FicWad

DISCLAIMER: I do not own any Square Enix related indica.

Chapter 3
Mako Poisoning

WARNINGS: Gore, Violence, Language. (Not many in this chapter either I'm afraid.)


Sephiroth poured himself a fresh cup of coffee and went to his sofa to relax. He sat down, propped his legs on his coffee table, and powered on the television. He didn't watch television often, but decided he'd better get to know this war from a citizen's point of view as well as a general's.

Yesterday had been quite interesting in retrospect. Zack had woken as soon as Tseng had left. Sephiroth had given his friend time to come back to the world of the conscious fully, then relayed the information brought to him by the Turk's visit.

Zack had then sighed, as if an enormous burden had been lifted from his shoulders, which, technically speaking, was the case. Zack agreed, with a little too much relief in his voice, that Sephiroth was welcome to take back his old rank, mentioning something about him never being completely comfortable in the position of General anyway.

That said and done, Sephiroth had gone with Zack in tow, just like the old days, to the ShinRa complex to reconquer his old office, which Zack had practically destroyed as far as organization and cleanliness went. They'd spent all day moving out the belonging's of Zack's second-in-command, an old gray-haired man, who Zack apparently couldn't stand, into an unused office down the hall. They brought Sephiroth's desk from storage in the ShinRa basement, and began to shape their shared office back into what Sephiroth referred to as 'a functional work space.'

Though Zack had given up his rank, he was reluctant to let go of The General's Suite, the quarters occupied by ShinRa's current General. Sephiroth allowed him to keep it. After all, he had his apartment, even if the suite was bigger, he didn't feel like moving all of his belongings halfway across Midgar.

Sephiroth watched the morning news intently, well, more like 'late night news,' seeing it was still dark outside, but the clock on his wall did say it was 3:00 AM. He learned that ShinRa had finally decided to enlighten the people of Midgar of their situation, although they'd 'conveniently' left out the part about mako. That was ShinRa for you. Never tell the people the whole story, just leave them in the dark and let them die if need be. As long as the company and its money is safe, nothing else matters.

Fat assholes . . . Let's see /them fight on the front lines . . . /

The news hadn't mentioned much on the war, apparently ShinRa hadn't given much detail on anything, and reporters couldn't scrounge up enough to last more than twenty minutes on the subject. Sephiroth was sure the news station would air that same twenty minutes over and over all day until they were positive everyone in Midgar had seen it.

Following the war update, was the 'Wanted Criminals' section. A picture of a dark-haired man with a beard stayed on the screen for at least five minutes as the anchor man announced details of his profile and crime, a serial-rapist. The next shot surprised Sephiroth a bit. A young teenage boy flashed onto the screen. He had spiky blonde hair, and blue eyes like none he'd ever seen before. There was a subscript at the bottom of the page that noted that the picture shown was taken at least a couple of years ago.

He's gorgeous. How could someone that beautiful commit a crime severe enough to make television?

The anchor man said his name was Cloud Strife. He was 5'3, and fifteen years old. Then he told of Cloud's crime.

"Cloud Strife was an orphan at Midgar Orphanage for nine years. He supposedly cracked and murdered a fellow orphan, Matthew Phillips, and assaulted another, Arlex Rainwater. There are witnesses to the crime who say they awoke to muffled shouting, then heard a scream as Strife slashed his victim's abdomen with a blade he'd smuggled into the facility through outside forces. The ambulance hadn't even had time to make it the crime scene before the murder victim, Phillips, bled to death. The other victim escaped with a few bruised ribs, but has not been hospitalized, nor has he yet testified. The Orphanage's staff say he hasn't spoken much since Strife's attack. Rainwater has given authorities a description of the murder weapon though."

A man appeared on the screen, holding up a small dagger. "This is a weapon quite similar to the one Strife is supposed to carrying. The blade itself is tempered steal, and about eleven inches long, three inches in width. Rainwater says the hilt is white ivory, and has the face of a wolf carved into the it. The wolf's teeth are said to be silver plated."

The man went on to describe how such a weapon could be used, and, according to evidence, how Strife had killed Phillips. Then the screen went back to the blonde's picture.

"Strife is being charged with both attempted, and second-degree murder. He escaped the orphanage after the crime. Police say Strife may still have the murder weapon on hand, and could quite possibly attack anyone he sees fit. If you see this criminal, or have information as to his whereabouts, contact ShinRa Crime Control immediately."

Sephiroth starred at the television for a moment as the news moved on to something about a mass brawl in Wal-Market. That boy. He'd seen that boy escape over the eighteen-foot fence of the orphanage two nights ago. To him, it had seemed as if the blonde was frightened. Could the police be wrong? Possibly, they'd been mistaken before through lack of evidence. He'd wondered what other factors were involved that night to require police assistance, now he had his answer.

He checked the clock hanging on the wall above his television. It said it was nearly five o' clock, not yet daylight outside, but no more dark either. All the same, just the perfect time to walk to his office without people gawking at him like they always did.

Sephiroth laced up his boots and pulled on his coat, strapping Masamune at his side. He most likely wouldn't need it, but one never knew when disaster could strike.

He left his apartment, locking the door behind him. Sephiroth always preferred to walk to his destinations. Walking calmed him, gave him time to think, much like taking a long hot shower. Most people asked him why he didn't own a car, and he would simply reply that he didn't want one. Sure, he could buy the most expensive cherry-red sports car on the market. Fully loaded, heated leather seats, five-disk CD changer, DVD players, the whole works, but he just didn't want one. Another matter that added to his disliking of automobiles was the fact that his enhanced hearing made them almost unbearable. They made such horrid sounds, no matter what model, or how new, all vehicles made that same irritating sound that pained his ears to no end.

As he walked, the sun had fully arisen above the horizon, spreading it's light about the city, but not its warmth. Midgar's winters were particularly cold. No snow, just cold temperatures, and an excess of rain. In fact, clouds hung over the city as Sephiroth made his way to ShinRa headquarters.

Already cold out, and it's not even truly winter yet.

The weather had been tolerable the day before. Beautiful actually. The sun shown brightly, and it was a comfortable seventy-two degrees Fahrenheit. To add to yesterday's pleasantries, a soothing breeze had lasted all throughout the day. Midgar's weather changed faster than a menstruating woman's mood.

As Sephiroth rounded a corner, not two miles from his office, he stopped abruptly. A large brown mass lay before him in a pool of it's own black blood. The smell of tainted mako reached his nostrils. Anyone else would have gagged or thrown up, but he was used to the stench, earthy yet nauseating, and toughed it out. He moved closer to the animal, finally able to discern what it was. The large pit bull, which could easily have stood above his waist, lay belly up with it's mouth agape, mako-green eyes still glowing despite its body's inanimation. Sephiroth noted its canines, glistening with red blood, not black, red. That could mean only one thing. The pit bull had attacked someone. He kicked the beast over to expose it's wounds, curious as to how it's victim had taken in down.

A dagger protruded from its spine. The wielder had obviously plunged it in with quite a bit of strength. He knelt down to pull out the weapon of defense with a gloved hand. He recognized the handle immediately. A snarling wolf with silver teeth lay embedded in ivory. The blade, he estimated, would be about eleven inches in length. This was the blade described to Midgar's early morning news watchers just twenty minutes before. This was Cloud Strife's blade, his murder weapon.

Why would someone leave a decent dagger behind?

He searched about for more evidence. Placing the beast back in the position he'd discovered it in, he stood back, using his tracking skills to gather evidence.

The scene played out in his mind. The blonde had been walking by the alleyway, most likely no less than an hour ago, seeing as the creature's pool of blood hadn't yet dried. Judging by the deep claw marks eight feet away where the creature had propelled itself from the ground with powerful hind legs, it had hurled itself at Strife, fully intent on killing him. He could imagine Strife's small teenage frame falling to the ground upon impact as the creature tore into him with its slashing teeth. Strife had produced the blade from somewhere on his person, and defended himself quite efficiently, driving the dagger deep within his attacker's flesh and bone. He concluded he must have rolled the body off of himself, and stopped to rest a few feet away, where another pool of blood, this one red, had already dried up mostly, being thinner than the dog's mako-tainted, tar-like substance.

He noticed a single crutch lying in the street. Had it belonged to Strife? Curious, he went to pick it up, observing the height adjustments. 5'3, just as the news report had said. So Strife did injure himself the night he scaled the fence. He'd also fought and defeated the massive beast at his feet with his injury, but why would he leave his crutch?

Judging by the evidence, Strife had lost a lot of blood, but had lived. He'd seen the blonde's picture. He didn't look to be very big, so, how did he do it? How did he walk away from this alive, using only a light weapon, with perhaps nothing but a flesh wound?

That was it. That had to be the answer. Some people, albeit a very rare few, could absorb mako into their systems, even in an impure state, and use it like SOLDIERs used the green liquid's purified form. It made them stronger, faster, all around superior to the average human, just like a SOLDIER. That is if their bodies could take it. These individuals either died of mako-poisoning around seventy-two hours later, or went to ShinRa for help. That help would the continued injection of the mako's purified form until the tainted substance had worked its way from their systems. All of this, of course, in exchange for either a large sum of gil, or a few years of military service.

Strife's body had absorbed the mako from the beast's saliva, and used it to heal his wounds and his ankle. That's why he'd left his crutch behind. Odd, most bodies didn't absorb mako quite so quickly, much less receive its effects in such a instantaneous manner.

This wasn't good. A supposed killer had just been given super-human powers. Perfect.

Sephiroth thought on this a while. He noticed the foot prints of blood leading away from the scene. He tried to follow them, but they became lighter and lighter as less of Strife's blood coated the bottom of his shoe. The prints slowly disappeared, leaving Sephiroth with nothing but a general idea as to where Strife was staying. Hell, he may not actually be staying anywhere. He could moving from place to place, he could be residing in a hotel under a disguise, or he could be living on the streets. He doubted an escaped orphan would have enough money to pay for a proper shelter, so he concluded that Strife was definitely staying on the streets, but in one place, or in a nomadic style, he didn't know.

One thing was for certain. The teen had to be located and taken to ShinRa. He doubted Strife would kill anyone else, seeing as he no longer held a weapon. He reminded himself that the manner in which Strife had slain the pit bull had taken a lot of strength, so, despite his size, his body had ,without a doubt, used the mako to boost the output of his muscles. His body must have absorbed it so quickly, just like Sephiroth's did. That's what made Sephiroth so powerful. Sure, he'd be strong naturally, but the mako made him a mortal god.

Perhaps the kid could join SOLDIER. Oh yeah . . . he'd committed murder. ShinRa didn't take in criminals. Still, the teen needed a least three months of mako treatments to cure him of the certain death sentence, the tainted mako.

Sephiroth suddenly halted in his thoughts. Why did he care what happened to the orphan? What would it matter to him if the blonde died of mako poisoning? That was exactly it. He didn't care. It didn't matter. Strife was just an escapee on the run from an unfair trial and a prison sentence. He was just a boy who'd been fatally exposed to impure mako.

His thoughts continued on the same path for at least fifteen minutes. He'd almost made it to his office now, and would be signing papers and plotting military agendas for the rest of the day. He concluded it was better off just to let the boy die. If he was brought in to ShinRa, he'd be held and handed over to the police, thus at the mercy of the malicious courts of Midgar. Then he'd most likely be sent to prison. A pretty blonde didn't belong behind bars with sexually deprived rapists and serial killers, that was certain. Sephiroth knew that any sound minded living being would rather be dead than roughly taken by horny uncaring bastards against their own will for the rest of their lives. On a daily basis at that.

He arrived at the reception lobby of the eighty-floor building, taking the elevator to his office. He walked in without knocking to find Zack sleeping face down on his on his desk, drooling on hopefully unimportant paperwork. The silver-haired man went to his own desk across from Zack's, where, to his utter horror, lay a stack, no, a tower of papers that obscured his vision of his spiky-haired friend across the room. This was going to be a long day.
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Cloud had made his way back to the old abandoned car and fallen asleep in the back seat, curled up against the sudden onslaught of cold weather. He'd almost never gotten to sleep. After he'd been bitten last night, an amazing surge of energy had charged him as if he'd drank five Red Bulls.

When he awoke, the energetic feeling he'd had was gone, leaving behind an insufferable feeling of nausea. Not truly nausea. Cloud couldn't explain it. His head felt odd, dizzy, and his chest hurt, as if some strange mass had been planted there. A strange mass that wouldn't leave him be. He shivered uncontrollably. He had nothing but his clothes, and they weren't 'bought' for warmth. It had been a decent day as far as temperature went when he'd stolen them. He now regretted that he'd not taken a sweater too.

His stomach growled, despite the unusual sensations of nausea. Cloud hadn't known it was possible to be nauseous and hungry at the same time. He had an appetite. In fact, he was starving, so he credited the strange feelings in his stomach on not having any food to eat, or water to drink for forty-eight hours.

He sat up with a groan, clutching his head as a pounding headache made itself known. Memories rushed back into his consciousness. Cloud checked his arm, and almost yelped in glee at what he saw, but remembered his headache. The wound was gone completely. It had fully healed overnight. The blonde was dumbfounded.

How the hell?

Maybe his being attacked was just a nightmare. A very realistic nightmare. He further examined his arm. Upon closer inspection, he found a few tiny, nearly invisible scars that hadn't been there before. Yes, last night had happened. He remembered how he'd healed faster than normal directly after the incident. That alone had amazed him, but now, he was fully healed as far as external wounds went. He made a quick and grateful prayer to Mother Gaia for sparing his life.

He slowly got out of the car, not wanting to agitated any injuries he'd been unable to see in the darkness. His back was killing him. He must have attained quiet a few bruises when the beast barreled into him and knocked him the ground. He lifted up his shirt. Yep. While his external, therefore more severe, wounds had healed, the minor ones hadn't.

That's okay. I can live with a few bruises.

He smiled proudly when he noticed that his ankle no longer hurt to walk on at all, unable to suppress his delight. Then, his moment of happiness was interrupted when his stomach snarled at him, punctuated by a painful cramp.

Cloud sighed. He needed to find food today, of that he was certain.

The sun had risen, but clouds hung overhead, not allowing him its warming rays. He hugged himself in an attempt to keep warm. He wasn't able to tell what time of day it was, thanks to, none other, than the very same clouds that kept him from being warm. He cursed them with impressive fervor, adding more swears than even he himself hadn't known he knew. He knew it had to be evening, maybe two? Three PM? He'd slept a long time, not arriving back to his shelter until the early hours of morning.

He felt terrible, still tired, but driven by his body's need for food. How to get it without paying? He could steal all the clothes he wanted, which, with the cold, he was tempted to do. However, Midgar had no food market that sold goods off of counters, and on top of that, he didn't know how to cook, so that left him with one option. He'd have to get food from a fast-food place, or a walk in restaurant. Both were impossible.

He pondered this as his body jolted with another violent shiver. He wouldn't sink so low as to beg for it, nor was he willing to dive head first into a dumpster. Knowing his luck, he'd get stuck, and the garbage truck would crush him to bits. No more Cloudy Boy.

A smirk alighted his features as he found a solution. He could steal the money. That would be so much easier than stealing food. Now that his ankle was healed, he was sure he could do it. Picking pockets actually sounded fun as his mind came up with cunning ways to approach his victims.

A loud yell startled him from his thinking. Wheeling around, he spotted a tall man in a red uniform running at him at a surprising speed. He immediately recognized the uniform of the Midgar Police Force.

"Cloud Strife, do not run or I will be persuaded to use force!"

Use force? How are you gonna do /that if you can't catch me?/

"The policeman produced a night stick from his belt, brandishing it threateningly.

"OH SHIT!"

He turned and ran full tilt, in the opposite direction. So, the cops were after him.

He fled into a thick crowd around a street show, where a man was tossing a large purple ball to a donkey, who bounced it from its nose and back to the man. The crowd's cheering turned into disgruntled shouts as Cloud forced himself through, pushing and shoving in his desperation. His heart raced, if he got caught now, his life was over. He'd rather die than be sent to prison and raped, the very thing that he'd killed a human being to avoid. Judging by the crowd's second wave of shouts, the policeman had followed close behind. Cloud was fast for his size, but the policeman was tall and lanky, and an excellent runner. Emerging on the other side of the crowd, he spotted a large green trash can, and ran for it. If he made it before the policeman forced his way through the onlookers, which was difficult because he was bigger than Cloud, lanky or not, then he could hide inside the trash can, providing it was at least half empty.

He flipped up the lid and found nothing inside, and, to his relief, it didn't smell. It must have been new. In a hurry, he let himself fall in headfirst. He landed in an awkward position, his knees resting on his head and his upper body curled into a ball at the bottom.

How many people are flexible enough to do this? he wondered.

His position quickly grew uncomfortable as his body struggled to breath in its compressed state. He had to stay here long enough to ensure the policeman had gone. He'd rather suffocate in a trash can than go to prison.

He lay thus until he could bear it no longer. He decided the policeman had most likely gone, and was ready to get out. One problem. He was undeniably stuck. He tried to move his legs, but found his ass wouldn't let him, as it was already pressed against the walls of the trash can, and couldn't go any further. His arms were pinned between his body and the walls, so he couldn't exactly pull himself up.

"Fuck! This is beautiful . . . absolutely ass eating beautiful!!!"

He lay there, vexed, and panting like a pissed bull, then began to rock the trash can back and forth. He didn't exactly feel excited about falling and rolling inside the can, but there was no other way that he could see. Finally, the can fell over, giving him a painful jolt as it thudded to the cement. His back had already been sore, now it was killing him. He lay there a few minutes, catching his breath.

He definitely needed a disguise, he thought, having no wish to repeat this dilemma, nor any other even remotely resembling it.

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It had taken Sephiroth about three hours to complete the mountain of papers on his desk. He'd allowed Zack to take a small nap, since he'd undoubtedly been partying again. Sighing, he leaned back in his chair for a nice stretch.

He was highly annoyed when his secretary skipped in wearing a mini-skirt and a red buisiness top with, lo-and-behold, yet another inhumanely large stack of papers.

She smiled as if paperwork were the greatest thing in the world, and deposited them upon his desk with a heavy thunk. Sephiroth grunted his irritation as she left.

He stared at the imposing pile of paperwork. He'd defeated hundreds of men in battle, some even renowned warriors of great skill. Others, well-known assassins, the best of their kind. He'd even fought and defeated the Emperor of Wutai during Wutai War One, and let him keep his life, which he now regretted, but the one thing he could not defeat, was this worthy adversary upon his desk, paperwork. He decided to surrender and begin this stack tomorrow.

Across from him, he watched his friend sleep, and decided it was time to wake him. He went to Zack's side and nudged him slightly, being rewarded with only a weak groan. He shoved harder. This time Zack mumbled some sort of incoherent nonsense that sounded like, "limegreenchocobodildos." Annoyed, Sephiroth pulled Zack up from his saliva soaked desk and shook him.

"Wake up! I'm not signing your ridiculously excessive in amount pile of worthless paperwork too."

Worthless wasn't the word for it. Sephiroth had come to believe that ShinRa Corp. had a special group of fat lazy bastards who did nothing but write up nonsensical paperwork all day just to keep him busy. He was the General, not a secretary.

After being roughly shaken for longer than he could stand, Zack issued a sound of complaint and pushed him away.

"What? Who? Seph! What the HELL are you trying to do, make to my brain rattle around in my head like a tambourine?!?"

"That only works if said head has a brain with which to rattle Zackary."

"Yes, almighty god of sarcasm and assholiness."

"I woke you because you have paperwork. Wet paperwork might I add."

Zack groaned and trudged over to the soft couch on the far right wall.

"I'll do it tomorrow, I swear. I just want to sleep for now."

Sephiroth contemplated this statement, and devised a wonderful idea.

"Fine, I'll let you go home for the rest of the day. You can do your paperwork tomorrow."

Zack stared at him in disbelief.

"Under two conditions. One, you complete all of it, and, two, you complete mine as well." He motioned to the stack on the corner of his own desk."

Zack scowled. "I knew there was a catch, but, I accept. It'll all be done tomorrow. Now, off to my beautiful soft bed and all of its fluffy pillows." Zack left with a wave and a yawn.

Sephiroth shook his head, glancing at the papers on his desk. Since Zack said he would do them tomorrow, that left him with no work at all. Taking advantage of this rare moment of free time, he decided to take his leave before someone else arrived with something for him to do.

He didn't want to go out into the streets wearing his famous black coat, seeing as he didn't like idolization, nor did he wish to sign any autographs or get his picture taken. Luckily, he'd come prepared. He opened the bottom drawer of his desk and pulled out casual clothes he'd kept there for just this occasion. He locked his office door and quickly changed into a pair of fitting straight leg jeans, and a slate-gray button-up shirt. Yes, he loved shirts with buttons. He'd decided long ago that they made him look sexy. To complete his disguise, he gathered his hair and placed it beneath a solid black cap. There, no one would notice him as The Great General Sephiroth now.

He left the building and began the walk back to his apartment, moving at a brisk pace. He decided to take the same route as the one he'd taken this morning, just to see if anyone had taken it upon themselves to dispose of the pit bull's carcass. The real reason was to see if Strife was anywhere nearby, but he wasn't about to acknowledge that to himself, especially after he'd struggled to get the blonde out of his thoughts all day. He knew the blonde had to in the area. Mako poisoning had to be setting in by now.

Now he was entering a crowd consisting of people leaving from their jobs to return home to their families and many people just out doing some shopping. As large as Midgar was, he quickly noted that it had become far too populated. Maybe it was time to expand? He became increasingly frustrated as more and more civilians nudged passed him or bumped into him. He considered removing his cap to reveal his identity, but decided against it as he passed a billboard that portrayed a large picture of himself with his sword, which he'd left back in his office for obvious reasons.

Clouds still hung low in the sky, looking as if they were ready to burst. Thunder graced the skies in warning. Sephiroth quickened his pace in an attempt to reach his apartment before the heavens released their floodgates.

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Cloud crouched against the side of a building. His condition has worsened by quite a bit. His shivering just wouldn't stop, yet his body felt hot. His head pounded mercilessly, and his vision had given to lapsing into fits of blurriness. His stomach demanded food with frequent fits of ceaseless growling, yet he felt that if he did eat, he'd lose. That is if he could. Once again, he credited the strange feelings in his abdomen to hunger and dehydration.

After his run in with the cop, he'd swiped a black beanie hat from an unsuspecting civilian. It covered his blonde spikes efficiently, and with it, no one should be able to recognize him easily.

He observed the crowd, searching for a likely candidate to rob. He'd need to choose someone who looked as if they had money. He needed to choose someone in the center of the massive crowd bustling on the sidewalks. He considered a woman who was peering in the window of a dress shop, but decided against it when two little girls made there way to her with smiles on their faces. He decided his victim should be male. Someone who looked as if they had no family to provide for.

His eyes fell upon a tall man in a grey shirt. He knew shirts like that weren't cheap, and the man wore good jeans too which looked to have large pockets. The bigger the pockets, the easier he'd be able to slip his hand in and out with less actual physical contact. Nor did the man look to be the family type. As an added bonus, he was toward the middle of the crowd, and looked to be lost in thought.

Thunder from above startled him, then he felt a raindrop.

"Dammit . . . " he murmured.

He'd need to have this over with before the clouds unleashed their full arsenal upon him.

Cloud ignored a particularly violent shiver as he commenced his advance and began to follow his choice of victim. He'd have to be fast and discrete.

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Sephiroth was lost in thoughts about the war, wondering when he'd be sent off to the front lines, or if the war would even be fought on a physical front at all. So far, all ShinRa had done was send over a few Turks to gather information and begin training troops in guerilla warfare and field-aid.

He felt cold droplets of rain on his face. Agitated that he'd not made it home fast enough, he quickened his pace. The rain gradually increased in magnitude until it poured down on him as if the ocean had been levitated above him and dropped.

He was surprised to feel the sensations of a hand in his pocket that wasn't his own. Then, just as soon as it had come it was gone, and so was his wallet. He wasn't dumb, but apparently his pick-pocket was. He whirled around and spotted a boy with a black hood fleeing into an alley. The idiot even had the audacity to turn to see if he was being pursued. The boy noticed Sephiroth's eyes on him and notedly paled a few shades, if it were possible for such a light skinned person to grow any lighter.

Sephiroth set off at a run, outraged that anyone would dare take his money, even if he had plenty, the actions alone were enough to piss him off.

He rounded the corner in time to see the boy fall to the ground with a cry of pain. He had him now. As he neared, he noticed the boy looked remotely familiar, but dismissed the thought as blue eyes looked up at him, tears visible to Sephiroth even during the rain, obviously fearing the worst. The boy unleashed shaky tirade of pleads.

"Please, don't hurt me! I . . . I was just hungry! Please! I'll give it back . . ."

The boy held out his wallet as a peace offering. Sephiroth raked his eyes over him. He was thin, too thin. He knew that his clothes likely veiled prominent ribs. They were dirty and the pants he wore had holes in them that resembled claw marks.

He then shivered violently and lurched foreward breathing heavily and clutching his abdomen. He remained thus, riding out a wave of pain. When his shaking relented a little, he looked up into Sephiroth's eyes. It was then that Sephiroth realized the boy's eyes were glowing. The glow of mako.

Cloud Strife?

He reached foreward and the boy gave an obvious flinch. Sephiroth removed the hat to reveal a soggy mess of yellow spikes. Cloud looked up at him, as if expecting a blow. His pupils dilated as he struggled to focus on him. Of course, the mako was setting in. The blonde had begun to suffer the symptoms of the poisoning.

Sephiroth had originally planned let Cloud Strife die instead of turning him in to ShinRa for reasons already discussed, but, actually seeing him now, and in such a pathetic state, he began to revise his plans.

He couldn't turn him in. That was out of the question. He couldn't take him to a regular hospital either, seeing as ShinRA Corp. refused to distribute mako to anyone. He was left with two options, put him out of his misery, or take him back to his apartment.

He actually thought about the former, which didn't surprise him, he was a heartless killer on the battlefield after all. Taking in Cloud's appearance, he fervently reprimanded himself. How could he think such a thing? Only one option left.

The boy had fallen to the ground while he'd pondered his next actions. Leaning down, he assessed his condition as unconscious. As soon as he placed his hand on Cloud's back to pick him up, he noticed an unusually high temperature, even for mako poisoning. He gathered the blonde into his arms, and shielded him from the rain as much as he could as Cloud shivered continually. He now began to wish he'd brought his coat.

Sephiroth raced back to his apartment, where he knew he still had some mako treatments left over from the time Zack had become ill, and, as always, stayed with him until he'd gotten better. Most victims of mako poisoning lasted about two days. Judging from his gathered evidence, Cloud had retracted the poisoning around twelve hours ago, yet his condition seemed to have deteriorated abnormally fast.

Just like me. My body absorbs mako like a sponge, that goes for mako poisoning as well.

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Cloud was vaguely aware of a warmth surrounding him, even as the cold rain bombarded him. His head continued to ache as if it would never stop. He felt he'd never feel well again. The closer he surfaced to consciousness, the more pain he felt. He fought to remain in the world of the oblivious, a world where he felt no pain. The warmth around him was moving, rocking. His brain barley registered soggy footsteps.

He wanted to know who, or what held him. Was it an angel? Had he died? What was the last thing he remembered? Green eyes. Glowing eyes of the most odd shade of emerald he'd ever seen. They had been amazing and he'd nearly drowned in them.

He remebered feeling afraid. Afraid of what? Oh yeah . . . that big guy in the grey shirt. His ankle had given out from running. It had felt perfectly fine, then, was stricken by a particularly intense ghost pain. The man had looked so angry. Cloud remebered thinking he'd be killed, or worse, raped.

All coherent thoughts were washed away as his mind lurched. Why was he in so much pain? Had the man beaten him up? Had the man raped him? Surely he'd remember.

He whimpered as his head temporarily pounded exceptionally more in magnitude than it had been. Whoever carried him held him closer at this, and uttered some kind of useless comforting nonsense. He couldn't hear the soothing words, but the voice was enough.

He suddenly noticed that the rain no longer drenched him. Had he been taken indoors? Was his rescuer a policeman? He tried to open his eyes to find out, but as soon as light made its way in, he groaned from an overpowering pain. He didn't care who held him, as long as they kept talking. He loved that voice. It was so deep and smooth. Not to mention his ear was pressed against its owner's chest, allowing him to feel it's every vibration. The voice continued on, lulling him into a dreamless sleep.

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AUTHOR NOTES:
Hi! It's about bloody time I finished this chapter. Seph and Cloud have finally met, if you can call it that. Sorry about leaving off at a cliff-hanger, you probably all hate me now. I'll get the next chapter posted as soon as possible. I don't have much tim eto write, what with school, and band practice and such. Not to mention, I don't have computer access every first and third weekend of the month. Sucks huh?

"I hope you like this chapter. I know I do. "

Well duh, of course I do, I wrote it. Why would I write something I don't like?

"For an Alabama Standardised Literacy Assessment Exam?"

You think they named it long enough?

"I hate that test, they only give you three peices of paper. What the hell am I gonna write on just three peices of fucking paper?"

A story.

"A three page story?!? Are you insane?!?"

Um, I think you should know, you're still typing, and your readers have heard this entire conversation.

"Oh, well, he he he."

Sorry, my self arguments and I. Yeah. I promise I will post chapter four as quickly as possible. Please REVIEW! You may inspire me to work faster.