All for the Love of Chaos

Chapter 8

There was an office in Rocket Town that overlooked the massive silver and black space shuttle Aeris, illuminated beautifully with floodlights under the midnight sky. It was a corner room, therefore covered with windows on two sides. The other walls were furnished in cherry wood panels adorned with various framed pictures and documents. Models of concept and historic aircraft hung from the ceiling, their miniature propellers churning slightly in the wake of the heating ducts. It was dark on this side of the world, the only light in the room emanating from a computer monitor that displayed a screen saver with some animated clouds.

Napping at his desk with his feet propped up upon the desk among piles of paper and trash was Cid Highwind. The corners of his mouth were turned upwards as the result of some dream that he wouldn’t be able to recall later.

Suddenly, a shrill, piercing scream made Cid jerk violently to life in his seat, knocking his computer mouse off the desk and ending his short-lived nap. Instinctively he groped for a gun that he kept in the third drawer for emergencies. He paused when the phone rung, apparently for the second time. Venomously cursing, he picked up the receiver and thrust it to his ear.

"Who the fucks this and whadaya want?!" He growled.

"…I take it you’re not having a happy birthday?" It was the cat--err, Reeve. Birthday? Oh, yeah, that. Hmm. Kinda forgot ‘bout that for a moment, didn‘t he?

"No, not really," He sighed bitterly, relaxing in his chair again. Many people would consider it a privilege to even stand in the same room with Mr. President of the Planet, but it was just business as usual to Cid. He began playing with a paperclip on his desk, bending it in every which way he could think of.

"Oh? What’s wrong?" Reeve asked with genuine concern. He was nice as far as Cid knew, that guy was. If Cid had told him he had a third cousin twice removed freezing to death in Costa de Sol he’d buy out an entire department store.

"I’m canceling the mission."

"What? Why? It seemed like you had everything all thought out!"

Aww, damn it. He didn‘t feel like explaining this all over again. Didn‘t he read the newspapers? Then again, no, probably not. Poor guy had an election to win tomorrow (he surely would, and by a landslide too), must have had to plan his speeches in what little sleep he got and had reporters standing outside the door asking him questions while he tried to take a whiz.

"Yeah, well, I was wrong."

"But I thought you had a replacement pilot picked out?" Goddamnit, Reeve, don’t remind me, he grimaced, guilt evident.

"She didn‘t show up like I hoped she would."

"Is she okay?"

"How the hell should I know? I told ya before, she ain’t here," mumbled Cid, feeling as aggravated as he was guilty.

"Alright, alright, don’t get buggy," He said quickly, then wisely changed the subject. "So, are you going to the Festival of Lights this year?"

"Me’n a quarter of everyone on the Planet, I reckon. Since I can‘t see ‘em from space I might as well see ‘em from the ground," Cid commented.

"I’m planning on having my inauguration ball at the same time at a hall at Icicle Inn. Would you come if invited?"

"Thinking ahead, eh? Ya haven’t even won yet!"

"I have it in the bag. Yes or no?"

He chuckled, "Wouldn’t miss it."

"Though--" There was a pause. "Hey, I gotta go, bye."

There was an abrupt click then the dial tone. Cid, puzzled, was about to put the phone back in its cradle when there was another ring, this time from the pocket of his jeans. He sighed and withdrew the PHS, flipping it open.

"I‘m here."

"Good, I was hopping you still had one on you, in all likely hood the phones are tapped," said Reeve. Cid noted how his voice had turned unnervingly serious. "Cid, I think I’m in for trouble…The splinter factions are reforming."

His brows knotted. "What?"

"You know, the old remnants of Shinra after they went under--"

"Yeah, yeah, I know, It‘s just kind of weird, don‘t you think?"

"Undoubtedly. Intelligence reports that they’ve been gaining power and popularity lately, banding together into one, and have endorsed a few crime rings over the years. The primary faction calls themselves ‘Exogene.’"

"Exogene…" Cid repeated to himself quietly, rubbing the stubble that had formed on his lower jaw. The name sounded vaguely familiar, though he wasn’t sure from where.

"We’re not sure who runs it either," he continued, "The few members we’ve picked up for treason are tight-lipped, won’t say a word about their cause or who they’re taking their orders from. But they’re really interested in the Power Company, mainly new developments."

"The nuclear shit?"

"Yes, That most of all. There are rumors going around that, along with the company, they may attempt to overthrow the government. There are a few insiders as well, including two governors, though we don‘t know which and until we have proof we can‘t convict them."

"That serious?"

"I’m afraid so. And we are powerless to stop them. The military has fallen into disrepair. After all, we didn’t need many of them until now. And many that have graduated in the past have become mercenaries--"

"--And no doubt they’re all bought up for these piss-ants just like a hooker’s enthusiasm," Cid sighed.

"To put it bluntly, I guess…"

"So what are you proposin’ we do about this little ‘situation?’"

"We can do nothing now, only watch and wait. I’m just giving you a heads up."

"Gotcha--" then, it was his turn to pause.

He happened to glance at the door. He must have slept longer then he thought. Someone had stepped in and left him something on the floor. It was a package about the size of a biological ‘hatbox’ wrapped in butcher paper and twine. There was a neon Post-it note attached to where the string tied together in a neat little bow; ‘Happy Birthday’ could be read from clear across the room in meticulously neat copperplate handwriting.

What the hell?

It was strange for Cid to regard something with such suspicion, but with this recent news, it was hard not to suspect anything. He picked up a few things from the leader of that raggedy terrorist group, and it looked exactly like the sort of package that might contain some nasty little surprise to do him in. Why someone would send him a bomb would not have crossed his mind before, but with this recent news and the fact that he was well acquainted with the President, anything was possible. Time to investigate.

"Hey, Reeve? Listen, I’ll call you back, somethin’ just came up."

Something was up; Cid sounded a little ruffled to the President. "What? Is something wrong?"

"No, I’ll jus' call you back. Later, man. And good luck tomorrow."

"…Yeah, okay." said Reeve, obviously bewildered. "And, uh, happy birthday."

"Thanks." Mumbled Cid, and quietly, as if any level of noise would set off the bomb in that box, set down the receiver in it’s cradle.

He rose from his chair and stiffly walked over to the package. He picked it up gingerly by the strings and set it on a clear spot on his desk. He then felt around the sides, searching by touch for any wires or watch batteries that might lie close to the surface just underneath the paper. He breathed a sigh of relief when he found nothing, but he wasn’t out of the woods, yet anyway. He undid the string and slit open the tape with a convenient pocketknife. Stripping away the paper he found nothing more then a white and pale yellow striped gift box. Surely there might have been something attached to the lid, that would be the easiest way to open such a package to an unlucky receiver. But Cid, who was uncertain whether or not he was paranoid, cut out the one of the sides with the same knife.

No bomb, no deadly weapon, hell, nothing even remotely threatening was to be found. The contents of the box consisted of a folded slip of paper and an unlabeled videotape. The tension in the air dropped, leaving Cid feeling like a deflated balloon. He took out the slip of paper and spread it out on the surface of his desk. Like the note on the box, this slip of paper was written, though it might as well have been typed on a computer. The handwriting was perfect and freakishly regular. Cid’s brows furrowed, lines creasing his forehead with more definition as he scanned the text, written in letterform. It was short.

I have followed with increasing enthusiasm in the course of these recent events, the three attacks on unsuspecting citizens that have managed to reach the media. Cid, you old fool, did you really think you could cover for the death of your crewman? ‘Never seen anything like this,’ Ha! You know as well as I do what those marks resemble, what killed those men. Or, perhaps you’ve conveniently forgotten certain events of the past? Would you like a little reminder? Just to reminisce? I certainly hope so. Wouldn’t want you to have any misconceptions…

Look the tape over. Hopefully, you’ll gain a little more perspective.

Have a very happy birthday.

He read it over quickly twice more, frowning. There was no signature. Who the fuck would send him something like that? And three attacks? There were only two…oh, yeah. There was that plane that was downed in Nibelihem yesterday, he hadn’t heard much about it other then it might have been the same kind of monster that had the two people. What did he (Cid assumed that the sender was male) mean by "have managed to reach the media?" Were there others that no one knew about carried out in secret? Getting nowhere, this left only the tape to investigate.

Cid had a small thirteen-inch TV on his cluttered desk with a built-in video deck. After looking the tape over once more in his hands, he popped it into the slot. After clicking off the lights by remote and punched ‘PLAY.’ The screen flickered to life.

At first, there was only static and snow, probably because it was an edited tape. But then, a black and white image came up. It was obviously a security tape, a date was displayed at the top and a time bar ticked away the seconds. It was very familiar to Cid. The airstrip at Junon at twilight. In the background was his world-renowned airship, the Highwind, the blades rotating lazily, just enough to keep it afloat. There was no sound on the tape.

Traveling towards the camera were four prominent figures, very recognizable to him. Cloud was missing, as was Aeris, Tifa, Barret and Cait Sith. Then it must be--yes, right after coming to the North Crater the first time around. Cloud and Aeris were missing for obvious reasons, Cait Sith--or Reeve, whatever--was identified as a Shinra executive and thus cleared, Barret was allowed to carry Tifa to an infirmary where she‘d wake up in a few days.

That left him, Vincent, Yuffie and Red.

He recognized the forms long before they got anywhere near the camera. There had been no precautions taking the last four members of Avalanche into custody. And with good reason, all were renowned for their cunning tactics and prowess in battle. Red was first, held between two men on the ends of two long poles that kept the beast in line and out of claw‘s reach. They had even gone so far as to muzzle him, which was as degrading as it was unnecessary; Red had told him that human flesh tasted disgusting. Second was Yuffie, skulking and still slightly pale green from their little trip in the airship. Third was the tall, stoic form of good ‘ol Vincent, his long black hair crazed by the wind. On the outside he looked as calm and cool as any other day only handcuffed, but Cid could remember the way the rage and injustice that no one else but him could seem to sense radiated from his very being. Seeing Hojo again played a very large part in that. Last was himself a full twenty years younger, shoulders hunched and arms bound behind his back. Face contorted in rage, he could see himself growl every oath and combination of swearwords he could concoct to spew at the platoon of first class Soldiers that outnumbered them two to one. He couldn’t help but smirk, aside from the hair and a few wrinkles; he hadn‘t changed a bit.

At that moment, just as he anticipated, it happened. One of the Soldiers had had enough of Cid‘s taunting. With a few choice curses of his own, the guy hooked him right in the gut, knocking the all the hot air out of him and sending him to the ground in a crumpled heap. Cid rubbed his gut unconsciously; it still hurt a little sometimes.

It was then that Vincent went completely ape-shit. The blow the Soldier had dealt Cid was a love tap compared to what Vincent was about to do. The gunslinger collapsed on the asphalt, face contorted in both mental and physical pain that Cid couldn’t begin to imagine. With a hellish shriek (Cid remembered, since there was no sound on the tape) that erupted into a blood-curdling roar, Vincent had transformed into one of his limits: the Galian Beast--which in itself was odd, since he remembered that Vincent had willed himself to his psycho-with-a-hockey-mask-and-a-chainsaw limit. Cid, who had been writhing on the ground in pain, had not witnessed the carnage in full detail until towards the end. But, with this footage, he was revisiting hell at a whole different angle. He didn’t--couldn’t turn away.

Like a coiled spring finally released, the purple monster lashed out with its clawed hands at the two men at his shoulders, leaving long bloody gouges down to the bone on their arms and rendering them completely disabled. The thing then whirled around and attacked the Soldier that had struck Cid. In a flash Red had gotten away from the two distracted handlers and joined the fray, the two poles still trailing behind him. He reared up and batted at the closest Soldier with paws the size of a man’s outstretched hand, sending him back with scratch marks that cut clean though his body armor. Yuffie somehow managed to slip out of her bindings. Making a break for it, she knocked down a soldier with a well-aimed roundhouse before dashing down the tarmac, yelling over her shoulder that she was going to find the others. And for the first time Cid did not doubt her word.

Before the Cid on the tape knew what was happening, the battle was half won. Finally, with the last Soldier down, Red leapt over to Cid and with one snap of his powerful jaws he severed Cid’s bindings and in return Cid removed the muzzle and unhooked the polls. With a brief ‘thanks,’ Cid staggered to his feet. His attention had turned to Vincent. The fight was over, the Soldiers either dead or out of commission, yet Vincent had not transformed back into his ‘normal’ self as usual.

Vincent was far from being finished.

Cid watched on in horror as the event of twenty years ago played over again not only on that small, black and white screen, but plastered into every crevices of his brain. He could smell the blood all over the tarmac. He could hear that nauseating gurgle as someone tried to scream but had too much blood in their throat. The claws glided though human flesh. He could hear a disgusting crack as bones of a ribcage were snapped, allowing freer access to the ‘sweet breads‘. A slosh as the soldier’s bowels were scrapped out like cat food from a tin can and shoved into awaiting jaws.

Vincent was feeding.

Not long after, the tape flickered to static.

Cid sat down there in the darkness for a long time.

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