A/N: Hello, dearest readers! Yes, I am a terrible person, but the school year has commenced, and life therefore sucks. But I will endeavor to bring you more of my muse's products as quickly as possible, so please do keep reviewing and sending messages-it does this little heart much good :)

Special shout out to:

Iris Irene
Ski October
and GameSpazzer

You guys are amazing :)

As always, please enjoy!

Click.

Sephiroth fastened the seatbelt of the little recruit – what was her name again? Yuffie? – before surveying the passenger seats in the car.

The spiky-haired electricity-Manipulator – Zack – rested limply in the left far backseat, held upright only by the seatbelt; the redhead Classic Pyrokinetic – Reno – sprawled next to him, lanky limbs refusing to settle in any normal fashion. The little Sprinter – Yuffie – lolled in the first row of the backseats, head drooping onto her chest like a wilted flower.

Sephiroth grew thoughtful. And then there was the case of the Undefined sitting next to Yuffie, fine brown hairs drifting loose of her braid. She was the only passenger that breathed out of tune with the others, merely unconscious rather than under the influence of the Enchantment that Sephiroth had cast on the others. While Zack had sworn that the girl had no connection to him or his Gift, Sephiroth had brought her along anyway, thinking it curious that Zack would go so far to protect a perfect stranger.

Sephiroth shut the door and climbed into the driver's seat. He scanned the motley crew again one last time in the rearview mirror. One Manipulator, one Classic, one Phys, and an Undefined. Not a bad harvest.

But none of them was a Telepath. Whatever the Chantry Clairs had been looking for remained elusive.

Sephiroth frowned contemplatively. It was rare that quarry escaped the One-Winged Angel. I'll have to confer with Genesis and Angeal later.

The drive back the Shinra Complex was uneventful and unusually quiet, with nothing but stillness and the perfectly-synchronized breathing of the passengers for company, and Sephiroth pulled up to the gate feeling a little claustrophobic.

"ID, please?"

Sephiroth reached around to get to the card in his pocket and was in the process of extracting it when a building beyond the gate exploded.

BOOM.

Automatically falling back on SOLDIER defensive training, Sephiroth slid out of the car and began scanning the area. It looks like Bunker II's under attack.

"Take the passengers to the nearest SOLDIER station," Sephiroth ordered, eyes trained on the rising plume of flame and smoke. "Have Genesis Rhapsodos and Angeal Hewley arrived yet?"

"Yes, sir. They were last tagged at Director Lazard's office, sir."

Director Lazard's office… Sephiroth narrowed his eyes. That's in Bunker II.

"Leave the situation to me. Care for the recruits," Sephiroth repeated before darting into the night towards the epicenter of the disturbance.

Sephiroth skirted around dozens of other SOLDIER units on the path to the disaster site and inwardly approved at the noticeable lack of panic in the air. Yet at the same time, Sephiroth himself worried. The regular, unfocused movements of troops suggested that the higher authorities had not managed to pinpoint a culprit yet – a rare occurrence in the generally omniscient Shinra Complex.

Sephiroth arrived at the edge of the explosion a few minutes later, boots brushing against a charred steel beam sticking out of a half-demolished building. SOLDIER units were already efficiently gathering the wounded and cleaning away inconvenient rubble, just as they had been drilled to.

"What happened?" Sephiroth snapped at a 2nd Class who bore a fallen comrade of his own over his shoulder.

The 2nd Class saluted as best as he could before speaking. "Sir, we're not sure. Five minutes ago, there appeared to be an incendiary explosion. There was no warning, and it doesn't seem that the guilty party has stepped forward to take credit. 1st Class Chevalier Genesis Rhapsodos and Chevalier Angeal Hewley were nearby when the explosion occurred and are now dealing with containing the situation."

Sephiroth nodded the SOLDIER's dismissal and started ambling in the direction of the thickest smoke, Masamune held slightly aloft and ready to catch any sudden attacks. There were fewer SOLDIERs as he continued on his way – and less rubble, too. The closer he got to the heart of the explosion, the more uniformly decimated the area was.

Sephiroth paused next to a small pile of rubble. His eyes narrowed as he inspected the smoothly sliced edge of a stub of what had once been a supporting beam. There's no grain or texture of a cutting edge…so there was no physical tool? Pure energy cut this?

There was only one Chevalier that Sephiroth knew of with that kind of power.

A silver brow rose. Genesis…? But what reason would he have…?

"Good to see you, Sephiroth," greeted Angeal's voice wearily from the side. He held Buster Blade in his hand, but with the blade pointed downwards. "You're a bit late for the festivities, unfortunately."

Sephiroth looked around pointedly. "…Must have been quite the party."

"Yes, well." Sephiroth saw Angeal glance away before he changed the subject. "How did the mission go?"

"Unsuccessful. The cat remains free," Sephiroth replied, mentally filing away Angeal's peculiar behavior. "I was actually thinking of discussing it with you and Genesis."

Angeal agreed with a hum.

Sephiroth threw another cursory look around. "Where is Genesis?"

Angeal pressed his lips together more tightly.

Sephiroth tried to extrapolate the answer from the minor facial change for a long, painful minute before succumbing to curiosity. "Well, Angeal?"

The dark-haired 1st Class frowned and hesitated before answering. "Genesis…is in Solitary. Under the watch of two Turks and a Binding Chevalier."

Sephiroth stopped a sigh with some difficulty. "…and what exactly did he do to merit such measures?"

Angeal gestured vaguely around them.

Sephiroth's eyebrows threatened to disappear under a fringe of silvery hair. "…Genesis was the one who blew up Bunker II?"

"It seemed accidental," defended Angeal, almost more to himself than to Sephiroth. "He was just planning on releasing a low-grade incendiary shot, but…"

A heavy silence hung between the two friends. Sephiroth finally voiced the dreaded question. "…And does the President know that Genesis is responsible?"

"He does not," Angeal replied determinedly. And he never will, was silently appended to the statement. Rogue SOLDIERs were dealt with harshly to begin with. A rogue Chevalier SOLDIER? Unacceptable. "There were very few witnesses, and most of them caught much of the concussory blast. Their short-term memories of the event can safely be assumed to be unreliable at best."

Sephiroth nodded, satisfied. He put Masamune to rest as he relaxed his sword arm. "What of Director Lazard and the guards on Genesis's watch?"

"Lazard won't say anything until he's found the facts." Angeal seemed comforted as he spoke. "As for the guards…I was somewhat hoping that you could help me, Sephiroth," Angeal smiled, a little sheepish. "Your Gift is rather…uniquely suited for that."

"And so it is," Sephiroth agreed. An amused smile crept onto Sephiroth's features. "But Angeal – does this mean that you are asking me to commit high treason and use my Gift on not one but multiple Shinra associates?"

Angeal blinked. "Well…I suppose so."

Sephiroth's grin widened. "What of the upright moral code, Angeal?"

Angeal smiled. "But of course. That is my normal state of being, Sephiroth. When is the last time Genesis ever caused normal problems?"

Sephiroth chuckled. "I concede."

"But still" – and now Angeal was frowning at the distance, looking genuinely worried – "Genesis…"

Sephiroth observed his friend carefully out of the corner of his eye. "…What happened?"

The dark-haired SOLDIER shook his head. "That's the thing. Genesis had the situation under control…and then suddenly his Gift slipped, and he released a loose blast on the entire compound. Luckily for him, nobody died…but still."

"Was there anything unusual about the circumstances?"

Angeal shook his head. "Nothing at all. It was a routine escort; we were on our way to send a new recruit to a SOLDIER station when it happened."

Sephiroth panned his subtly glowing green eyes over the ruined landscape again. Genesis's Gift was…destructive, to put it lightly. Capable of drawing in, compressing, and releasing the energy around him, Genesis could quite unintentionally wipe out an entire city block if he ever lost control of his Gift. And this situation…was not promising.

"We'd better go pay him a visit in Solitary," Sephiroth murmured, sheathing Masamune. "Genesis will, no doubt, have some form of an explanation."

The two 1st Class SOLDIERs began picking their way back through the destruction, slightly reassured by having some plan of action in mind. SOLDIERs – Chevalier SOLDIERs in particular – were always moving, always deciding, even if it was the wrong decision. Hesitation could be equated to death.

Yet Angeal still felt troubled, even with a solid plan of action in mind. Genesis knows better. He knows his Gift; he wouldn't be this careless…not on purpose, anyway. "Sephiroth…"

Sephiroth seemed to have been thinking in the same vein. He paused in his rhythmic tread for a moment and turned to look at his longtime comrade and friend. "Angeal." His eyes were clear, focused. "We will get this sorted out. All of us have been sent out on too many missions recently, and Genesis has never exactly been one for perfect control. It was most likely a combination of fatigue and stress that caused this accident, not any internal flaw of his. If anything, this incident will prove to Director Lazard that the 1st Class need a break."

Angeal blinked…and laughed.

Sephiroth tilted his head slightly, brow quirked in light confusion as he regarded his colleague. "Did I…say something humorous?"

"I see you're just as rational as ever, Sephiroth," Angeal chuckled, reassured. His eyes gleamed as he looked at Sephiroth once more. "It's good to have you back."

Sephiroth looked befuddled for a moment – a rare expression – before he, too, smiled. "…And it's good to be back, Angeal. Now let's go clear Genesis before he manages to ruin SOLDIER's good name, shall we?"

Angeal smiled. 'SOLDIER's good name': their little inside joke. As if SOLDIER had ever had a good name to begin with. "Right."

Sephiroth nodded and serenely swept towards Solitary with Angeal keeping stride. The two 1st Class SOLDIERs effectively cut a clean path through the scrambling SOLDIER forces, their purposeful step wordlessly commanding the respect and deference of their subordinates. Their Red-Sea effect combined with the thin coverage of SOLDIER forces and additional mayhem brought by the incoming Shinra Infantry allowed Angeal and Sephiroth to easily slip through a few doors, bypass security locks, and infiltrate the inner quarters of the Solitary Confinement barrack.

"That was surprisingly easy," Angeal noted as they walked casually into the concrete-and-metal bunker that housed the SOLDIER operatives held in Solitary. Even Solitary, which was usually heavily guarded by multiple squadrons, was relatively deserted, occupied by only a few lucky 3rd Class SOLDIERs snoozing in front of the computer screens that displayed the feeds from multiple cameras installed throughout the facility.

"Too easy. SOLDIER and the Shinra Infantry mix about as well as oil and water, and whenever they try to work cooperatively in a task, chaos ensues," Sephiroth said disapprovingly. "We should mention it to Lazard. Perhaps joint training sessions are in order."

"Unless you want a full-blown brawl on your hands, I would not recommend that particular course of action, Sephiroth," Angeal commented dryly. "Do you remember what happened last time Lazard organized a joint training session with SI?"

Sephiroth remembered. It was hard not to. The last time the Shinra Infantry and SOLDIER had held a "training session" together, the two warring forces had razed several buildings to the ground – including a wing of the the infamous Science Department – unleashed two dozen 'prototype' creatures onto Shinra grounds, and (somehow) set Professor Hojo's long, lank hair on fire.

Director Lazard had almost lost his job for that fiasco. And it was speculated that Professor Hojo's lasting grudge against SOLDIER had originated from that last offense.

"…Perhaps there is an alternative method," Sephiroth conceded.

"If it weren't for the security flaw, it would have been much more difficult for us to get in here," Angeal offered. "We should be grateful."

"Ever the optimist, Angeal," came a dry voice from the hallway where the Solitary holding cells were located.

"Genesis?" Angeal's disbelief was evident as he and Sephiroth watched Genesis smooth his leather duster and step into the light. "I thought that you—"

"Were being guarded by two Turks and a Binding Chevalier?" Genesis completed. He smiled. "Please. As if any self-respecting 1st Class would ever obey a mere 3rd Class."

Sephiroth's silver brows shot up at the statement. "They sent a 3rd Class? To watch you?"

"I know, I was offended too," Genesis commented mildly, fixing his glove. "Surely I am dangerous enough to merit the coverage of at least two 2nd Class Chevalier."

"What of the Turks that were placed on watch?" Sephiroth queried. "I assume that SOLDIER attempted to compensate for their lack in personnel by substituting Turks in their stead."

"A foolish choice. One does not send in lambs to watch over a wolf," Genesis sniffed, almost sounding peeved. Sephiroth hid a smile.

"Genesis, you did leave them alive," Angeal said warily, sounding more like a question than a statement.

"They will recover," answered Genesis simply. Angeal could almost swear that the red-haired SOLDIER sounded smug.

"…Hmph." A smile lingered on Sephiroth's face. "It is good to see you again, Genesis."

Genesis inclined his head a fraction. "And the same to you, One-Winged Angel."

"…I should really discourage the other SOLDIERs from using that nickname," mused Sephiroth, contemplative. "It's a bit of a misnomer, really…"

Leaving Sephiroth to ponder his own thoughts, Angeal directed a steady look at Genesis. Genesis caught on almost immediately and met Angeal's gaze with his own. "Does something trouble you, friend?"

"Genesis…" Angeal paused for a moment as he put his thoughts together. "Tell us…what happened back there."

Sephiroth visibly shook himself from his aimless tangent as Angeal spoke. The two 1st Class stared at their comrade unblinkingly, the eerie glow of their eyes mirrored in Genesis's.

To any bystanders, it would have appeared that Genesis did not react to the query. But to Angeal and Sephiroth, both of whom had long since learned to read Genesis's nuances and expressions, Genesis might as well have had a panic attack. His eyes narrowed slightly; his hand tightened around the grip of the rapier and he shifted his weight to the balls of his feet, as if preparing to battle.

"That…is a most excellent question, Angeal." Genesis closed his eyes and waited for a few seconds, forcing himself to relax. When he looked again at Angeal and Sephiroth, he seemed less perturbed.

"When the young Clairvoyant approached, I briefly drew on my Gift to throw a flash-bang," Genesis began. He put up a hand to stymie Angeal's forthcoming chastising. "Yes, Angeal, I know, it's against regulations, but the boy was irritating and I was going have an aneurysm if I heard the child speak one more time."

Angeal closed his open mouth and unsuccessfully resisted the urge to smile as he recognized Genesis's words as almost identical to his own thoughts.

"Then that was it, then? Just a flash-bang?" Sephiroth pressed.

Genesis nodded curtly. "Just a flash-bang. Nothing more. But somehow, as I drew on my Gift…something changed. Some…external force interfered with my control of my Gift."

Angeal and Sephiroth considered the new information in silence.

"As you both know well, concentration and absolute control are needed to properly harness a Gift, especially one so…destructive as mine," Genesis continued. "These are both attributes expected of any 1st Class Chevalier, myself included."

"But whatever this outside force is, it disrupted your focus?" Angeal guessed. Genesis conceded with a nod.

"Can you describe it more exactly?" asked Sephiroth.

"Perhaps that is the most peculiar part of this tale," Genesis commented, frowning. "It didn't feel like a deliberate nudge or a tremor, or any of the ways in which a Chevalier might try to disrupt one's focus. It was more of a…flare. As if my Gift had…"

Genesis halted, unwilling to continue.

"As if it had suddenly spun out of control for an instant," Sephiroth completed quietly.

Silence reigned as the three mulled it over, lost in their individual thoughts. Genesis unconsciously opened and closed his fists, as if reassuring himself that he still had complete control over his hands' motor function.

Angeal shifted and looked to Genesis, coming to some sort of conclusion. "Genesis, whatever it is…we can deal with it later. Let's go talk to Lazard. He's our Director, and as such, we should consult with him first before taking any random drastic measures."

Sephiroth briefly considered the proposition and then nodded. "That seems like the best plan of action in this case, Genesis. Lazard's reasonable. He'll listen to what we have to say."

Genesis hesitated. He flicked his gaze back and forth between his friends' faces, searching for traces of fear or doubt in their expressions.

He met nothing but placid faith.

Genesis's tense green eyes slowly relaxed. "That seems…safe enough. To Lazard it is, then."

All three of them began heading for the door, their steps falling into a comfortable, practiced synchronicity, but just before they crossed the threshold, Genesis halted. Angeal and Sephiroth twisted to look back at their comrade.

"Genesis?" Angeal probed.

"Angeal, Sephiroth." Genesis's voice was reflective. "If I…if my control over my Gift should ever waver…"

They were all thinking about it. Executive Order #9. It was one of the first things a Chevalier would learn as he or she entered the Shinra SOLDIER Academy, repeated four times daily for three weeks to all new recruits – once at every meal time and once before bed – until it was tattooed into all of their skulls:

"Executive Order No. 9: In the event that a Shinra Chevalier is labeled rogue or uncontrolled, all Shinra Infantry, SOLDIERs, and Chevalier are granted immediate permission to execute on sight. Live capture is preferred, but is not necessary.

This is a duty expected and demanded of all Shinra affiliates, regardless of rank or ability."

'Uncontrolled'. Genesis's situation sounded more and more like it fit that profile.

Sephiroth blinked once, slowly, giving him an oddly feline appearance. "If I remember correctly, Executive Order #9 speaks of 'all Shinra affiliates'." A slight smile curved his mouth. "It says nothing of…old friends."

You matter more to us than a direct order, said Sephiroth's little smile and Angeal's calm eyes. We will not abandon you.

Genesis blinked…and then smirked to himself. "…Right. Well, what are we waiting for? Lazard's personal invitation?" He brushed past his two fellow 1st-Class in his usual airy manner.

"Somehow I doubt one will be forthcoming," muttered Angeal as he followed.

"You're the optimistic one, remember, Angeal?" Sephiroth quipped, falling into step. "I'm the unpleasantly realistic one."

"And me?" Genesis queried, looking over his shoulder.

Angeal and Sephiroth looked at each other briefly.

"The troublemaker," they said in unison.

And as Genesis turned back forward huffily, feigning irritation, he had to hide his smile.

Lucrecia Crescent sighed as she put down her pen.

She was not having a good day.

Despite having gathered up another confused and lost member for the FBI's Genius Division, Lucrecia couldn't help but notice all of the conspicuous Geniuses that had recently disappeared from the radar. Vanished. Like they'd never been there to begin with.

Lucrecia closed her eyes and leaned back, stretching her arms. Her Genius automatically branched out again as she closed her eyes, and she could feel the other Geniuses in the world humming around her, hundreds – maybe even thousands – of tiny pinpricks of light against a fuzzy gray backdrop.

But there were fewer than she'd remembered. But they were there…I know they were. I could sense them, wandering around, otherwise perfectly normal people living their perfectly normal lives. Completely unaware of the fact that they're something else entirely.

She frowned slightly. But people couldn't just hide from her Genius. There had to be something else at hand.

Lucrecia sighed again and resigned herself to staring at yet another piece of paperwork. Nobody knew how difficult it was to head the FBI's Genius unit.

A soft knock at the door.

"Yes, come in," she said, laying down her pen.

The door opened quietly and a tall male Genius operative strode in. Like most of the higher-class Genius operatives, he broke from standard uniform protocol, donning a black combat ensemble emblazoned with red motifs of lions; a ruff of white fur lined the collar of his open jacket, and a claymore-style blade rested at his hip. Slightly shaggy brown hair fell just in front of dark eyes.

"Leon," Lucrecia greeted with a weary smile. "It's been a while since I last saw you. How have you been?"

"I've been well, thank you. And you, Director?" Leon replied in his muted, courteous tone.

Lucrecia gestured at the piles on her desk. "Unproductive, apparently. It's a mystery, really – how is it that six hours of rubbing one's hand raw has had no impact on this…mountain of paperwork?"

Leon smiled briefly. "My condolences."

She shook her head, sighed, and folded her hands neatly on her desk, leaning forward. "But of course, that's not why you're here. What's bothering you, Leon?"

Leon took the seat in front of her desk and thought for a moment. "The concentration of Geniuses nearby…"

"Has been plummeting?" Lucrecia offered with another hefty exhale, rubbing the bridge of her nose. "I know. I can see that I'm not the only one who noticed."

"It doesn't make sense," Leon corroborated with an inclination of his head. "I was staking out some of those Geniuses myself. A pyrokinetic, a healer, and a possible elemental – three of the potential recruits just vanished under my watch. I went to check on them thinking that they might have somehow hidden their Geniuses, but…"

"They weren't there," Lucrecia surmised from the uncomfortable look on Leon's face. "I see."

"They didn't just leave, either." Leon was frowning now. "In every situation, something out of the ordinary had happened – in one case, a bomb went off in the residence; in another, half of the house had been inexplicably bulldozed – and then the involved Genius simply disappeared."

Lucrecia narrowed her eyes a fraction. "Wait…a bomb? A house spontaneously demolishing itself? That sounds…"

A silence fell over the office as they both contemplated the possibilities.

"It sounds like a Shinra affair," Leon finished quietly, staring somberly at the sheen of Lucrecia's desk. "That was my first thought. Quick, dirty, and untraceable. That's their signature."

Lucrecia rubbed her forehead. If Shinra really was involved, then the complexity of the situation had increased tenfold.

The government had been itching to nail Shinra, Inc. for some violation for decades now, but every time the FBI or CIA even approached to investigate, the case imploded. It didn't matter what they were going for – murder, kidnapping, intimidation, conspiracy, even treason. Key witnesses went missing or suddenly refused to testify; financial discrepancies and paper irregularities were explained away or accounted for by clerical error. On one memorable occasion, an entire vault of digital evidence in the FBI information systems had evaporated. Years' worth of work lost overnight.

Of course, not once had Shinra, Inc. been implicated.

"Not to mention their lawyers," Lucrecia muttered under her breath. Shinra Inc. also kept a permanent retainer of the best legal counselors that money could buy: all of them smiling, cold-blooded sharks who had circumventing the law down to an art. Just in case.

"Like I said. Quick, dirty, and untraceable," Leon concurred. "No doubt, Shinra will deny any and all charges you could bring against them."

"And we have no probable cause for kidnapping, either," Lucrecia sighed. "Or at least, none that would stand up in open court. Especially considering the fact that the general public has no knowledge of the existence of Geniuses to begin with."

"The perfect crime," Leon mused, and Lucrecia had to agree.

"Well at least we can safely assume it's Shinra's work again," Lucrecia said, trying her best to remain optimistic. "Nobody else could think up or execute a plan this devious."

"What do you think they're doing with the Geniuses?" Leon asked, propping his left foot up on his right knee.

"God only knows," Lucrecia professed. "The FBI's been trying forever to get into their archives, but we can't even get past the first firewall. We haven't ever come close to getting into their research and development before, so we can't even tell if they're conducting illegal science experiments with the people they're kidnapping or if they're adding them to that paramilitary force of theirs."

"How are they legally operating that program, by the way?" Leon asked, brow furrowed thoughtfully. "I thought that only the United States was allowed to maintain a standing army."

"They call it a 'contracted mercenary force with a protracted duration of service,'" Lucrecia said dryly. "As if the name of the program wasn't self-explanatory enough: SOLDIER. But they're smooth operators. They've won their right to their 'contracted military force' fair and square in open court before the Supreme Court."

"Right. It has nothing to do with the fact that they're also the U.S.'s number one weapons contractor," Leon murmured.

Lucrecia blinked…and laughed. Leon stared, bemused.

"I had no idea you even had a sense of humor, Squall," Lucrecia grinned.

He scowled. "It's Leon."

"Right, of course. My apologies." Lucrecia was still smiling. "Anyway, it's good to hear from you again. How have you been?"

Lucrecia's tone made it obvious that the conversation had moved from work to personal life. Leon elected to willfully ignore the shift.

He shrugged. "Still working the ten-hour shifts. Still getting the same pay. Still stuck with the same partner."

Lucrecia gave Leon a sideways look, explicitly noting evasion tactic, but did not comment. "I can't quite remember…your partner was…?"

"Highwind. Cid Highwind," Leon replied with an undertone of resignation.

Lucrecia's mouth quirked upwards as she folded her hands on her desk. "Oh, I remember him. The 'loose cannon'? He's something of a mechanical Genius, isn't he?"

"Something like that," Leon stated flatly.

Lucrecia tapped her cheek pensively. "I still find it odd that he hasn't been transferred to the Science and Research Department yet. It's a known fact that he'd be more useful over there than in the field."

"With all due respect, Director, S&R hasn't been able to get anything done properly since Professor Hojo left the government for Shinra, Inc."

"And isn't that the truth," Lucrecia sighed. "As amoral as he was, Hojo was a brilliant scientist. We lost a valuable asset when he left."

Leon nodded grudgingly. "Rumor says that he's managed to create a serum of some sort. Supposedly it temporarily induces Genius-type abilities in normal people and exponentially boosts natural Geniuses."

"And just where did you hear this rumor?"

"Denzel, actually. Kid's got ears like a rabbit's, and he's been on more Shinra-related missions than I have, thanks to his Genius."

Lucrecia raised an eyebrow. "You're basing your assumption on the hearsay of an underage operative who, by the way, has created for this department more collateral damage and legal costs in one year than you've cost us in your entire tenure? My, my. Times have changed."

Leon cocked his head. "His hearsay along with the fact that Shinra's research department hasn't gone dark in over two years now."

"…There is that," Lucrecia conceded with a slow nod. "Then I have to ask – why haven't we made a deal with them yet? I'm sure that the CIA and FBI – and Homeland Security, for that matter – wouldn't just allow Shinra to develop and use this serum by themselves."

"My guess is that they're too valuable to us to muscle in on their operations whenever we want," Leon speculated.

"Really? Too valuable for the CIA to muscle in on something?" Lucrecia's voice embodied the essence of skepticism. "That would be a first."

"Well. That, and the fact that nobody's survived the serum they've developed."

"Good God," Lucrecia murmured, settling her hands in her lap and leaning back in her chair. She turned the chair to look out the window behind her, where Shinra, Inc.'s sleek glass obelisk of a building shone in the night like a skyward-pointing dagger of black obsidian. The elegant metal logo crowning the building winked at her tauntingly in the glare of its spotlights.

So close and yet so very far away.

Leon's cell phone chirped, breaking the silence. Lucrecia could hear the rustle of cloth as Leon pulled out his phone and check the message.

"I'm on duty again," Leon finally said. The phone snapped shut, and another soft hiss of cloth and jingle of chains announced Leon's imminent departure. "A simple escort job. Shouldn't take too long."

"It was good to hear from you again," Lucrecia said, turning to watch Leon leave. "Oh, and Leon?"

Leon turned his head, halfway out the door.

"How is the pain, really?" Lucrecia's eyes were intense, riveted on what little of Leon's face was visible past the ruff of fur on his shoulder. "Are you…holding up okay?"

Leon stood for a moment in silence before replying. "…Same as always, Director." He exited with a quiet chime of metal and closed the door behind him.

Lucrecia exhaled slowly and turned back to look out at the Shinra building once more.

"Still that bad, huh?"

If the entrance hall could be compared to the Smithsonian's lobby, Tifa thought, eyes huge and wandering, then the rest of this place could be a dozen Disneylands. It's huge.

And indeed it was. Tifa had been walking along the spacious hall for a while – all of which still conformed to the tasteful gold-and-marble décor of the entrance hall – and had noted dozens of hallways branching off to either side. According to Denzel, their self-appointed narrator, each hallway varied between a half-mile to a mile in length and led to classrooms, living quarters, and collective-use facilities provided for the students.

Denzel merrily continued his rapid-fire monologue as Rude and Yuna drifted along peaceably behind, flanking Tifa and her enthusiastic tour guide. He pointed his finger at one hall particularly heavy with pale white marble and soft lighting.

"…and that hall is Temperance Hall – also known as Spook Central. It was built a couple of years ago by Seymour, one of our top psychics, and was designed specifically to house the ghost-whisperers and whatnot. It's a designated 'quiet zone' so that they can commune with the dead more easily – or something like that, anyway. It's also a safe haven for some of the more delicate Sensitives that can't handle the mental pressure of constant mind-chatter."

Denzel shook his head sympathetically. "Poor guys. They always seem a little out of place, no matter where they go – ooh! I almost missed the Nuclear Silo!" He gestured towards another entryway, this one bearing scorch marks and other alarming signs of damage.

Tifa's guide grinned mischievously. "That's technically Wexler Hall, but it's usually called the Nuke Tank. Most of the guys over there have some wicked-nasty destructive Geniuses, so they're all sort of herded into one area where they can't hurt anybody but each other—"

"Denzel," Rude cut in with his deep rumble.

Denzel stuck his tongue out at Rude. "Geez, Rude, you're such a party pooper…"

Yuna sidled up next to Tifa as Rude and Denzel went back to re-enacting an episode of Tom and Jerry. "Hey, Tifa, are you okay?"

Tifa smiled and nodded. "Yeah," she said, and was a little surprised to find that it was the truth. "It's a lot to take in, but I think I'm starting to get the hang of it."

Yuna beamed. "That's the spirit. It's hard to believe sometimes, but it does get easier as time goes on. Do you have any questions?"

Tifa thought. "How many people are there in this school?"

Yuna smiled apologetically. "Umm, believe it or not, I have no idea. There's a bunch of different rosters of the students residing in each hall, but the master list is confidential. Only a few people know the full list."

Tifa blinked. "Can I ask why?"

The psychic sighed. "Unfortunately, as people mature their Geniuses, their minds do not necessarily follow suit. And, since some Geniuses can be…ah, harmful to other people, we try our very best to keep possibility of conflict to a bare minimum."

Tifa processed the information and laughed. "Wait, so it's like a preemptive time-out? You don't tell everyone where everyone lives because someone might try something stupid?"

"Sadly, yes." Yuna donned a look of pained exasperation. "The last time we had a full roster posted, the eloquently named 'Nuke Tank' decided to declare war on one of their less robust colleagues."

Tifa could practically smell a good story. "What happened?"

"The victims of the Nuke Tank's terrorizing happened to be minor psychics," Yuna continued. "In retaliation, the victims launched a full-force dream assault."

"A dream assault?"

"Perhaps a more accurate name for it is 'nightmare assault.'" Yuna winced at the memory. "It was ridiculous. Since the psychics were inexperienced, they ended up letting the nightmare loose on everyone. Nobody could get any decent sleep."

"What was it?"

"To be perfectly honest, I don't remember. But there was something about horse-sized ostriches dancing with squeaky, singing cactuses. Oh, and there were angry turtles wearing monks' habits and armed with knives, chasing people."

Tifa looked dubious. "Singing cactuses and angry turtles?"

"Trust me when I say that it was much worse than it sounds."

"It was very Lewis-Carroll," Denzel piped up, leaping uninvited into their conversation. "Kinda like being trapped in Wonderland for a while. I thought it was kind of interesting the first time I saw it." As Denzel spoke, Rude – sans a couple buttons on his suit – sauntered up in an extremely self-satisfied silence.

"Rude never looked at chicken the same way again," Denzel noted with a cackle as he saw Rude approaching. Rude twitched at the word 'chicken', but made no other indication of discomfort.

Yuna looked at the two of them in polite befuddlement before turning back to Tifa. "Like I said. The nightmare was a lot worse than it sounds now. But the worst part was that nobody else got any sleep after that…"

Denzel chortled. "Heh, I remember that time. Everyone was walking around like zombies by the second night." He amended his statement. "Well, everyone but the caffeine- and Red Bull-addicts. They were bouncing off of the walls."

"Literally bouncing," Rude groused.

"Rude. I almost forgot what your voice sounded like," an amused voice commented from their left.

They all shifted to look at the newcomer.

Much to her embarrassment, Tifa's attention was first caught by his sheer good looks. He was tall, dark, and handsome – every teenage girl's vision of a dark knight. High-browed and hollow-cheeked, dressed in black combat clothing from head to toe. With his half-jacket and unapologetically ostentatious collar of leonine fur, he broke the 'badass' mold just enough to look absolutely stunning.

It was somewhat difficult not to stare.

Yuna, apparently invulnerable (or already acclimated) to the come-hither vibe, smiled happily and waved. "Hey, Leon!"

Leon. His name fit him like a glove.

"Hello, Yuna," Leon returned politely as he loped over to them. He nodded once to Rude and smiled faintly at Denzel – and then, with a curious little tilt of the head, looked at Tifa.

His brows knitted slightly and he leaned a little to consider her. "Tifa…Lockhart?"

Tifa was startled by his sudden proximity. "Um. Yes?"

He nodded to himself and rocked back onto the heels of his feet, straightening. "Director Crescent sends her welcome to you, Tifa Lockhart."

Tifa blinked. Director who?

Leon turned his attention back to Rude and Yuna. "Due to certain…extenuating circumstances with Miss Lockhart, I will be escorting her to a different location. She will be under direct purview of the Genius Department until further notice. You are relieved of duty."

Yuna's brow quirked. "Extenuating…circumstances?"

Leon acquiesced with a gentle tilt of his head. "I don't have all of the details, but it is a…strange situation. Even by our standards."

"Strange as in Shinra-strange?" interrupted Denzel suddenly.

Leon narrowed his eyes and shot a piercing look at Denzel. "…Denzel…are you just shooting in the dark, or have you been eavesdropping again?"

Utterly undaunted, Denzel grinned. "So it is Shinra-strange!"

"I said nothing of the sort."

"But you implied it!" sang Denzel, practically bouncing with excitement. He winked conspiratorially at Leon. "But don't worry, Leon, your secret's safe with me. Oh, and by the way, I have some more stuff to tell you whenever you have some extra time to chat. You know you want to hear it!"

Leon fixed Denzel with a look caught somewhere between amusement and exasperation. "…Denzel…"

"Wait, hold on a second," Tifa interjected, frowning. "What is 'extenuating circumstances' supposed to mean? I thought everyone here has Geniuses."

"They do," Leon confirmed, turning his attention to Tifa. "In your particular case, the special circumstances have to do with your personal history rather than your Genius."

"Well then, what exactly in my 'personal history' makes me so special?" Tifa pressed. She had never exactly been the type to quietly accept external interference in her life – and she wasn't planning on starting now.

Leon looked…baffled. "I'm…not entirely sure. Your profile was flagged. As a member of the Executive Force in the Genius Department, it is my duty to ensure your safe arrival and supervision until later notice."

"And you're just going to follow your orders without even stopping to wonder why?"

"I…" Leon seemed to find his resolve, and he shifted ever so slightly to turn his entire body towards Tifa. His voice was steady as he replied: "Yes. Yes, I am."

Tifa's temper flared. "Fine, then. If you won't tell me, then I'll just figure it out by myself."

"It's not a matter of my desire to tell you the truth," explained Leon with infinite patience. "I do not know your exact circumstances. I'm sure that Director Crescent will undoubtedly have more details for you when you meet her tomorrow."

"Tomorrow?" Tifa's anger built. "You're telling me that I'm supposed to twiddle my thumbs while you figure out what to do with me?"

"Miss Lockhart—"

"My parents are dead, and you're seriously expecting me to just sit here and wait?" Her fists clenched.

A tiny, rational voice somewhere in the back of Tifa's mind knew that she was lashing out aimlessly, made unpredictable and volatile by sudden emotional trauma. It wasn't fair to jump to conclusions – but her heart hurt, and Tifa felt the overwhelming need to be able to do something, to reassert control over the topsy-turvy whirlwind of her life—

With all the speed and agility of the state-qualifying tennis player that she was, Tifa punched Leon.

In retrospect, Tifa could barely even remember her hand darting out and feeling the solid pain of her knuckles colliding with bone. She could feel the force of impact shuddering up her arm and then, to her great surprise, staggered back, her balance disrupted by the recoil.

Leon rolled the punch, instinctively stepping back to avoid bearing the full brunt of the blow. He diverted his remaining backwards momentum to a skipping sidestep that increased distance between himself and Tifa and recovered quickly, turning back to face his unexpected assailant.

Tifa and Leon then stared at each other for five seemingly interminable seconds, both of their faces expressing a mixture of surprise, confusion, and adrenaline-fueled fight-or-flight instinct. Fierce dark eyes met calculating blue, and for a moment it seemed that a full-fledged fight would break out.

Denzel interrupted the standoff with a burst of laughter.

Tifa and Leon jerked involuntarily at the sudden sound, and each spared time for an incredulous glance at the boy before quickly turning back to glare at each other.

Denzel blithely continued laughing until he was bent double, eyes watering with mirth. At this point, all other parties – Leon and Tifa included – were bewildered enough to stop and stare at Denzel instead.

"Denzel…" Rude quested cautiously, as if doubtful of his little partner's sanity.

"Leon," Denzel squeezed between breaths, "you just got punched out by a girl!"

Leon blinked…and then rolled his eyes. Breaking the stalemate, he straightened from his low, tense fighting stance, crossed his arms, and raised an eyebrow.

"…Seriously, Denzel? That was your first thought?"

Denzel, unable to suppress his giggles, gave no response. With a polite cough, Rude kicked Denzel in the shin, marginally halting the inexplicable, uncontrollable laughter.

"I'm…sorry, Tifa," Denzel apologized sincerely as he wiped his eyes, the flow of his speech interrupted by the occasional hiccup. He continued smiling, as if still enjoying whatever private joke had triggered the outburst.

Leon's brow twitched. He closed his eyes and inhaled slowly. "Denzel. Let me get this straight. You find it amusing that I received a blow…and then you apologize to the deliverer of aforementioned attack?"

Denzel nodded enthusiastically once before Rude nudged him reprimandingly in the ribs. "Well. Maybe I'm not so happy about the fact that you got hit…but it's still funny that the first person to hit you is a girl."

Tifa was puzzled by Denzel's reply. 'The first person…?' "Wait. Denzel. Are you saying that Leon's never been punched before?"

Leon turned to face Tifa guardedly, as if still expecting her to attack him. "That's not quite correct. In the past, I underwent extensive martial arts training as a member of an underground organization called SeeD. One of the particular skills they teach there is defense against blitz attacks…such as yours."

"I think that's the first time I've ever seen you caught off-guard, Leon," Yuna inputted ponderously, somehow completely unfazed by the random acts of violence. "You're one of the fastest people in the Genius Division, too, aren't you?"

"Are you losing your touch, Leon?" Denzel teased, eyes glittering impishly.

Rude adjusted his sunglasses. "…Actually, I think that was Tifa's Genius. Her ability to suspend time probably undermines an opponent's speed. No matter how fast Leon moved, she still would have landed the punch."

Denzel gazed in fascination as Rude spoke. "…Whoa. Rude. You can talk in full sentences?"

Rude scowled at Denzel.

"Rude has a point," Yuna agreed. She looked at Tifa thoughtfully. "It seems that your Genius has already proven itself quite formidable."

"I don't remember using it," Tifa said, perplexed. And it was the truth – she couldn't even remember consciously deciding to punch Leon, much less activating her Genius in the split second before impact.

"Your control over your Genius will grow with time and training," Leon assured her, apparently having rediscovered his serene patience

"Oh, geez." Denzel rolled his eyes. "Not this speech again. You sound like an old man, Leon…"

As Denzel teased Leon, Tifa marveled at how quickly Leon had forgiven her. She had, after all, just taken a swing at his face – for something that was both impulsive and entirely not his fault. And now that her anger had passed, she felt the first prickles of embarrassment heating up her cheeks.

"Umm…Leon…" Tifa began, fidgeting uncomfortably. Denzel quieted, and her gaze darting around the vicinity, refusing to look at Leon. "I…I think I sort of owe you an apology."

"Don't worry about it." Leon's voice never changed from its calm, gracious tone, and Tifa couldn't resist looking up then. Leon showed not a trace of anger – in fact, he was smiling, as if slightly amused.

Tifa forged ahead, a little confused by his reaction but encouraged by his mild temper. "Still, I…I mean, I kind of punched you…"

"And you certainly pack quite a punch," Leon commented genially. Tifa felt her embarrassment broadcast itself across her blushing cheeks at his candor.

Amazingly, Leon chuckled. "Tifa. Relax. I was joking." A small but pleasant smile had settled across his features. "When I first got here, I was under 'extenuating circumstances' too. And I not only punched my guide, I also took out some of the other students, too."

"Oh, so you must be the reason why we bring new recruits in when the other students are in class," Yuna observed astutely.

Denzel listened with morbid interest. "Wait, really? What happened?"

"Cid Highwind was my guide at the time." Leon half-smiled, half-grimaced. "I was still raging through the student body when he got up, dusted himself off, and punched me back."

"Not the most subtle of individuals," Rude noted.

"It makes sense now, though." Leon focused his attention on Tifa again. "I know…it's difficult to trust us right now. You don't know any of us, and you have no reason to believe anything we say."

Tifa privately agreed. She had practically been blackmailed into coming here in the first place.

"But despite its flaws, the Genius Division – this place, the Promontory—" Leon gestured vaguely at the building they were in. "That this is the safest place for people like us. Those gifted with Geniuses.

"The normal world is not ready yet to accept our existence. And if you try to keep your Genius a secret out there…well. Nobody can keep a secret forever." His eyes grew a little distant, a little sad. "But here you'll have friends. You'll have mentors. People who have at least an idea of what you're going through."

"We're a weird little group," Denzel chipped in. "But that makes us all a pretty close bunch. Almost like a…like another family."

Family. That was the magic word. Tifa swallowed the lump that caught in her throat.

"We can't force you to be happy here," Yuna added, and then paused and ruefully amended her statement. "Well. We can't force you to be happy here of your own accord. But we'll care about you. We'll listen. We'll help."

"And that's something people take for granted," Rude said in his deep timbre. "Especially the former non-Geniuses."

"Reconsider our proposition, Tifa," Leon proposed. "And I know it's hard, but just trust us for the first few days. It gets better. I promise. It always gets better."

Surrounded by nothing but welcoming faces, Tifa's residual doubts didn't stand a chance. Of course, she would never forget what she had come here to do – claim vengeance on those who had killed her family – but she knew deep down that she longed for another family. Maybe it wouldn't be as good as her first, maybe not as clean-edged, but she missed feeling that definitive sense of belonging somewhere. And as strong as her desire for revenge was now, Tifa knew it would weaken in the face of loneliness and unadulterated solitude.

She brushed her hair out of her face and donned a little smile.

"I guess there's no better time to start trusting you than now," she declared with an almost fierce cheerfulness, turning to Leon. "Lead the way, Leon. 'Extenuating circumstances' it is."

Without warning, Denzel flew at Tifa with another startling tackle-hug. "I'll miss you," he said in a moment of surprising sentimentality, his voice muffled in cloth of her shirt. He then flitted back to Rude's side and beamed. "You'll stick around long enough for Rude and me to visit you later, right?"

Tifa grinned at the hyperactive little boy. "Of course."

"Cool. Let's go, Rude!" Denzel went prancing down the hall, and, after a little dip of his head to Tifa, Rude followed in his footsteps.

Yuna also caught Tifa in a surprisingly strong but gentle hug. Tifa felt a surge of affection for her new friend, something that she was sure had nothing to do with Yuna's bizarre Genius.

"I'll come by later to see you," Yuna promised as she slowly stepped back. "May good luck follow your footsteps."

Leon said nothing and just smiled – a warm, genuine expression that softened the hard lines and edges that comprised his face. He nodded once – a silent 'ready to go?'

With one more nervous flutter of her heart, Tifa nodded. "Yeah. I'm good."

"Follow me," he said, turning.

Tifa walked alongside him…and didn't look back.

The Shinra were reputed within the highest echelons of society as the Borgias of the business world. Predators of even their fellow predators, they stood above their peers aloof and proud, secure in the knowledge of their own unapproachable superiority. Impossible to please, impossible to impress – and certainly not dazzled by something as simple as light.

Yet Rufus was.

There was something…miraculous about light. Even holy, if Rufus were one to subscribe to such nonsense as religion. Granted, it was an entirely novel experience for the young heir, and some curiosity was to be expected – but somehow…it was something more.

Light made no sound as it crept in unabashedly in the morning; it never once rustled nor stirred the curtains as it retreated at twilight. You could not taste the richness of its many hues, nor smell it banish night's darkness. In his days of darkness, Rufus had known of light's heat, but didn't know of its subtleties – mysterious in its intangibility, incomprehensible in its phantom warmth.

And color – color. The first thing he'd seen when he'd opened his eyes was a mass of hard color – steady, solid ones like the black of hair, the ruby of eyes, the pure white of the collared shirt, and the steady navy-blue of the Turk uniform. But daybreak and dusk had begun introducing Rufus to every shade in between, from the light pink-and-orange sherbet blush of the small hours in the morning to the somber blue-purple robes that the world donned with nightfall. The whole matter was mystifying and awesome and made Rufus understand for the first time the meaning of the word 'beautiful.'

Rufus shifted slightly in the snow-white sofa where he lounged on the raised platform. He always felt comfortable – safe, even – in atrium, nestled surely in the pure white that had dazzled him the first time he'd really opened his eyes. There was something about white that was godly, something pure – and it was the only color that even came close to emulating the brilliance of light.

Not to mention the fact that it exponentially increased his natural psychic abilities.

For whatever reason, the growing power flourished – and continued to flourish – in the presence of so much light. It practically demanded to be used. His original reservoir of mostly-latent, mostly-spontaneous psychic energy had suddenly manifested in controllable forms of telekinesis and telepathy – and he hadn't even really tried pushing his limits yet.

Rufus narrowed his eyes at a nearby glass. Vincent would not return for a while, and none of the patrolling SOLDIERs had clearance to enter White Hall. Now was the opportune time to try mastering his newfound skills.

He experimentally tried nudging the glass to the left.

The glass flew off of the table and shattered midair before it could even hit the wall.

Rufus was momentarily enraptured by the glittering fragments fracturing the light on the ground – red, yellow, and blue, all streaming from a single stem of white? How? – before realizing the utter failure of the experiment.

He raised an eyebrow at the pulverized remains. …Well. Looks like I need a little practice.

He was in the process of refocusing his concentration on remotely cleaning the mess when the door opened again.

"Good evening." Reeve looked as tousled and friendly as usual in his lab coat and ruffled dress shirt. He bore a small beige box under his arm.

Rufus glanced dubiously over Reeve and quickly scanned the older man's mind – nothing but good intentions again, unbelievable; was I wrong to recommend him for promotion? – before turning back to stare moodily out at the sunset.

Reeve seemed entirely unconcerned by the obvious snub. He began walking up the stairs, crate still held in hand. "You seem distracted this evening."

/He must still be in shock/, Rufus heard from the confines of Reeve's mind. /Poor child. This gift is perfect for a lonesome one like him./

Rufus almost – almost – laughed aloud. Poor Reeve, deluded into thinking a Shinra was capable of feeling loneliness.

Reeve continued talking aimlessly. "Is there something on your mind? Or are we perhaps merely contemplating the sunset? It is quite beautiful, I must admit."

That voice… Rufus suddenly recognized the tone that Reeve was using – the same coaxing tone a trainer would use on a spooked horse or a fear-maddened tiger. Reeve wasn't expecting a response; he was just trying to ease the tension.

Which only made Rufus more suspicious.

He carefully reassessed Reeve, then the box he had tucked under his arm. Nothing out of the ordinary. But wait—

Reeve set the little box – which actually looked more like a dog crate than anything, with its hinged, crosshatched door – on the floor in front and crouched down next to it.

Rufus watched him steadily, but his curiosity was piqued, and as Reeve opened the cage door, he leaned in slightly.

A tiny, furry white head poked out of the crate.

Rufus blinked, half-certain that he was experiencing his first visual hallucination. What the—

Two disproportionately large cat paws clambered clumsily out of the crate, almost dwarfing their owner's skull in sheer size. With an almighty grunt of effort, the little creature heaved a pair of shoulders past the threshold of the crate. It rested for a moment there, tiny ribcage heaving with effort, delicate pink nostrils flaring. Gem-like violet eyes instinctively scanned the perimeter, slit pupils contracting as they encountered the dying sunlight.

It then turned its feline face up to Rufus, cocked its head imploringly, and mewed.

The first recognition, thought Reeve. The Science Department Director backed off quietly, allowing the two some space. Reeve knew that these first few moments were critical in the crossbreed's future development. The Guard Hound genes in the little creature would imprint on one person and one person only during its entire lifespan, and it was vital that it chose the correct master. The entire Science Department had learned that lesson the hard way. Imprinting confusion had created disastrous results in the lab, and Reeve was not eager to repeat the scenario.

He needn't have worried. The Alexandria cat finally broke eye contact with the Prince after a full minute of intensive staring and squirmed its way out of the cage. Hindquarters freed, the little creature padded out of the crate on all fours and pricked its ears up, scanning the surroundings once more. Although the hybrid had inherited genes from both the Guard Hound and the Isis cat, its cat eyes, general feline body structure, and limber tail took more after the latter donor than the former.

After finishing its visual reconnaissance, the hybrid looked curiously over its shoulder at Reeve, turned around, and casually leapt onto the sofa, crawling over the dunes of blanket over to its new master, adroitly extending and retracting tiny claws to keep its hold on the cloth.

The hybrid then settled on its belly directly in the center of the Prince's lap and mewed again, stretching out its neck and staring worshipfully up at its new and eternal pack leader, feline tail moving back and forth in strange mimicry of a wag.

First confirmation. Reeve ticked the second benchmark off of the imprinting list.

"I think she wants you to pet her, Master Prince," Reeve volunteered quietly from the sidelines, approaching once more. The hybrid immediately cocked its head at the interruption but the Prince, for the first time, didn't even spare Reeve a glance. "She's one of the Alexandria cats that the Science Department prototyped recently. A genetic cross between standard-issue Shinra Infantry Guard Hounds and the Isis cats of the SOLDIER Chevalier Department. This particular female is a bit of an oddity, since most of the Alexandria cats we've bred so far have turned out black, but considering your preferences, I didn't think you'd mind…?"

Reeve could have been talking to a doorknob for all the response he received. But apparently the Prince was listening, as he slowly extended a hesitant hand out to rest on the hybrid's arrow-shaped head.

A low, throaty purr thrummed deep in the feline's chest and she butted her head more actively against his palm.

"…What…what's her name?"

The feline's ears pricked up as she heard her master's voice for the first time, as if committing it to memory – and Reeve all but fell over in shock as the Prince spoke for the first time. The scientist risked a closer look at the façade that had, as of yet, held nothing but emotional emptiness, perhaps tinted slightly by a piercingly intelligent condescension.

Imprinting mutually successful. Reeve hid his smile. If that expression on the Prince wasn't love, then it was the closest he'd ever get to it.

"We try not to name them before they've imprinted. It tends to confuse them if they receive one name at birth and then another one from their Alpha." Reeve internally cursed his slip of the tongue. Did I really just say 'Alpha'?

The Prince didn't seem to notice. He gently ran his thumb from the hybrid's forehead to the hollow of her throat, and the purring intensified. "…Her Alpha, huh."

"Did you have a name in mind?"

The Prince tucked his hands under the hybrid's stomach and lifted her up just enough to let her settle her paws on his chest – the first genuinely human action that Reeve had witnessed from the Prince. The hybrid's hum grew even louder, and she extended her muzzle up to look her pack leader in the eyes.

"…Dark Nation."

Reeve frowned, sure that he had heard incorrectly. "I'm sorry, could you repeat that? I don't think I…"

"She is the only mistress I shall ever have need for," the Prince explained without once looking up, stroking the tip of the hybrid's muzzle. The hybrid sneezed and jerked in surprise at its own explosive sneeze. "The single, beautiful, faithful sycophant of my dark nation."

Reeve felt an inexplicable twitch of uneasiness as the hybrid ignored the conversation entirely and began nibbling contemplatively on her Alpha's hand. Even though everything was going perfectly according to plan, somehow he felt like the plan had backfired. Like he was missing something important that was sitting right in front of him.

"…Dark Nation it is," Reeve agreed, making a mental note to get dog tags or some other form of identification for the hybrid. After all, he is her Alpha now. I don't think you can really change a name once you've imprinted, anyway.

"We'll be back later to teach you how to take care of…Dark Nation," Reeve said, still feeling his way around the name. It was strange, but somehow ominous. "Until then, please continue to interact with her. These first few days spent with the Alpha are very important in later life for these types of hybrids."

Reeve picked up the crate and set his course for the door. He was already halfway down the stairs when he was interrupted.

"Director Reeve."

Reeve turned to look up at the Prince. It still startled him to hear that voice, soft but clear, like a silk-sheathed knife. "Yes, Master Prince?"

"…Thank you."

That stopped Reeve in his tracks. His eyes widened in wonder. Wait…he didn't just…?

The Prince had already turned his attention back to Dark Nation, who was now busy nuzzling his neck. But Reeve had definitely heard that statement…right? He hadn't just imagined it, had he?

The Prince utterly disregarded him as he left the room, but as Reeve finally breathed his first breath of open air after visiting the White Hall, he was sure that he'd heard correctly because he realized…

"Director Reeve."

The Prince had called him by his title and name for the first time.

And Reeve couldn't help smiling as he walked back to his department.

…

Of all the things Rufus had expected the cat to do, he had not expected it to understand him so deeply and so quickly. The second Reeve had released the hybrid, Rufus had felt its psychic presence reach out to him, curious but sharp with alien intelligence that was just as bright as his own, but in an entirely different way.

Hello, the hybrid hailed in that ineffable language of communication between minds, and Rufus had no choice but to dumbfoundedly reciprocate the friendly greeting.

A few seconds later the hybrid had looked up at him with those huge amethyst eyes and, with a twitch of its head, directed at him the query:

Alpha?

At first he hadn't understood the statement. It seemed so random, so out of place, that he didn't know how to respond. He'd simply stared down at it, unblinking, unsure of what to say.

It turned out he didn't have to say anything at all. The hybrid seemed to come to an internal decision on its own accord and something clicked in its head as it gazed up at him with sudden adulation.

Alpha.

The amount of love and unadulterated faith packed into that single thought was staggering. Rufus had watched dumbly as it, having declared its loyalty, began looking around and taking stock. Once she – for the feline's psychic emanations were most certainly those of a female – was satisfied, she pounced fearlessly onto the sofa and made her way over to sit on his lap.

Alphaaaa, she called playfully, mentally demanding some form of tangible recognition from her new pack leader. But how exactly was he supposed to 'recognize' a new 'pack member'? The diminutive hybrid wasn't offering any real ideas, just impressions.

Reeve had suggested petting her. Rufus could hear Reeve's running commentary in the background and mechanically filed the information away, but the moment he made contact with the hybrid, everything seemed irrelevant as their contract was sealed.

It was like spontaneously becoming the center of a tiny solar system. The little creature was utterly devoted from the second she had decided he was Alpha. There was nothing else to worry about as long as Alpha was whole, healthy, and near.

And then she started to ask for a name.

Not wanting to break any mental contact with his new satellite, Rufus actually voiced his next question aloud. "…What…what's her name?"

Reeve said that she had no official name, and hybrid concurred, insisting that the Alpha had to choose it for her.

"Her Alpha, huh."

Contract, came the hybrid's disjointed explanation. Alpha…name…contract.

So naming is a part of the imprinting process. Rufus was surprised to feel the hybrid concur. …and apparently you understand human thought.

The reply he got was an unmistakable form of "duh."

…And you have an attitude, Rufus thought, but his amusement was obvious between the two minds and the feline purred in response.

The hybrid experimented sheathing and unsheathing tiny, hooked claws from her paws as she waited for her Alpha to decide on a name. Even through the fabric separating her paws from his skin, Rufus could still feel the pinpricks of the talons every time they burrowed into the material.

A hunter's claws, he mused. She'll be a predator when she grows up. And from the size of her paws, she'll get pretty big.

A hunter.

A Huntress.

Artemis, he decided, and they both knew how perfect the name was. You are Artemis, goddess of the hunt.

Artemis, echoed the hybrid solemnly, and their two-member pack was complete.

"Did you have a name in mind?"

Reeve's question was innocent enough, and Rufus almost answered with "Artemis." But something – maybe the naturally exclusive nature of the hybrid or some deep, jealous instinct of his own – wanted to keep her name just between them.

"…Dark Nation," Rufus answered instead. Artemis noted the duplicitous statement but did not comment, accepting her Alpha's decision as her own.

Reeve looked more than slightly confused.

"She is the only mistress I shall ever have need for," Rufus explained, and that much was true. "The single, beautiful, faithful sycophant of my dark nation."

Reeve's perplexity was evident, but both Rufus and Artemis detected a sudden wariness in the scientist, as if he suspected that something was not quite as it seemed.

Clever fellow. Rufus hid a smile and shot Reeve a sidelong look. I knew he was smart enough to be director of Science and R&D.

"Dark Nation it is." Reeve still seemed amiable enough as he wrapped up his monologue and turned to leave.

Artemis bumped her skull into Rufus's hand again as Reeve headed for the door, but this time it seemed insistent, as if she were trying to prompt him to do something. She stared expectantly up at him.

Rufus was puzzled. What is it?

Suddenly he understood the fuzzy impression – and was so astonished, he almost smiled. You never cease to astound, do you?

Artemis seemed smugly reassured of herself.

Rufus took her suggestion. "…Director Reeve."

The graying researcher stopped and looked up. Rufus caught a definite impression of pleasant surprise. "Yes, Master Prince?"

"Thank you."

Rufus then promptly turned back to Artemis, leaving the poor researcher mired in disbelief and self-doubt. Artemis was very clearly enjoying Reeve's bafflement, and she gave a purr of a chuckle as the director left.

Artemis then refocused all attention on her Alpha, maneuvering along the contours of blanket and body, taking in every detail – height and weight, bearing and posture, average heart rate and eye color – and methodically engraving it into her deepest memory.

And all the while she could hear her Alpha thinking, over and over and over again:

Artemis.

The letters "Stri" peeped out at him enticingly from the shelf. He reached up, tugged it out, and then—

Dammit…"Strider" – someone's been watching too much Lord of the Rings…"Strident" – what the hell, like the gum brand? Whatever…"Stridentor" – is that even a name?…

He skipped over the next few until he saw—

There it was. S-t-r-i-f…

Strifa.

His eye twitched.

Oh my God.

Vincent Valentine, Turk extraordinaire, restrained himself for the second time that day from smashing his head into the nearest solid object. Or throwing the file folder he grasped in his hand. One of the two.

This was definitely not in the Turk job description, Vincent thought tiredly, rubbing his eyes with his free hand.

Which wasn't exactly true. Research was considered an indispensable part of a Turk's daily work; after all, only a fool would attempt to plan a mission without information on every possible aspect of the mission. As such, Turks were also trained to be extremely efficient and resourceful information-gatherers – Vincent included.

However, Vincent usually had access to the full electronic catalog of the Shinra files available to him at a few clicks or taps on a keyboard. He usually had the assistance of the entire staff of Shinra archivers to aid him in his search for a file. He usually knew something else about the subject that he could then cross-reference with his main search.

But of course, it happened to be the one day when the outdated electronic Shinra archives had been scheduled for maintenance. Which, of course, urgently required the assistance of the entire staff of Shinra archivers. And of course the subject that Vincent was tasked with researching happened to be one of the few people that he knew nothing about.

Vincent sighed, replaced the file on the shelf, and continued his search.

After another ten minutes of fruitless efforts, a god somewhere smiled down on Vincent, and finally he found the elusive file labeled "STRIFE, CLOUD" mis-shelved between "SANDIFORD, WILLIAM" and "SANDLER, SIMON".

"Odd name," Vincent murmured to himself as he pulled the file and opened it. The file was extremely skinny, containing nothing but an admittance form signed by Lazard, a clean bill of health from the medics' initial evaluations, and a brief, incomplete biography.

"'Mother: Elana Strife nee Vance; Father: James Strife II…'" Vincent mumbled to himself under his breath as he read aloud. "Age 17, attends St. Lucia High School, junior year, blah blah blah…"

Vincent skimmed the entire file twice and then sighed. There was nothing strange reported about Cloud on paper. He was an average high-schooler with average friends, an average bloodline, and slightly higher-than-average grades. By all accounts, Cloud Strife was a perfectly normal teenager.

"He shouldn't have been flagged as a Chevalier at all," Vincent wondered aloud. But two of their Chevalier 1st Class – Angeal Hewley and Genesis Rhapsodos – had flagged Cloud as a Chevalier and then brought him back to the Shinra Complex. While even 1st Class Chevalier SOLDIER had occasionally been known to incorrectly identify Chevalier, confirmation from two 1st Class reduced the likelihood of an error hundredfold.

"Cloud Strife, you certainly are a mystery," Vincent sighed, slipping the binder under his arm. He'd bring it back once the younger Shinra was done with it.

Vincent walked out of the dusty archives and into the heart of the library, where Shinra technicians and librarians bustled around busily as they revamped the old Shinra system. The Turk artfully sidestepped a few stacks of binders, dodged inattentive men and women carrying huge stacks of paper, and swiftly navigated his way back to the entrance of the library.

Vincent sighed in relief as he shut the door behind him. As much as he appreciated the occasional paper assignment, Vincent never would have made it as a desk-bound Shinra lackey. He could literally feel the stuffy bookworm vibe slide off of him, replaced by the sleek professionalism of a Turk.

"Vincent!" A pleasantly surprised voice called from down the hall. Vincent looked up in time to see one of his fellow Turks walk up to him, a smile on her face. "It's been a while."

Vincent automatically smiled back. His eyes met sand-blonde hair shorn to chin-length for practicality but slightly stylized for simple femininity; pretty, girl-next-door looks, complete with a heart-shaped face; and sky-blue eyes almost a little too friendly for your average Turk.

"Elena," he greeted, genuinely happy to see her. Elena had always been a close friend throughout his career as a Turk, starting from their first day at hand-to-hand combat. During which she had (unintentionally) punched his lights out.

"It's good to see you whole and healthy, Vinnie," Elena chirruped. Her brows furrowed. "I heard you were involved in some kind of accident?"

Vincent gave an involuntary twitch and scrambled for an answer. "Oh – um, that – it was, uh, a little overexaggerated. It was nothing, really…"

He wanted to punch himself in the face.

Lame. SO LAME. Vincent could practically feel Tseng breathing down his neck, narrowed onyx eyes disapproving heartily of his poorly devised excuse. "A Turk is more invisible than a ghost, more dangerous than a cobra, more glib than a politician…"

Elena smiled knowingly. "Hey, Vince, relax. I get it. Classified stuff." She shrugged nonchalantly. "We're Turks, dude. It's practically our jobs to keep things under the rug." She punched him lightly in the arm with a black-gloved hand.

Vincent was startled but cheered by the familiar speech and gesture. He'd almost forgotten how close they'd been during those first few months of training – his first real friend within the Turks.

"So are you headed this way?" Elena asked, waving her hand noncommittally.

Vincent thought back briefly to the location of the Prince's hideaway and nodded. "Yep. Paperwork to drop off."

"Great. I'm headed that way, too," Elena said, practically beaming. "We can catch up on the way there."

It was an undeniably enjoyable experience, to simply walk next to a companion who understood every facet of his training and indoctrination, to be able to keep a comfortable space between them without feeling estranged. Vincent wondered if all other SOLDIER and Shinra Infantry members felt as he did at that moment – only for them, they felt the camaraderie every day.

Elena chattered amiably for the both of them, and Vincent took a simple contentment from simply listening to her recent ventures as a newly fledged Turk. She had apparently quit firearms courses entirely – "guns make everything too easy" – and had moved into the graceful and deadly realm of martial arts. Ascending the ranks quickly, she was now deployed frequently on covert operations that required "cold" neutralizations – missions carried out without the assistance of a gun.

Which wasn't actually that surprising to Vincent, considering that Elena had graduated from the Turk Academy with five Elite Emblems – including an Emblem in martial arts – and essentially secured her legend as a genius.

"You sound busy," Vincent mused in a brief pause while Elena caught her breath.

Elena seemed caught off-guard by the comment. "I…I never really looked at it that way, but I guess I kind of am." She looked up at him, a playful look on her face. "So, then? What about you? You don't have to spill the beans on everything. Just tell me how it's been, working under the direct supervision of the O Great One, Tseng."

Elena's voice was carefully lighthearted, but Vincent knew that she'd always had an odd attachment to their impassive leader. Vincent also knew that she'd been a little disappointed when Tseng had not chosen her as one of his direct understudies.

He weighed his words carefully. "Well…it's been interesting. He's blunt. But that's what makes him such a good team leader. He knows exactly what to say and when to say it." He broke into a sheepish smile. "It's kind of nerve-wracking, really."

Elena still looked dazzled, even by Vincent's meager description. "Wow."

With a crunch of grass, Vincent then realized that he was already walking across the lawn towards the hidden area where the White Room was hidden. Oh crap.

"Uh, Elena. Not to be rude, but didn't you say you had somewhere to go?" Vincent ventured, interrupting her reverie.

"Oh – right, I did," Elena said, shaking off her daze and scanning her surroundings. She frowned. "Huh. That's kind of strange."

"What?"

"This…is actually where I'm supposed to be," Elena said, an eyebrow quirked upwards in confusion as she turned to look at Vincent. "Restricted Access Zone 13, Lawn 5, Southeast Corner." She pointed her feet towards the proper direction.

Vincent did some quick calculations.

And was utterly confused.

That was the exact location of the White Room.

Speechless, Vincent stared at her. Who in their right mind would send Elena, bright, cheerful Elena, into a veritable viper's nest like the White Room?

"And…who told you to come here, again?"

"Orders from the top," Elena replied, a tint of awe to her voice. "Tseng, actually."

Vincent blinked. Wait…Tseng?

Tseng, in all his wisdom and experience, had not only assigned another Turk to watch over the cynical, borderline-sociopathic, Jedi-mind-trick-freaky ice cube that was Rufus Shinra, but had assigned Elena to the job?

Vincent took a deep breath and reminded himself of every time that Tseng's advice or assistance had pulled him out of a tight spot. Just trust him. Okay. I can do that.

Vincent refocused on Elena. "Believe it or not, I was assigned to the Wh…to that place, too." If the White Room's biometric security system did approve Elena for entry, then he would fill her in with all the little details of the area.

And, of course, its mind-manipulating occupant.

Before she could reply, a cell phone chirped from Elena's belt. She reached for it and flipped it open through sheer habit, a practice drilled into all Turks' skulls through countless communications lessons and seminars.

Elena's face grew serious as she flipped it shut. "Hey Vince, I'm sorry to leave you hanging here, but it looks like an intruder alarm tripped in one of the Shinra buildings. I'm sure it's nothing, but I still need to go check it out." She rolled her eyes. "You know. Protocol."

Vincent nodded. Protocol, orders, and obedience – those three golden rules practically ran their lives. "Of course."

"We'll talk about this later!" she called while waving her hand in the vague direction of the White Room, already sprinting off to her next destination. "Bye!"

"Bye…" Vincent said feebly, automatically, even as she raced out of hearing distance. He watched her leave and then slowly began the trudge towards the White Room with even heavier feet than usual, his mind reeling.

Tseng had already met – and somehow faced down – the terrifying entity that was Rufus Shinra.

Tseng was a rational human being. (Or so he believably seemed.)

Tseng was not a particularly careless or insane leader. (At least he had proved thus far.)

So what exactly, Vincent asked himself, would possibly possess a man like Tseng to send in a Turk like Elena off to her doom at the hands of a (psychic) psychopath like Rufus Shinra?

The heavy silence that followed held no answers as Vincent allowed the scrutiny of the White Room's security system. The huge metal doors slid open silently as they accepted his identification and greeted him with a neutral computer-generated voice.

"Welcome, Turk Vincent Valentine."

That's new, he thought, cautiously stepping into the bleach-white entrance hall. It somehow seemed to take even less time than usual to cross the stretch of sanitized tile and arrive at the main residence quarters.

With a troubled heart but a carefully composed countenance, Vincent gritted his teeth, opened the sealed double doors, and walked back into the lion's den.

A/N: I hope you enjoyed it, dear readers. No evil cliffies this time :) And I actually managed to get in most of the characters this chapter! Hooray! :)

Comments, questions, and suggestions are always welcomed (as per usual). Please keep in touch with me - it really does wonders for morale.

From the desk of the Black Cat,
Kitty XIII