOLDIER patrols watched him suspiciously from street corners. If he ever set a toe in Midgar, he knew it would be a different story. Although he was not a wanted man, mere rumors of involvement with AVALANCHE would be enough of an excuse for Shin-Ra.

The only unusual thing about today was that there were more SOLDIERs on the street than was normal. Ansem smiled to himself when he thought back to three hours ago. He hadn't been there himself, of course, but Biggs and Wedge had assured him that the explosion of the Sector 1 mako reactor had been spectacular. The loss of life was regrettable, and Ansem had been unhappy about the blast radius. Barrett hated Shin-Ra unconditionally, however, and he didn't much care; Sector 1 was mostly Shin-Ra employees.

The SOLDIERs were watching any suspected member of AVALANCHE closely, so he avoided his usual haunts. As he surreptitiously observed them, he saw that they moved in a predictable search pattern. They were combing the city for something, or someone. Whatever was going on at Shin-Ra, they'd hear about it from Reeve soon enough.

Perhaps Fate guided his steps, or perhaps merely Chance. Ansem had never put much store in luck or in deities, but later he would thank them. Higher power or not, he spotted a lump of something hidden away behind a deserted stall. After a cursory glace around to ensure that no SOLDIERs were watching, he ducked around to look.

It was a young man, dirty, thin, but well-built. He was clothed entirely in black leather, meant for action but too generic to identify him by. He carried no visible weapons, but in today's world that meant nothing. His features were hard and exotic. He was curled out of sight of the main road. His fist was clenched tightly around something. He watched Ansem with amber eyes. There was something… wrong there. There was inhumanity. He held himself like a feral beast, ready to fight or flee.

Ansem crouched wordlessly before him at a safe distance, making himself look as non-threatening as possible. This man wasn't from the Garden; he prided himself on knowing all the people in the small city by name or at least face. After a while, Ansem said, "I'm not going to hurt you."

The man drew back, surprise and suspicion crossing his face.

"They," he said, and seemed to struggle for words. "They're searching. For… me?"

"Are they?" Ansem asked. The man looked confused and faintly frantic now. "Who are you?"

The man shook his head.

"I… I killed… a man," he said. "I think. I ran."

"Who are you?" Ansem repeated. "Where did you come from?"

The man shook his head again, tensing. Realizing he seemed confrontational, he leaned back on his heels. If this person had killed a man, he was dangerous. But if the SOLDIERs were looking for him, well. Any enemy of Shin-Ra was a friend of AVALANCHE.

"I don't know who I am," the man admitted in a rush. "All I… all I remember is… the man. He was in front of me. I think… he was trying to hold me. There were others. I don't know what happened. But he fell, and I ran."

Ansem frowned.

"How did you do it?" he asked, keeping his voice as gentle as possible. The man shook his head. "You don't know… what have you got, there?"

The man blinked and looked down at his clenched fist.

"It was around his neck," he said, showing Ansem. He didn't snatch it away when Ansem reached for it, so the governor took it from him for a better look. It was a standard SOLDIER identification tag. The dead man had been a SOLDIER, First Class. His name and service number followed his rank. The name was unfamiliar. Intrigued, Ansem looked up at the man.

"Perhaps you should come with me," he suggested. "I will protect you. Maybe we can discover who you are."

After he had been subjected to a hot bath and lots of scrubbing, it turned out that the stranger had dark golden-brown skin. His most striking feature was his flowing silver hair, which could have been either natural or the result of a genetic modification. There were two fresh scars in his palms. He looked smaller in borrowed clothes. Once he seemed to catch on that nobody was going to hurt him, he relaxed substantially. Although he knew that the name on the ID tag didn't belong to the stranger, Ansem had no other name to attach to him. Calling him by the dead man's name may have been morbid, but somehow Xehanort seemed to fit him.

Ansem suspected that Xehanort was genetically modified. He bore no weapon, yet he had somehow killed his SOLDIER namesake. He may have unknowingly used the mysterious power granted by rare genetic strains. He expressed these thoughts to Xehanort, who frowned in confusion.

"Genetic modification?" he asked. Ansem humored his amnesia.

"A skilled scientist may clone parts of foreign DNA and substitute it into another person's genetic sequence," he explained. "There are some strange genetic mutations that can be copied to induce changes. Some procedures can change physical traits such as hair or eye color. Others can cure genetic diseases. Still others can give one strange powers."

"How?"

"That was never my area of study," Ansem admitted.

"You're a scientist?" Xehanort asked curiously.

"Yes," Ansem answered, nodding. "But I focus on the theoretical these days. I study the heart."

After a few days of trying to induce some sort of magical reaction from Xehanort, Ansem gave up and called in a favor.

Luckily, Braig was already in town and he arrived soon. He was a compact man of twenty-nine wearing a uniform of the little-used Midgar Police Department. His long, dark hair was streaked prematurely with grey, and his face was rugged and scarred. His left eye was gold, intense and hawkish. The right was covered by a black eyepatch. Despite his small stature, he cut a fearsome image, and Ansem wasn't surprised that Xehanort seemed loath to approach him.

"This is the one I told you about," Ansem said, shooing Xehanort forward. "Xehanort, this is Officer Mayes."

"Just Braig," the man said, reaching out for a vigorous handshake. Ansem was pleased to see that Xehanort warmed up to Braig quickly. Braig was easy to get along with, as long as you weren't in Shin-Ra. He had been in AVALANCHE for almost fourteen years, ever since he had learned that Shin-Ra's secret attack on Kalm had orphaned him at three. He hated anything to do with the company.

"All right, what am I doing with him?" Braid asked, after Ansem had explained Xehanort's appearance.

"I need to know if he has any genetic modifications," Ansem said, "and I also need to check the Net. However, I lack the equipment or the capability."

Braig grinned knowingly.

"So you want me to get him an appointment with the doctor?" he asked, and Ansem nodded.

"Take the taxi," he advised. It was the safest way to get from Radiant Garden to Midgar and back. The drivers' silence could be bought with a hearty tip. "And Xehanort will have to be disguised, if it is him Shin-Ra is looking for."

Braig looked Xehanort up and down.

"Haircut?" he suggested. Xehanort drew back instantly, reaching up to twist a lock of long hair around his fingers.

"No," he pleaded, turning to Ansem. The governor chuckled, pretending to deliberate.

"Your hair is something of an eyecatcher, I'm afraid. Perhaps a short cut would make me feel better."

"Please, no," Xehanort begged. "Ansem, please?"

Ansem didn't think that Xehanort's fascinating eyes could have gotten any larger. The stare left him with an uncomfortable sensation of wanting to take Xehanort home and feed him and keep him forever. As it was, he just reached out to ruffle the stranger's hair.

"All right," he said. "We'll tuck it up under a hat."

Xehanort sighed in relief.

It was harder than Ansem had expected to let Xehanort go off into Midgar. After only a short time with him, Ansem had grown rather fond of him. Xehanort was like a child in his wonder. He wandered the halls of Ansem's home with wide eyes, relearning what he had lost. The possibility that he could be lost, captured, or even killed was worrisome. But Braig was one of the best, and there was hardly any chance that anything would go wrong.

A/N: Don't forget, a review is worth a thousand faves. I'd love to know what you think!