Genetic Perfection

Her voice had become quieter the kind of voice that seemed less spoken than remembered.

"Don’t mistake it for Sachi (幸)” Her fingers rested upon the edge of the table and the steel beneath them groaned not from strength but from her mere presence. Gravity itself acknowledged her. “Names imprison understanding." She tilted her head ever so slightly. In the line of study they were in curiosity has always been a more faithful servant than certainty. Her attention shifted not toward the darkness but through it as though walls, flesh, and distance were meaningless inconveniences.

A faint creepy smile crept across her sunkissed skin, “Rikelus already has chose a third path and that’s why he surpassed me already. Not in strength, strength itself is a child’s obsession the same as intelligent and knowledge. These are merely accumulated memory. He surpassed me because he remained capable of becoming something I no longer could. I abandoned pieces of myself long ago. He simply did not.”

She stepped away from the microscope the shadows in the room seemed reluctant to release Rayleigh. "I sought an ending. The world mistakes endings for destruction. It is a very human mistake "Everything living clings to what it is. I am interested only in what comes after."

What she saw today was the first honest thing this Planet has shown her in a long time. Rayleigh did not stop her she merely watched Isrieal drift toward the doorway, her expression as placid as still water. “He believes you awaken something dangerous and he is correct but not to reasons he imagines. Will he remain who he believes himself to be

or become who he has always been capable of becoming?  He fears what he would lose if he embraced it without restraint. That fear is the last chain binding the abyss. Chains are curious things they exist to be tested.

She turned back to the microscope, dismissing the conversation with effortless finality. "As for your request. I will honor it but understand this, Isrieal." Rayleigh's voice carried no threat  which made it all the more unnerving. "I am not granting privacy because you asked. I am granting it because the next chapter must unfold without my hand upon the page."

Knowledge has a peculiar tendency it changes the observer not because knowledge itself possesses power; but because every truth carries with it a corresponding law. Laws are not things that can simply be spoken into another mind. They must be discovered, suffered, contradicted, and ultimately accepted. A truth handed from one person to another is merely information; it has no weight, no gravity, no authority until experience carves it into the soul.

Revelation cannot be gifted it must be earned

The moment one truly understands something fundamental about the world, they are no longer capable of seeing it as they once did. Every certainty they possessed rearranges itself around that newly uncovered law, like stars bending around an unseen singularity. Ignorance offers the comfort of infinite possibilities; understanding collapses them into inevitability.

The observer is forced to surrender old identities, old convictions, and sometimes entire lives built upon assumptions that can no longer survive the light of comprehension. There are truths that do not merely answer questions they dissolve the one asking them. They strip away comforting illusions, expose hidden motives masquerading as virtue, and reveal that what mortals call choice is often nothing more than the visible surface of currents set in motion long before they were born.

To reveal such truths prematurely is not enlightenment but theft, for it robs another of the transformation required to bear them without breaking. Some laws are ancient enough that they refuse to be taught; they demand witnesses rather than students. They wait patiently for a mind to become sufficiently burdened by failure, sacrifice, longing, and loss before allowing themselves to be recognized. Until then they remain invisible, no matter how plainly they stand before one's eyes.

"It's curious that I could awaken such danger as you claim. Are you ever going to tell me why that is? Or maybe you don't even know." She fights the smirk that threatens to pull at the corner of her mouth, and it just makes her smile all the more uncanny. Isrieal had always been a chaotic catalyst, but she didn't want to have any part in whatever this game was. Why Rike was so reactive to her was the age-old question she'd been trying to answer for decades. Not just her but both of them together. She'd never met someone quite so addictive.

"You chase what comes after, but what if nothing comes after? Perhaps that is why people cling so hard to what is here and now. Don't chase nothingness." If Rayleigh wanted to stop playing games she would consider a conversation with her again, but for now she wanted to get far away. Not for the fear of Rayleigh, but for fear of what she might do in her presence. She glances to the slide still in her hands and nods. "Well then, I guess we'll see you when the time is right. Thank you for being so generous." Poison could never be spoken more sweetly. She backs from the room still smiling until the darkness swallows her.

Her smile drops the moment she turns, her steel gaze piercing the shadows like daggers as she makes her way back to their quarters to finally find Rikelus. "We can't stay here." She says the moment she sweeps through the door. "Rayleigh is up to something and I can't figure out what. She's playing games and she's hiding things." She was the pot to call the kettle black.

"You know I can only tolerate that for so long. I am trying so hard Rikelus." She says with a click of her teeth. "And besides that I have so much to do, and I can't do any of it here." She throws her arms into the air and lets them fall to her sides. "I was told to look for signs of what she clings too..." Her voice drops a tone quieter as she paces the window, thinking aloud. Told by who? Finally, she sighs and turns to face Rikelus with gentler eyes.

"I learned nothing by talking to her. I hope you were able to figure something out at least?" She inquires, leaving out the bit about Hades hiding within her. "Were you able to learn more about those powers of yours?" She plops herself into the cozy chair angled towards the center of the room facing the bed. "I need to at least hear something useful today." So far it was a whole lot of nothing. "I need your thoughts. You know we shouldn't stay here, right?" She just wasn't so sure they could leave without putting her back to sleep.

x // @ofgeneticperfection

He should have known better.

The foliage around him had looked different, at least compared to what he was used to during the cooler months. The trees should have painted a beautiful scene of colors; instead it was blackened, withered, but not yet dead. The branches did not sway. Whatever had taken root here had done so deeply, and it was nothing native to this continent. And out stepped the source of it, looking like one of the Dimitrescu Daughters. He half-expected her to splinter apart into a cloud of insects and reform somewhere behind him.

He did not recognize her face, but that meant little. Umbrella kept its scientists in separate rooms, separate buildings, separate cities when it suited them. Isolation was policy. You could not compare notes with someone you had never been introduced to. Most of them never got far enough to want to. The research had a way of pulling you deeper before you thought to look up, and by then the only two exits were madness or conscience: press on, or doubt, plan, and set fire to everything on your way out the door.

Hannibal has never been loyal to Umbrella, but he’s not ignorant of burning bridges. Umbrella had long arms and longer memories. You managed the chaos as best you could and kept your face pleasant in the meantime. A prime example steps in front of him; this woman was nothing more than a mutant, he presumes. He wonders how she survived this long, alone, with only the infected crawling along the outskirts.

What that would do over time, she still didn't know but she had managed to survive this long at least. "Do you really want the full story while we stand in the midst of the chaos?" She asks. "Or is there somewhere else we could discuss these things?" All she knew was that her blood had managed to infect some of the plant life here, and that it seemed to deter the other infected from wanting to eat her. "Perhaps you could catch me up on some of the other research going on as well?" She asks with a tilt to her head. "I've heard whispers of Mold going wrong?" She questions. "I'm quite curious about that. I could even help with some of the research." She offers.

She still wasn't sure if he would take or along or decide to just let burn her where she stood with the rest of the island. Her gaze drifts aside, catching a glimpse of the black vines snaking along the ground towards the feet of the soldiers he had brought with him. Her eyes briefly flash red and they halt their actions to coil in upon themselves and reach backwards away from the crew instead.

"Look." She says with a sigh. "I don't know the answer to those questions. I just know that I can do...that." She nods towards the retreating vines. "And that I do need to find somewhere to go. My old team didn't survive." She admits. "I need to find something new."

She doesn't wait for the illusionary world to finish bleeding away on its own. With the weight of her Shuriken solid and familiar in her grip, she focuses entirely on the flickering, unstable manifestation of Emily. The malice radiating from the child-like specter is suffocating, but to Cissnei, it is just another threat to be neutralized. Another entity trying to lock the bird in a cage.

"You picked the wrong mind to play in," Cissnei says, her voice echoing with a dual-layered resonance that shakes the foundations of the psychic space. This was her domain. Trained to withstand the most brutal of interrogation methods, she could withstand this. 

She steps forward, brushing past Isrieal, and brings her weapon up. Isrieal seemed to take note that her grounding warmth was no longer needed as an anchor. She chose to trust Cissnei with the rest and faded out of existence. 

 The raw Mako light bleeding black from Emily’s form reflects in Cissnei's defiant, stubborn eyes - the exact same look she gave Veld through the security camera all those years ago.

With a brutal, sweeping arc, Cissnei hurls the massive shuriken straight through the center of Emily's stabilizing visage. The weapon slices through the psychic tether. Emily’s eyes widen in a brief, panicked shock before her manifestation completely splinters. A horrific, glitched shriek tears through the air as the black mist and neon-green fog collapse inward, shattering like glass.

"Get out," Cissnei commands, her voice dripping with venom.

The phrase acts as a hard override. The entire subconscious realm - the orphanage doors, the gas chamber, the swirling abyss of the reactor - implodes into absolute white light. Cissnei pushes Emily’s consciousness back toward the waking world. There was a severing the link.

Nothing but white. Like the plug had been pulled. Just a staggering abyss that led to nowhere. Then…

Gasp.

The transition is a physical assault. Cissnei’s eyes fly open, but there is no clarity. There’s only a blinding, fluorescent glare that seared into her retinas.

Her lungs expand convulsively, drawing in a sharp, desperate breath of air that smells overwhelmingly of chemicals, ozone, and old blood. It isn't the cold rain or cheap soup of her memories. It is the sterile, suffocating air of a Shinra laboratory. She felt her heart stop at the realization.

"Ah - !"

A violent spasm racks her abdomen. Cissnei rolls heavily onto her side, her limbs heavy and uncooperative, as if her nerves are misfiring. She retches black, gasping as a wave of intense, of mako and psychic-induced nausea hits her. Her vision swims with sickening green halos. Every muscle in her body trembles violently, a symptom of severe cellular rejection and psychic whiplash.

Where was she?

She tries to push herself up, but her hands slide against cold, metallic grating. A medical table. Restraints dangle loosely near her wrists. The hum of heavy machinery vibrates through her bones, a low, rhythmic droning that makes her pounding headache amplify tenfold.

Disoriented, her mind scrambles to bridge the gap between the faux dream and the harsh reality of her surroundings. Her heart hammers against her ribs like a trapped animal. She forces her uncooperative eyes to sweep the room.

She was out. She was awake. But the sickness invading her veins tells her the nightmare in the physical world is far from over.

—----

Emily doesn't flinch when the razor-sharp fan blade slices through the air, embedding itself deep into the sterile flooring right at her small, unmoving feet.

Even when the lightning explodes from its spokes, sending jagged, brilliant arcs of electricity bouncing violently off the walls and tearing through her small frame, her expression doesn't shift. The electricity ripples over her skin, illuminating the terrifying truth beneath the illusion: for a fraction of a second, the sweet little girl in the sundress blinks out of existence, replaced by a twisting, formless mass of dark matter and glitching, predatory geometry before snapping back into the shape of a porcelain child.

The electrical shock forces her shadow to snap back slightly, the ink retreating toward her heels, but her smile only widens. It stretches just a little too far across her face, unnatural and unbothered by the smoke rising from the hem of her dress.

She listens to Isrieal’s insults, her head tilting to the opposite side with that same slow, agonizing click. Pathetic. Weak.

"Sustain?" Emily echoes, the layered, echoing voices in her throat overlapping like a choir of radio static. She takes a slow, deep breath, inhaling the scent of burnt ozone and Isrieal’s sudden, spiking terror. "You think I am hungry? You think I need his fragile little meat-suit to exist?"

She giggles. It’s a bright, musical sound that completely hollows out the tension in the hallway.

"I don't want his body because I am weak," Emily purrs, her eyes locking onto Isrieal’s with a feral, piercing brilliance. "I want him because he is your toy. Because you call him a tool, a guard, a piece on your board... but your blood turned to ice the moment you thought I’d take him away. You don't want your toys broken."

She wanted to manipulate, and play with these meat creatures. Wanted to see their violent reactions for sheer amusement. And there was a whole building out there waiting. Though, her cells were being pulled toward her origin, she wanted to hold out for longer to speculate.

Then, a new voice enters the hall. Hojo.

Emily’s gaze shifts past Isrieal, her eyes narrowing as she takes in the sight of the scientist lingering safely in the distance. Her shadow, sensing the shift in Isrieal's vitals - the sudden, suffocating halt of her heartbeat - begins to churn violently again. It doesn't just pool; it begins to rise, creeping up the walls like black frost.

"Oh," Emily whispers, her voice dropping into a register so sweet it makes the skin crawl. She directly mirrors the sudden, hidden panic paralyzing Isrieal. "Oh, look at that. The little rabbit wasn't your toy at all, was he? He was just a distraction."

She takes a step over the embedded fan blade, completely ignoring the lingering sparks that singe her bare ankles. She looks past Isrieal, straight at Hojo, though her words are meant entirely to tear into the woman standing between them.

"You aren't afraid of me breaking your dolls, Isrieal," Emily taunts, her shadow flaring outward like a pair of great, tattered wings behind her small silhouette, blocking out the overhead lights of the corridor. "You're afraid of what he'll dissect when he realizes you've been lying to him."

The shadows beneath Viktor's boots suddenly lurch upward, wrapping around his ankles like heavy, numbing chains of pure cold, pinning him in place. Emily doesn't look at him. She keeps her eyes dead-set on Isrieal, her hands coming out from behind her back to point a pale, delicate finger at her.

"Let's see how well your lightning burns when everything is stripped away," Emily says, her melodic voice suddenly distorting into a deafening, demonic roar that shatters the glass of the nearest overhead light. "Let's see what the white coat does to you when I hand him your corpse!"

With a terrifying burst of speed, Emily glides forward, her body turning into a blurring streak of darkness as she lunges straight for Isrieal's throat, the shadows trailing behind her like a wake of black oil.

"I'm sure whoever's corpse is brought to me would be quite amusing." He leaves the offer on the table. Could a fragment of Jenova withstand one of his best creations, altered with those same cells? He would be disappointed if Isrieal failed now of all times. "Let's see how perfect you really are."

Isrieal knew that was directed more towards her, but with the threat at risk, he'd make it even to both sides, and it was best she played along with the act. Her features turn to steel as she focuses on Emily, gearing up to charge her. "The hard part is going to be making me a corpse." She says with a narrowed gaze. She lets go of her fans and they hover in the air at her sides, spinning like electrified buzzsaws ready to strike.

The shattered glass doesn't make it to the ground; instead it whirlwinds in a psychic grasp around Isrieal, acting as a shield against her rush. She pushes out her hand and the shards meet with her on first impact, along with the force of a psychic wall that keeps her mere inches from Isrieal's throat. It was enough time to push from the floor and backflip herself out of the situation.

"Just because I didn't tell the entire truth doesn't mean I lied." Isrieal's voice echoes solely in Emily's mind. "I destroyed the rest of your body back in that reactor - what makes you think I can't finish the job?" Her eyes narrow dangerously like the daggers they are.

The spinning fans in the air angle in Emily's direction to slam down into her with more bursts of lightning, threatening to burn through the strange body. Meanwhile, Viktor looks down at the shadows binding his feet. He shoots at them, trying to get the grasp to loosen. If he could escape, the situation was best left in Isrieal's hands.

-------

Back in Cissnei's room Gregori jumps to attention as she awakens, turning his gaze from the curtain to look at her on the bed. "Hey." He says. His voice was heavily influenced by Russian as well. Same sharp black tactical suit like Viktor wore. They were like Isrieal's personal Turks more or less. She was too stubborn to use the company's own. Whatever she used them for ran deeper than just defense.

He lowers his gun and walks to the side of the bed. "You should rest for a while." He tells her, with the distant sounds of the chaos down the halls echoing back towards them. "You are safe here." He says. "The I.V is just fluids to help clear the mako." Isrieal already had her set up quite well. It just came down to her staying put. "I can make sure that she is the only one who attends to you if that helps, but right now it is best to let the medications just do their job."

He could tell she was in no condition to try and run, but he knew better than to underestimate people who woke up in these labs. "I will make sure nothing bothers you in the meantime. Deal?" he asks.

"Surely you can have more fun than that." She adds with a nod to the slight adjustments of her usual attire. "Or I suppose you could pass as my sugar daddy." She chuckles. "So, I guess the coffee is on you." Best she not pull out her black card. Before taking a seat, she heads over to order a coratdo. A small cup of creamy shots to energize the night and easy to drink fast enough. She returns with it to take a seat across from Cissnei, folding one leg over the other as she watches her.

"I do love being generous when it is deserved." She points out. The more friends she made in Wall-Market, the better information she could acquire. She didn't feel threatened by the people down here, aside from the Don, he was one to keep an eye on even if she did have a deal with him. She follows her gaze to the neon glow of the Honey Bee and shimmies with excitement in her seat. She's certainly not the ice-cold persona that stalks the halls of ShinRa in these sorts of scenarios.

"Good. I'm glad the headache is gone." She would have slipped her something if it wasn't. The moment her ribbon was mentioned her hands reflexively clasped over her wrist as if it would fall off without it. Catching herself, she chuckles. "Oh. Of course I'm ready. You know it." She says with a wink. She never did like attention being brought to things around that wrist.

She shoots back the rest of her cortado and tosses it away as she passes the trash. There was a sway in her walk the entire way over as she followed the source of the glow to get to the Honey Bee. All the colors dance off her moon-white strands as she waits by the entrance with large and dazzled eyes. She was just as excited to see what goes on in there. A few guys smoking outside cast her a look and smirk as they talk among themselves with nods in her direction.

She was still staring at the entrance, figuring she'd wait for Cissnei to show before heading inside. She had no idea what to do once inside. The guy with the spiked black hair and red tips tosses his cigarette aside and slides up beside her. "You alone tonight, babe? I can show ya a good time in there if ya want. Whaddya say?"

His voice snaps her attention away from all the pretty colors, and she quickly looks at him with a hitched breath. "Uhh, welll. I'm sort of waiting on someone." She says with a nervous smile.

"Oh yeh? Shoulda figured bein' dressed all like a doll like that. I dunno if he could be as much though." He smirks. "Tell ol' Tony for fun, who iz he?"

A small chuckle as Isieal shoots back her caffeine shot as if she was already in party mode. She didn’t want to sleep tonight. Oh dear. At the other’s jest, Cissnei simply smiled and shrugged. “What can I say? Maybe I can party no matter what clothes I wear.”

"Aw, come on! I can't at least hang out wit yous?!" He tries to peer inside but is quickly pushed back by the bouncer, shaking his head at him. Once inside Isrieal's body jerks away just as quickly as Cissnei dips back into business mode. A syllable of protest barely leaves her lips just in time for Jesse to arrive. It was one disorienting act into another and Jesse's praise was a whirlwind of its own that held Isrieal in captivation until Cissnei announces her departure.

"Oh.." She says softly while curling her fingers in front of her lips as he muses over her. His predatory scrutiny, his appraisal of her form down to his excitement and the very words he used to describe her was just like being around the Professor. Only he wasn't him. Regardless, it still brought a subtle blush to her pale cheeks. She was right at home here indeed.

"It’s a pleasure to meet you as well and you're in luck. Being a concept seems to be my expertise." She says with a playful smirk. “I love your look as well, it’s immaculate. Tell me, are you all perfect here?” She chuckles. For the longest time she wasn’t able to move her gaze from his outfit and perfectly kept hair until she realized that she was staring.

She allows him to guide her into the dressing area, listening to his idea. She hadn't planned on Cissnei leaving her alone up there but the idea was more than appealing. She can’t focus her gaze on one thing as she looks over all the props and costumes strewn about and the excited girls more than ready to assist her.

"Oh, I'm very used to discerning gazes.." She admits. Perhaps not crowds, but the thought’s of crowds were nothing compared to disappointing Hojo. What did she have to lose here? "I guess you could say that I perform every day of my life." She smiles coyly. "If you have a few fans you could toss my way for this dance, I promise I'll give you and your guests a mesmerizing show they will not forget." She purrs. “I think I can bring you the touch of danger that you seek.”

She pauses beside a dresser laced with boas and necklaces , gliding her fingertips over the black feathered fans lying atop it. “I could do a lot with these.” She looks back up at him. “Do you need me to change as well or will this outfit work?” She was ready for anything. If it was only a shadow of her that they would be seeing it wasn’t so scary to solo it.

She lifts the feathered fans with a flourish of her arms , angling one above her head and one across her middle holding a pose with her hip bumped to the side. “What do you think?” She asks with a grin.

The word escaped quietly almost inaudibly as she spoke "I have misunderstood the equation."

Her fingers adjusted the microscope one final time before she slowly leaned back. For the first time in centuries...something had surprised her and it was nature itself. “the key is rejection that lasts long enough for both sides to change. Inadverently I ave been my greatest obstacle in my centuries attempting to strengthen and perfect humanity. Removing their weaknesses and elevating them prevented the mutations I required. Every attempt met greater resistance and the genome defended itself the body preserves its identity refusing replacement.”

Rayleigh ShinRa let out a laugh that seemed to linger before she whispered the words "How...remarkably human.”  A faint smile appeared on her face as she understood the differences after studying her blood. She was in a state where her body stopped fighting and yielded becoming reception to the ascension instead of interpreting the evolution as an attack.  

"I require quieter genes that do not dominate and are willing to sleep. Recessive.” Her eyes became distant as countless possibilities assembled themselves into a single conclusion. The word left her lips almost reverently. A thousand years of research reorganizing itself before her eyes.

Her perfect reflection shimmered within the glass and the Seraphim Protocol unfolded within her mind, no longer as a weapon of forced perfection, but as a patient inheritance. Generation after generation a dormant covenant written into humanity's blood powerful enough to decouple them from the lifestream invisibly and remove the trump card the planet had against them.

Her gaze drifted beyond the laboratory, into the endless crimson depths beneath the Planet and somewhere within the abyss...The old god smiled the corners of her lip curving almost resisting the natural shape of her mouth before she snorted, “You believe he is jealous?"

Her crimson eyes met hers unwavering and ancient without judgement but possessing keen observation, "I suppose that would be the expected conclusion."

She stepped closer not enough to invade Isrieal's space just enough that the crimson glow reflecting from the abyss danced softly across both of their faces. "The truth is considerably less complicated. I already understand Rikelus.” The words were spoken with complete certainty as she continued, “I’ve known him for a *very long time* how he thinks what he chooses to do, which principles he will refuse to abandon. I know the burdens he willingly carries. There is very little mystery left. I’ve been listening the whole time through the tainted ichor that’s within our blood.

She finally looked back toward Isrieal the admission carried unusual weight. The laboratory itself seemed unusually still even the suspended materia rotated more slowly, as though reluctant to interrupt the conversation. Rayleigh folded her hands neatly behind her back her lips curling up again, “The miasma does not obey the quaint limitations of distance every droplet of that black ichor remembers it’s progenitor. I know every argument, every confession, every lie, every laugh, every silence that carried more meaning than words. I heard every heartbeat that quickened when the other entered the room.”

Her voice never rose it remained disturbingly calm and her lips curled again making her facial expressions more ominous, “I heard the nights when *neither of you slept* and the mornings where he convinced himself he was fine. I know every scar, every failure, every trimph, I also know every time he wished I had simply been his mother."

She fights the welling pride and sarcasm that so badly wanted to correct Rayleigh, demean her. With a roll of her eyes she looks back towards Rayleigh and breathes a soft sigh. She had to not piss her off until she knew how to deal with her. "I don't think you are quite right." She points out gently, leaning in closer. "If I may offer advice...because none of us are perfect." She nearly chokes on those words. "We only learn by being...receptive." She tilts her head. "I think you look at things too black and white. There is nothing recessive about my cells. They don't yield or give in. It's the opposite. Resilience. They resist and then they...conquer." She smirks slightly.

"If they yielded to Jenova's cells, then I would have ended up like all the others. Just a puppet of hers. My resilience changes things and I'm not so sure that is a trait that can be mimicked. I've already tried to put my cells into others in hopes of saving them from degradation and madness. It didn't work..." She sighs. "I know you are fascinated but I'm not sure that it means anything."

She leaves her with the slide and glides around the room, curiously eyeing the other equipment and modules while running her hand along the counter. That motion slowly draws to a stop when she admits her connection to Rikelus. Facing away, Isrieal squeezes her eyes shut tight before responding.

"As someone with psychic connections myself, I know that you can shut that off. You listen because you want to listen. I find that a bit invasive." She turns to look back at her. "Though you must know that he hesitates to give into his desires of me because something about me makes him lose control. Or so he thinks. If I have such an impact on those powers then...what does that mean?" She lifts a brow. A rhetorical thought for Rayleigh to ponder.

"I only asked for privacy; that shouldn't be too hard to honor." She wanders towards the doorway. "I think I should go see what he is up to." She hesitates at the frame once more. "Are you so sure he hasn't surpassed you? He is just afraid to yield to his true powers and truly give in. I know what that's like...I was there once. But it's too late to go back now." Whatever the hell that meant. She flashes a soft smile, an apologetic gaze as she turns to leave and find Rikelus.

She had known Isrieal was approaching long before footsteps echoed beyond the laboratory doors however her attention never left the floating strands of data.

"Come in." The words were spoken almost absentmindedly, as though commenting on the weather her fingertips traced a symbol through the crimson projections before her. The corner of her lip curled when she felt the change in the porcelain white beauty’s body.  She knew that materia from that era had been searching for centuries the stronger summons had possessed a degree of discernment that humanity has forgotten how to recognize. They were once very powerful Cetran’s capable of casting a multitude of specific elemental or non elemental spells that due to the corruption of Jenova the only way to save them from becoming corrupted vessels was to turn them into materia so the planet turned against them and sealed them within the Mako.

Only then did she slowly turn her sagacious crimson eyes settled upon Isrieal drifting over her posture, the cadence of her breathing, the subtle changes within her pupils, the minute alteration in the rhythm of the flow of energy within her body. Rayleigh observed the bond the way a physicist might observe gravity. Hades was picky refusing those who sought power for their own sake.

Her attention drifted toward the prepared blood samples resting beneath sterile lighting.

"These will do nicely." Her neatly folded hands changed positions he understood Hojo’s work with cellular grafting. Grafting edited the rules connecting existing things its manipulation more closer to magic than engineering. She approached the workstation with the same serene grace she carried everywhere. She’d corrected some of his mathematical errors decades before he was born but kept them out of the official archives. One thing where he was truly a savant was cellular manipulation through grafting but he did not understand emergence. Emergence was the theory that when enough parts interacted, they produce entirely new properties beyond predictive models.  Take consciousness for example, a single neuron does not think, neither can two or a million neurons. Yet billions of them interacting produce a mind. This emergent property isn’t found within a single neuron it only exists because of the relationships between them.

"Your emergence is fascinating. Most would think better cells equals better humans, inject superior cells, increase mako exposure, produce stronger humans. Evolution rarely obeys its creator I surmise he created conditions and you created yourself."

Her gaze softened almost imperceptibly.

"I wish to know why."

Silence settled comfortably between them until Isrieal spoke again about Rikelus and she became still when Isrieal finished, Rayleigh regarded her for several long moments before answering. "...You believe I treat him as a fool?"

It was neither agreement nor denial merely an observation. She slowly walked toward the observation window overlooking the endless abyss beyond. The crimson currents reflected across her garments like flowing blood beneath ice.

“He is painfully optimistic, too intelligent, compassionate, and relies too much on remarkable intuition. I have watched empires justify atrocities in the name of peace. I have watched righteous men become monsters while believing themselves virtuous. I have watched civilizations celebrate the seeds of their own extinction. I know precisely what humanity becomes when given enough time. Rikelus still believes people deserve the opportunity to become better, that is an extraordinary flaw I have never attempted to remove.”

“A foolish dream.”

Rayleigh looked at the prepared slides again then back to Isrieal for the briefest moment something changed not dramatically enough that most would notice; but the ancient goddess who had stood unmoved before wars, civilizations, and the collapse of worlds allowed the smallest crack in her perfect composure.

"I suppose any Soldiers left now survive only because Holy cleansed them." The healing rains. Rains that she avoided, if they destroy Jenova cells then they would have destroyed her completely. That is why she had to force her body to fight off the Geostigma on its own instead, mutating her own cells to consume it. "I suppose the conditions could have played a part in all of it. I nearly drowned in Mako, but even he was amused that I came back from that. Albeit with no memories, but my body remained strong. That's when he thought it could tolerate the Jenova cells." She shrugs. "I guess he wasn't wrong. Who knows what to blame? Was it all him? Did I create myself? Or was it fate that made it all come together so perfectly?" She says with a grin. "But more importantly, does it even matter how it happened? Or merely just the fact that it did?"

She took note of how the mention of Rike silenced her for a moment that was far too long. As if she struggled with her own thoughts about the boy. "I don't believe anything." She points out. "I merely observe."

She watches her quietly as she fixates upon the slides. She truly was fascinated by her there was no mistaking that. It reminded her of Hojo all over again. She was used to fascination. "There is nothing wrong with hope. I had every hope in the world that Jenova wouldn't destroy this planet when all odds spoke against me. It turns out that hope suceeded after all." She continues to smile. "If there is no hope then some people just stop trying at all. I wouldn't punish him for having it." A little hope could go a long way.

"To be honest though..." She steers away from the touchy subject. "I think he's a little jealous that you're so fascinated by me and not seeing anything like that in him." She moves closer to Rayleigh now. Noticing the shift in her demeanor as she looks closer at the slide. She could feel Hojo's presence, though he didn't dare reveal himself, even if no one else could see him. He seemed just as curious to know what Rayleigh was glimpsing.

Isrieal's smile fades a bit as she watches and moves in closer to her side. "What is it?" She asks while following her gaze to the sample. She had known her cells well enough over the years. How it used to be a mix of her cells and Jenova cells. How over time, they seemed to morph into one, into their own unique cell that wasn't quite either. She hadn't looked since the night of meteor fall. Not since she had allowed herself to fully transform that night and not since the cells mutated to fight off the Geostigma that had been eating away at her. Whatever could stun Rayleigh she needed to know.

"What do you see?"

She doesn't immediately answer the offer of a deal. Instead, she folds her arms, her gaze tracking Isrieal's movements with an unsettlingly sharp clarity.

"Not even Reeve is allowed to cast stones at us. He made the reactors that sucked the planet dry. Now he’s trying to atone to assuage that guilt," Cissnei says, her voice dropping to a low, pragmatic register. He realized his error when working with Avalanche, but his work had caused major damage because the board room ignored him. With the WRO, he could finally do things his way. "Don't expect me to judge you for killing Avalanche. I hunted them down when they were threatening to end the world to save the planet. It was quite literally part of my job description."

She lets out a dry, humorless chuckle, shifting her weight. Now look at the state of the world. Avalanche won, but had no plan to organize the people into a functional society. People were left to die without medical care and transport. Meanwhile Avalanche was doing what...living their lives being bartenders and delivery men. They’d get no sympathy from her.

"You survived a hit squad. In my line of work, that’s just a Tuesday." She gave a sympathetic half-smile with the jest. A small shrug touching her shoulders.

Her eyes drop to the bag Isrieal is holding, her expression turning deadpan.

"But you’ll forgive me if I don't just take your word that those people are 'fine.' Leaving pinpricks in necks and wiping memories isn't exactly a clean bill of health. If you want me to back you up, you need to be straight with me. What are you doing down here? And what exactly is in that bag?"

She steps closer to the table, her boots clicking softly against the floor. Then she pulls a seat back and shifts into it. Her arms folded onto the table as she leaned forward.

"You want a barter? Let's barter. I can get you the girl’s jacket from my packit still has her scent on it if that's what you need. But this is a two-way street."

Cissnei eyes lock onto Isrieal's with absolute finality.

"Reeve holds the leash on the WRO, yes. And he listens to me.” Maybe. Man knew how to pretend to listen and then go a different direction if it suited him… “And if not me, then I know someone he does listen to. I can make sure your name is no longer a blip on their radar."

She pauses, letting the weight of the offer sink into the blue-lit room.

"But I am not calling Reeve off until I have two things: aid searching for the girl and a good explanation of what you're doing to those people and...what's going on down here. Do we have a deal?"

"I'll help you find the girl." She gestures with her fingers for her to hand over the coat. "As for what I'm doing down here, isn't it obvious?" She raises a brow. "ShinRa's labs were destroyed, the ones that were in the tower at least. A shame but...the real technology always lay hidden away in Deepground. I came here from time to time. It really does have the best mainframe I've ever seen. Technology is just as fascinating as biology if you ask me. There is so much more we can do with it. Biology is finite but technology is limitless." She says with a smile, it was always eerie when she smiled as simply as any other person.

"I came here because it was all I had to return to. And I guess to continue my own personal project that I've always been working on behind the scenes." She folds her hands together and leans over the table. "I was friends with Reeve too." She says with a chuckle. Of course she was. "And I learned a lot of interesting things from him. Robotics for example, mechanics..." She hums to herself in thought.

"I could just as easily speak to Reeve and get him to call them off. The problem would be getting to him." She points out. "I'd have to wipe out legions of WRO soldiers just to have an audience." She says with an amused laugh. "And that would only make me look worse. Don't you agree?" She tilts her head, then leans back again. "That's why its better if you do it."

If Isrieal was good at anything, it was suddenly shifting conversations to go where she wanted them to go and evading truths she didn't want to tell. She was heading somewhere with that technological rant, but she had cut it short, and she still had not revealed what she was doing in those streets. Regardless, something about her personality seemed a little more unhinged than before the fall of everything.

"The girl." She loops the conversation back around. "How important is she again?" She inquires. "The sooner I can find her the better, wouldn't you agree? I think she should be the top of your focus." Not Isrieal. She watches Cissnei carefully and unfolds her palm face up again. "Let's see where your girl is." It was more of a demand than a suggestion.

He was a man accustomed to solving problems with action being forced to sit still and think. Rikelus eventually found himself drawn toward the observation galleries overlooking the abyss maybe it was Rayleigh's journals. Perhaps it was the Negative Lifestream itself? Or just simply curiosity whatever the cause he found himself drawn the endless currents of black and crimson flowing through impossible chasms. He could feel the fragments of memories trapped within the currents almost recognizing their faces, voices, and knew that entire moments that been stripped away from their lives. The abyss wasn’t merely energy it was memory, emotion, history, information and most of all everything the planet had rejected.

The shadow beneath his reflected feet detached itself from the glass it was something he’d gotten use to and didn’t flitch at the weird or macabre anymore the elder ShinRa had simply grown accustomed to such things. The Negative Lifestream seemed to recognize him or perhaps it recognized what Rayleigh had made him. The distinction became increasingly difficult to determine he slowly extended a hand toward the glass. Instead of forcing the energy into submission the way SOLDIER training had taught him, he simply listened and for the first time the abyss answered.

Not with words with feelings, grief, regret, loneliness, emotions crashing through him like waves. Countless discarded memories drifting through the Negative Lifestream dying soldiers, children forgotten by ShinRa, civilizations collapsing beneath the weight of time, abandoned Gods, the sensation nearly brought him to his knees with them wobbling as he took a breath and was seemingly transported to a library.

“Wait—is this.. the Black Archive?” He muttered outlook looking at the scenery that seemed to melt and change rapidly around him into some ancient reverent palace built to preserve the most important things in existence. The Black Archive spatially existed somewhere between memory and reality, a product of the void space between the physical world and negative lifestream. No one knew where it began or ended not even Rayleigh her journal had described the archive in detail with vast obsidian floor polished so perfectly it resembles still water. Your reflection would betray you and stare back at you from beneath your feet never truly accurate sometimes it smiles when you don’t sometimes it possesses physical characteristics which you don’t possess. 

The ceiling cannot be seen Above stretches a darkness deeper than night Yet scattered throughout that darkness are countless crimson stars. Or at least that’s what he thought they were but upon closer inspection they appeared to be fragments of people’s lives and memories suspended above drifting silently through the darkness above like constellations composed of human experience. Occasionally one falls and when it does, it transforms into a glowing page that slowly descends toward one of the shelves below. He thought she was just being smug when she had penned that ‘Nothing is ever truly lost. The Archive ensures this.’

The shelves themselves seemed absolutely colossal wider than an adamantoise each shelf rises hundreds of feet into the darkness constructed from a black material resembling stone, metal, bone, and crystal simultaneously. The substance appears different depending on which shelf you looked at almost like they were created uniquely from one another

The shelves contain millions upon millions of volumes the books were equally strange no two are identical. Some were in pristine condition while others appeared centuries old. One thing was for certain something was wrong here because many were bound in materials that should not exist. Black leather stitched with silver thread, crimson scales, fragments of crystal, sheets of metallic paper. Some books possessed heartbeats, some whispered, others breathed.

The most ancient volumes occasionally rearrange themselves when no one is looking as though seeking better positions upon the shelves or hiding. He had walked to the center of the archive finding a collasal tree-like structure reaching from the abyss below to the darkness above its trunk is formed from countless intertwined books. Millions of spines woven together into a single impossible organism pages flutter from its branches like leaves. Every memory within the Archive ultimately connects to this structure, every life, every death, every forgotten moment. It was simply the index and the index constantly grows. Its roots descend somewhere beyond reality itself while its crown disappears into eternity.

New pages appear every second new books form continuously proving the black archive was alive.

He found a particular book that glowed faintly seemingly possessing significance to him volumes connected to his own life. His own memories, regrets, and promises and the azure haired man thought he actually gained a deeper understanding of the miasma through this. The abyss wasn't trying to destroy it was trying to preserve in it’s own twisted selfish way.

He felt like the archive had been watching him for days at one point one volume slid free the another, then another, floating toward him through the darkness. The first book was ancient its leather cover cracked and worn. No title or identifying words just a single black feather pressed into the binding. The moment his fingers touched it—the world disappeared.

Fire, the smell of ash and blood and the silver haired man stood upon the battlefield beneath the flames Masamune resting across one shoulder. The book in his hand grew warm and the memory deepened and strengthened  until suddenly the figure turned and looked directly at him with those knowing green aquamarine eyes.

The projection stepped forward the battlefield shattered and reality reformed Sephiroth standing before him not flesh or spirit or resurrection but a projection woven from memory itself. The First Class SOLDIER studied him silently his gaze drifting to his sword and the miasma that was leaking out of Rikelus before a faint smile touched his lips, “Interesting."

The voice was unmistakable in its smooth and measured manner. If you knew the him from later in time it would make the hair stand up on the back of your neck and you’d feel immediate dread or danger. Even as a memory, Sephiroth's presence dominated the room. The projection slowly raised Masamune not threatening but evaluating causing Rikelus to draw his blade and steel met steel the impact shaking the shelves.

What followed wasn’t combat it felt more like dance choreography or instruction every moment, every strike, every adjustment to your grip and footing. It was like he knew every ounce of control the silver haired man possessed now and how he moved effortlessly with impossible precision. Eventually the projection lowered Masamune the lesson seemingly complete his form began dissolving into crimson pages and before disappearing completely, Sephiroth spoke.

"I told you that power without purpose becomes obsession once. See to it that you don’t mindlessly seek it or your life will be stained with regrets."

The memory smiled faintly before it vanished the book returning to the shelf from which it came. Silence returned briefly then another book emerged smaller, newer and military issue like a combat manual causing Rikelus to immediately recognized it.

A grin spread across his face "no way." The Archive answered by dropping the book directly into his chest and he barely caught it. The moment he opened the cover laughter erupted around him that loud cocky unapologetic laughter belting out

Standing atop a bookshelf with entirely too much confidence was Glenn this one seemingly more incredibly alive "Well look who finally figured it out!" The projection jumped off the towering shelf landing beside him barely making any noise at all with his descent onto the obsidian floors. Unlike Sephiroth's manifestation Glenn felt  animated, energetic and annoying exactly as remembered.

The former SOLDIER immediately threw an arm around Rikelus's shoulders. "Only took you what? A week?"

He reached up running a sunkissed hand through that azuzre blew hair haphazardly skewing it to one side rolling his eyes “You're not actually Glenn."

"No." The projection grinned pointing toward the shelves “but I remember being him." The Black Archive had reconstructed more than skills, more than memories it had recreated personality, attitude, and even instinct. I suppose it would recreate anything flawlessly that was strong enough to leave an imprint.

Glenn began walking through the Archive hands in his pockets looking completely at home.

"The Archive isn't summoning the dead its summoning significance. The people who appear here aren't random. The stronger the mark someone leaves on history..." The dirty blonde haired SOLDIER reached out and tapped on the shelf before he grinned and continued his exposition, “The easier they are to call. Should you find yourself in a problem you can’t quite get yourself out of you can call on *all* of us"

Around them they were surrounded by countless volumes of lost heroes forgotten monsters, entire civilizations preserved within black bindings. It was almost enough to steal the heat from your breath when you considered the millions of stories that ended up in this black archive likely from Rayleigh devouring people’s memories over several millennia and the planet’s rejection of all things foreign or unable to reincarnate. 

The Negative Lifestream swirled around him no longer resisting no longer testing now accepting. The shelves trembled thousands of books opened simultaneously crimson pages filled the air like wings and for the first time the Archive obeyed.

Rikelus ShinRa sat sat cross-legged within an abandoned chamber overlooking the abyss. His eyes closed and he controlled his breathing dark miasma with red crackling crimson streams slowly rotating around him not violently but more akin to planets orbiting a star. Each current carried fragmetns of memory, and history, shattered moments, lost identities. The negative lifestream constantly attempted to consume those memories but he noticed something was off the stronger the memory..the harder it was to erase. Some memories refused to disappear. No matter how much abyssal energy surrounded them or no matter how much time passed. That realization remained lodged in his mind especially after hearing Rayleigh speak about the Cathedral. The abyss itself seemed to disagree with Rayleigh to an extent not entirely but enough because the strongest memories endured.

"You've been studying." her voice was calm almost certain as though she had known exactly where he was every moment of every day.

"The abyss doesn't erase everything." Rikelus spat outloud causing Rayleigh’s glowing crimson red eyes to flick towards him a slight reaction but noticeable to him. "You've noticed."

"I have." His jaw tightened and he posed the question, “The strongest memories or emotional imprints remain. Why?"

Rayleigh looked back toward the abyss placing a hand on the solid glass pane window before she simply uttered, “because some truths are too fundamental to erase." He frowned at that answer it lingered there like the miasma not wrong but not exactly what he was looking for “—and some anchors are too important to lose." She said to him giving him a reassuring nod before he she departed.

Professor Hojo had infused lightning materia inside of her somehow, giving her control over that element inherently. Aside from that she only used her telekinesis and her weapons. She relied more on her powers the cells gave her. There was no need for materia, no need for cures when she was able to regenerate. Summons were not really anything that she had considered before.

She looks curiously at the glowing orbs, gliding her fingertips across them when she spots the red-hued eyes against the back wall. When she gets closer she smirks as Rikelus comes into view. She sways her way over to him. "What are you doing in here?" She asks. "Did you learn anything interesting?" She places her hand against his cheek and eyes his lips. The moment she moves to kiss him, bony fingers wrap tightly around her wrist, and it is no longer Rikelus she is gazing upon.

Her breath catches in her throat as she stares the reaper in the face, its red eyes gazing into her very soul as it leans in closer. She can feel the essence of its shadowy cloak billowing around her, stirring an unseen current in the air. Its deep voice echoes through the vastness of the room, resounds within her mind without a movement of its jaw.

"You who defies death itself is the one who seeks to control it." Its gaze is intense with its skeletal face mere inches from her own. "I can feel your desires. You wish to raise the dead, you wish to pull souls from its grasp and make them your own. You think you can save who you want from my grasp.." Its head tilts slowly to the side. "The question is, can you? Will you? I would love to see it..." Its grip on her wrist loosens slightly.

"As much as you try to fight it you are one with death and chaos. Such willpower resonates in your very soul. It is such force that draws me to you...Defier of Fate. It is not often I find one worthy of welding me, not even Rayleigh herself." The whirlwind of its shadows caresses around her. "Allow me to bind with you, allow me to assist." He could sense that no other summon had ever influenced her. No traces of materia to intervene. "And I will gladly help stamp out anyone who gets in your way."

Were all summons this intimidating? No wonder she'd never touched one before. Something about this one was so tempting, as if it resonated with her very being. As if it were made for her and her alone. "I..." She stares back into its burning eyes as it grins before her. She already carried one ghost. What was another? All fear melts from her face until she stares back with resolution. "Deal." She says with her chin uplifted.

The moment she accepts it, it releases her and dissolves into the whirlwind of darkness around her. The shadows that had been moving around her form swirl faster and condense into a single red orb that drops into the palm of her hand. For a moment, it gleams there until a skeletal hand rests atop her own. "If ever you are in need. Call upon Hades." His eyes flash and the orb turns into shadow that sinks into her palm. The reaper glides forward, overlapping her body before fading inside of her as well.

She stands there in silence, trying to process whatever the hell just happened. Her hand was still facing upwards before her. She catches how fast she is breathing and claps her palm shut, closing her eyes to calm back down from the energy that had been excited around her. She opens her eyes again and laughs darkly to herself, elated. "How fascinating..."

Her eyes snap to the side as she hears distant voices, drawing her back to the present and her task at hand. Learn Rayleigh and own the chessboard once more. She didn't need to ever know as long as she behaved and Hojo was right. The fact that Rayleigh adored her gave her all the leverage that she needed. She must have just been leaving Rikelus, heading back into the labs as Isrieal drifts out and wanders after her.

It was tempting to slip after Rikelus, but she could meet with him later. "I almost have the slides prepared." Isrieal chimes from the doorway, leaning against the frame as if waiting her invitation to enter the room. She didn't want to intrude if she were busy with something. "If you were still interested in what makes me....me." She adds. She wasn't sure the cells would explain all of it, if anything at all but at least Hojo's work could stare her in the very face and show how great it was in comparison. She smiles sweetly.

"But. Its not fair to not get to know you as well." Her nails click against the steel frame of the door as she tilts her head. "I know what its like to have worked for ShinRa as you once did. I know the whole situation must not have been easy." She only knew her story in parts. Had once thought that she had almost betrayed the secrets of the department. "But you should give Rikelus a chance." She tests the waters and carefully enters the room, moving closer to her. "It may not be my place but is there a reason you treat him as if he's just a fool? I mean." She thinks. "He definitely can be at times." She says with a chuckle. "But I hope that you hold no disdain for him."

Anchors and emotions were everything in this world. Perhaps Isrieal was an anchor to Rikelus just as the Professor was one to her. That didn't mean Rike wasn't a part of her own as well. But as long as Isrieal lived Hojo would never truly die, her memory would always give him life to cling too similar to Sephiroth and Cloud. Some things just never fade.

❛  you look absolutely irresistible right now.  ❜ ❛  there’s so many things i’d love to do to you.  ❜ ❛  it isn’t fair how much you turn me on.  ❜ ❛  i can’t stop thinking about you.  ❜ ❛  tell me what you want me to do.  ❜ ❛  do you want to take this somewhere more … private?  ❜ ❛  if you keep looking at me like that i don’t think i’ll be able to control myself any longer.  ❜ ❛  is this okay or do you want me to stop?  ❜ ❛  would it be wrong for me to kiss you?  ❜ ❛  i’ve noticed you’ve been staring at me this whole time.  ❜ ❛  why don’t you come a little closer?  ❜ ❛  the things i’d do to you if we weren’t out in public …  ❜ ❛  can you feel what you are doing to me?  ❜ ❛  i’ve got something really special planned for us.  ❜ ❛  we’ll see where the night will take us.  ❜ ❛  i’ve never felt such an instant connection with anyone else before.  ❜ ❛  you can do whatever you want to me.  ❜ ❛  it would be a shame to waste such a perfect opportunity.  ❜ ❛  i’ve always wanted to do this.  ❜ ❛  you’ve been teasing me for far too long. it’s my turn now.  ❜

[  WALL  ]  *  your muse pins my muse against the closest wall. [  ALMOST KISS  ]  *  my muse leans closer to your muse almost like they’re trying to initiate a kiss, only to pull away in the last second. [  TEASE  ]  *  my muse teases your muse either by touch or words or any other way that works for them. [  TUG  ]  *  your muse tugs my muse closer and wraps their arms around them. [  STRIPTEASE  ]  *  my muse gives your muse a show as they take off their clothes. [  LAPDANCE  ]  *  my muse gives your muse a lapdance. [  SECUDE  ]  *  my muse whispers sweet nothings to your muse. [  EYE CONTACT  ]  *  your muse gazes deeply into my muse’s eyes. [  LINGER  ]  *  your muse gives my muse lingering touches. [  STUCK  ]  *  our muses are stuck in a small broom closet together. [  BLUSH  ]  *  your muse makes my muse blush with their words. [  CLOSER  ]  *  my muse comes closer, invading more of your muses personal space. [  ACCIDENTAL BRUSH  ]  *  my muse touches your muse ( somewhere intimate ) on accident. [  PURPOSEFUL TOUCH  ]  *  my muse touches your muse ( somewhere intimate ) on purpose. [  FLIRT  ]  *  my muse flirts with your muse.

Cissnei’s face was flushed from how good the food was. “Yeah. The rations don’t compare to this.” She said with a look of delight. Then she shook her head at a thought, her copper hair spilling over her shoulder. Another bite of food. “Can you imagine a riot if new recruits found out there was more delicious food than rations out here? They’d all want missions out here.” Cissnei wasn’t sure how she stomached what Shinra fed her other than she grew up on the stuff. “Might lead to a protest for higher stipends.” Oh dear.  

"You're excellent company, Isrieal," Cissnei said softly, her voice carrying over the gentle lap of the waves against the hull. She followed Isrieal's gaze out to the horizon, where the setting sun was painting the sky in bruises of orange, pink, and deep violet. As if on cue, the distant, elegant silhouettes of dolphins breached the shimmering water, arching gracefully before dipping back beneath the waves.

The words hung in the air, a beautiful, fragile sentiment. Cissnei felt a familiar, aching tug in her chest. Impossible things. In her line of work, believing in the impossible usually got people killed which is why Turks actively worked against the impossible. But looking at Isrieal, bathed in the fading light of a sunset that felt entirely too perfect to be real, Cissnei let herself indulge in it. Just for tonight.

"Then I suppose I'll have to start believing," Cissnei murmured, a small, wry smile touching her lips.

Then came Isrieal's playful, parting shot about a dance.

Cissnei raised an eyebrow, a teasing glint returning to her eyes as she pointed her fork toward Isrieal's plate. "I make no promises. Finish your scallops first, then we'll see where the night takes us." She poked into her own plate and winked.

—---

The transition from dinner to the evening cruise event was seamless. As darkness settled over the ocean, the ship’s upper deck transformed. Strings of warm, amber fairy lights glowed overhead, mirroring the stars beginning to pierce the night sky. A live jazz quartet played a slow, sultry melody in the corner, the upright bass thrumming a rhythm that vibrated through the wooden deck planks.

The air had grown crisper, carrying the sharp, clean scent of salt and open sea. Guests mingled, holding crystal glasses of cocktails that caught the ambient light.

Cissnei stood near the polished mahogany railing, a fresh glass of white wine in hand. She had traded her usual stiff posture for a relaxed lean, her eyes scanning the dark, expansive waters.

"You asked if we would see anything majestic tonight," Cissnei said, nudging Isrieal's arm gently as she approached. She offered the glass she had in her hand to the other lady. She didn't point down at the water, but rather straight up into the open sky. "Look there."

The ship had sailed past the coastal cloud cover into a stretch of completely open, dark ocean, entirely free from the artificial light pollution of Midgar or Costa del Sol.

Overhead, the cosmos was on full display. A brilliant, dense river of stardust spiraling into the core of the galaxy. It stretched from one horizon to the other, so thick and silver it looked like a tear in the velvet night sky. Because of the crisp sea air, a sudden, heavy shower of shooting stars began to streak across the darkness, leaving long, glittering trails of silver that lasted for seconds before fading.

"No lightning storms or northern lights,” Cissnei whispered, the starlight catching the amber reflection in her eyes. "But I think the planet is still trying to show off for you." And before them, across the water, bioluminescent plankton nearly mimicked the sky. But, interestingly enough, the sky was reflected by the water. As if they were on an ocean of stars. 

The jazz band shifted into a slower, sweeping waltz. On the makeshift dance floor in the center of the deck, couples began to sway beneath the falling stars.

Cissnei turned her back to the railing, setting her wine glass down on a nearby small table. She got down on one knee and looked up at Isrieal, the playful spark from dinner returning to her eyes, though there was a newfound warmth beneath it. She extended a hand, palm upward, a silent invitation.

"ShinRa cafeteria food isn't too terrible if I'm honest. It's good for something quick, but I do find myself ordering out from restaurants in Midgar sort of often too. Takes the edge off the boring food all the time. I'm almost certain the new recruits are too nervous to question anything right away." She says with a chuckle.

"I guess your company isn't so bad either, for a Turk." She comments with a smirk before getting back to her plate. It didn't hurt to believe in impossible things. Isrieal was one of those things, she shouldn't exist and yet she did. Though to Cissnei's point, if they got too close to her perhaps it could be dangerous. One night couldn't possibly hurt.

The cool night air began to roll in off the ocean, cool enough to make her regret being in just a swimsuit, but the fresh glass of wine would help keep her warm. She sips it while following Cissnei's gesture towards the night sky. The absence of light made the starlight all the more brilliant. She stares up at the twisting galaxy in the sky, a bundle of silvery stars stretching across the vast expanse. That alone was a wonder to see before the real show started.

She sips at her wine, watching as the sky showers them with shooting stars that flare across the black sky, reflecting in the waters below. It was as if they were completely surrounded by the stars. "Majestic indeed." She says with a whisper. "I'm not certain the world would want to show off for me. Are you sure it isn't you?" She asks with a lifted brow. "I guess being surrounded by stars without being in space isn't impossible after all." She says with a smirk.

Isrieal may not seem one to be shy but she was in certain situations. Cissnei getting down on one knee to offer the dance brought a tinge of pink into her cheeks. She quickly empties her wine and sets the glass onto the table before taking her hand. "I suppose a starlight dance wouldn't be so bad. But just for a moment." She insists.

She follows Cissnei's lead onto the floor with delicate steps and balance that suggests she's not new to dance in some shape or form. She follows her lead with ease, her sheer wrap fanning out around her legs with each spin. "A dance with one of ShinRa's top scientists is another thing you can cross of your list of impossibilities." She chimes with a sultry smirk. "Now tell me..." She whispers as she twirls in close against her chest. "What else do you think is impossible?" She whispers dangerously against her ear.

The cerulean, blue glow reflected across the polished marble floors and painted the room in shifting shades of blue and streaks of crimson truthfully it was beautiful and unsettling in a sense. Almost like you were participating in a dream that wasn't entirely yours. His gaze lingered on her longer than he intended to studying the way the multi-colored light caught her porcelain white skin when she walked across the heated marble, and for a moment the weight of everything else seemed further away.

Deepground, Silver haired men, Rayleigh, Star-scourge, all of it.

His shoulders eased slightly as that twisted ShinRa crooked smile stretched across his face, “I suppose we could just stay here while the world burns.” He tossed the fact out there to the women who nearly-fried-her-own-nervous-system-and-a-half-day-healed-begun-planning-how-to-reclaim-an-underground-military-complex-like-it-was-just-another-chapter-in-a-book.

He had considered the possibilities himself at some point they’d have to see if Rayleigh could be stopped or persuaded to pursue other endeavors but how do you convince and ancient corrupted being to become significantly less philosophical?

The mattress shifted beneath her weight and soft curls of her silver hair spilled forward the distance between them vanishing. His glowing crimson red eyes met hers and that faint grin tugged at the corner of his mouth again his hands slidding around her waist not possessively but naturally. They’d ended up there countless times before his thumbs brushed up against her sides resting on her hips.

That grin vanished when she mentioned Absolute, “You know what it’s like to have someone else in your head weapon class threats are easier to deal with than her. Normal people have it easy they don’t have to say things like 'I hope the cosmic embodiment of Jenova doesn't visit me trying to unleash her eldritch horrors and persuade me to release her.'"

“World Regenesis Order isn’t a bad thing—the world needs policing of some sorts they are just misguided trying to bottle up anything that could potentially be a calamity level threat. Too new of an organization to have any deep roots and understand the way the world’s power dynamic truly works and too well funded not to go after people out of their league.”

She flopped down beside him the mattress was like sinking into a cloud and his expression shifted. He listened to her with one arm folded beneath her head and another outstretched across her upper mid-section protectively. When she finally asked what she could possibly do, the emotionless nature of her voice made his jaw tighten.

"That's exactly the problem. When people ask that question about themselves they usually already know the answer."

A pause before he continued, "you could do a lot ya’know you could do terrible things but you haven't "You've had your fair share of reasons, motives and opportunities."

"You've been hunted. Used, manipulated, hated by them and somehow your still here with him talking about my terrible family.” A faint smile stretched across his face again before he replied rather-matter-of-factly, “I think you know what you want to do deep down and I’m ok with that.”

He knew she was right about a lot of things and she always found it strange when he was reasonable. A quiet genuine laugh escaped his mouth and his entire demeanor softened slightly the tension in his shoulders releasing as his closed his eyes briefly. “This one of the better weeks we have had—I mean there’s Rayleigh, something ancient lurking in the water outside, Deepground is still a disaster, the WRO is too, the planet might be dying and despite everything nobody is having a complete existential crisis right now.

She smirks when Rikelus mentions his mothers fascination with her. "What can I say? I am pretty amazing from a scientific standpoint. Even Hojo was fascinated by her, her and Sephiroth were the only Jenova projects not branded as failures in his eyes. "I know that I'm okay here but that isn't the problem. The problem lies with what we allow her to do." She falls silent again as she thinks. If anything bothered Isrieal it was not knowing someone, not having the upper hand. Gnosis was the key to surviving any situation that could ever be thrown at you.

"If it makes you feel any better, I think the Professor was amused by you too." She admits while rolling onto her side to face him. "He didn't always like when I played with Soldiers, in fact many ended up tortured just for looking at me the wrong way." She says with a chuckle. "But you... I think he was just as perplexed by what you are. What your draw is to me, and mine to you. What we could potentially create together." She smirks. "I think he knew there is a unique force between us, and he was waiting to find out what that is." She whispers while trailing her fingertips lightly along his side.

"At least we're safe here for now." She agrees. "We'll figure this out." She assures him. "In the meantime, you should figure your powers out, learn to control them properly before they try to control you and I'll try to see what I can find out."

Over the next week or so they make themselves comfortable at the base. It wasn't hard to do; it had everything to accommodate them and every comfort. Not to mention a ton of sources to read through. For the most part, Rayleigh didn't bother them too much but for a being like her hardly any time had passed at all since they arrived. She probably felt the need to let them settle in first.

Isrieal had spent her time reading through some of her notes and journals, trying to learn more about this black cathedral and negative lifestream. The negative lifestream was influenced by Jenova, she knew that much and yet somehow her body adapted to that as well. She brushes her fingertips over the black vines that still intricately twist across her upper right arm. A scar from the infection that hadn't quite faded yet, if it ever would. At least it didn't cover the majority of her body as it once had.

With a sigh she sets down the current journal and heads into the other room to check on her blood samples. A few samples were still being spun in the centrifuge to separate all components into different vials. She knew Rayleigh would be interested to look at them but she rarely gave away information for free. She runs the tip of her nail along her jawline in thought and trails over towards the far wall behind her, gazing out into the black depths beyond until her own reflection meets her in the glass. With a deep inhale she drops her arm to her side. "I need your help Professor." She stares at her reflection, meeting her own intense gaze. With a smirk he appears behind her, facing the opposite way with his arms folded across his chest. "Does this mean you are done fighting yourself, my dear?" He asks with a chuckle. She delivers no response but watches his back reflected in the glass. "Go on then. What do you need?" He gestures a hand into the air, waiting.

She presses her lips together before she finally speaks. "Is anything truly impossible to destroy?" She wonders. "How does one destroy the abyss, or at least tame it."

He responds with a sharp laugh of amusement. "I knew this was coming." He grins. "You never could stand not being the most powerful force in the room."

"It's a precaution." She says with a stern gaze.

His gaze lights up. "Your cells were always programmed for destruction. To dominate the weaker forces around you. And those that share any irritation of those cells are always a threat to you." He turns his gaze over his shoulder as she remains silent.

"If you are speaking of Rayleigh she is not indestructible. Nobody is. You focus too much on the shadow when you should focus on what is casting it." He slowly paces to her side and stares into the darkness as well. "Her own downfall is that she thinks she is infallible, and you already have the upper hand by that alone. If you find her weakness before she does you will know the one thing she does not."

"And what about the black cathedral? The destruction of souls. She could just blink us there in an instant if she chose to." She speaks to the reflections in the glass.

"Can she?" He asks slowly. "Is a soul truly destructible? Or is it just trapped in this realm she claims to own. That doesn't sound destroyed to me. Think. If it is lack of memory that fuels her then what happens if she captures those who hold onto all memory? If the abyss consumes souls can it not be overloaded? Or better yet can you seek the source that casts her shadow? Even Rayleigh has an anchor, something that would make her flinch if you got close enough to it. Pay attention Isrieal. You of all people will know it when you find it."

He slips his hands into the pockets of his coat. "There is much to say about why she hasn't imprisoned you and the boy. Did you stop to think about that? You, for one, are an anomaly. Unpredictable. She knows this and is fascinated by you. That is your other upper hand." He smirks. "She can hate me all she wants, but she knows deep down my creations are always superior." He says with a laugh. "Maybe it is you who is that downfall. Maybe she is afraid that if she captures you, the whole thing would collapse. This is just theory, however, until it is proven." He flashes a sly gaze towards her. "The question is...what will you do to prove it?"

She turns her head towards him for the first time, her gaze snapping in his direction as he vanishes from sight. She exhales a long sigh and turns towards the doorway where that reaper is lingering once more with those glowing red eyes. It's skeletal teeth grin at Isrieal, beckons her with a sharp, bony finger and glides away down the hallway. She stares after it for a moment with a curious gaze. "And what are you...?" She whispers, this time following it towards the materia room.

Meanwhile, Isrieal’s hands are warm against Cissnei’s face, anchoring her against the hypnotic, swirling abyss of the Mako reactor below.

"Where do you want to be? Imagine it. Where do you want to start?"

The words pierce through the mind fog. The chaotic overload of her fragmented memories suddenly finds a single, solid line of memory to latch onto. The first time she had imagined where she wanted - no, needed - to be in order to survive the horrors of the Shinra orphanage.

Cissnei’s eyes, unfocusing and clouded just a moment before, suddenly snap into sharp clarity. She grips Isrieal’s wrists, pulling her hands away from her face, though she doesn't let go.

The world around Isrieal shifts to fit Cissnei’s focusing memories. A scrawny red-haired girl alone in the empty hallways of what should have been a large house. Many rooms. Many doors set in bleak, oppressive gray walls. Cissnei could not have been more than a pre-teen here. No. This was before Cissnei was her name. 

The door that materialized beside her and Isrieal was just cracked open. The horrifying sight that changed the course of Cissnei’s life. That made her determined to leave her and be somewhere safe within Shinra. Just below in the sub-basement of the Shinra orphanage…

Cissnei let go of Isrieal and cracked the door open a little more to peer inside. The smell of sterility. The bright lights. The thing on the table that was no longer Timmy even though there were parts of him there…

Cissnei shook violently, stifling her shock with a hand over her mouth and slowly closing the door. She decided she wouldn’t end up like him. But the orphans that tried to run when the training was too rigorous…they were hunted down by SOLDIER.

She didn’t have many options. No family, no future. Just another mouth to feed in a world that didn't care. But she knew about the Turks. She knew they were the shadow elite that came to select orphans to serve from time to time. She wanted to just survive and to have some control over her own life.

There was only one way out… Forced them to notice her.

The scene shifted again.  The air grows cold, smelling of rain, rust, and cheap soup. The world dissolved around them into nothing but darkness and ominous neon-green mist. At the center was a chair, lit only by the poison mist. Cissnei’s scrawny small, unresisting frame being pulled into the gas chamber by hulking security guards in demonic masks. A memory that stuck with the small child within her.

She would die human or serve the elite. 

The heavy vault door slams shut with a sickening, airtight clank. The young girl appears near catatonic, but her eyes never lose their defiant, stubborn fire. She refuses to beg.

On the other side of the video monitor stands a towering man in a sharp, dark suit and a heavy, intimidating presence. Veld. The leader of the Turks.

He watches her through the screen, impassive, testing her resolve. He is interrogating her without speaking a word, measuring the exact moment her spirit will break. But it doesn't. 

Despite hours passing, it's like she’s withdrawn into herself to a safe place he can’t even reach. No tears. No sobbing. No begging. Even as she loses consciousness, her eyes briefly meet a security camera that she shouldn’t even know is there…and glares back at him.

And it is that memory now, that safe spot she created within herself and that drive of where she needs to be… that Isrieal’s question touches upon. 

The memory pulses, and the stark gray walls of the interrogation room bleed back into the shifting reality of this strange mako induced state. But, the atmosphere has changed. Cissnei’s eyes clear and she stares back into Isrieal’s eyes. Her posture changes to stand taller now, her breathing even, the chaos in her mind firmly locked behind bars of sheer willpower.

"That's the memory," Cissnei says to Isrieal, a fierce, knowing smile touching her lips. When the world tried to suffocate her, she chose to breathe anyway. “Emily can’t break me with a few ghosts. I've survived the Turks' initiation, I can survive this."

She looks over Isrieal's shoulder, where Emily is finally stabilizing. Emily’s eyes wide with frustration that her mind games are losing their grip.

"Now," Cissnei says, her fingers tightening around her retrieved weapon as it materializes back into her hand. "I can handle the rest.” She tells Isrieal. “I’ll tear this illusion down, while you deal with the other Emily.” The physical one. 

—---

Emily’s head tilts to the side, a slow, mechanical movement that defies the fluid grace she had just displayed. She looks down at the black barrel of Viktor’s gun, then up at his face. Her expression remains entirely blank. Much like a porcelain doll completely devoid of human warmth. Yet, her eyes glow with an unsettling, predatory intensity.

She takes a tiny, soft step forward, her feet pressing silently against the sterile floor. She doesn't seem threatened by the weapon at all. If anything, she looks amused by the concept of it.

"You play a funny game," Emily says, her voice smooth and sweet, completely contrasting the horrific display of biology he had just witnessed. "You speak to me like a frightened child, but your heart beats like a trapped rabbit. Thump. Thump. Thump. You smell like iron and old paper. And adrenaline."

She takes another step, her small hands folding neatly behind her back, her sundress swaying gently around her knees as if she were simply taking a stroll in a park rather than walking into the sight of a firearm.

"You say others will hurt me. But who can hurt something that cannot be broken?" She smiles, a small, hollow expression that doesn't reach her eyes. "Viktor. That is your name, yes? I heard Isrieal think it. She relies on you. She thinks you are a shield."

She stops just a few feet from the edge of his gun barrel, completely indifferent to the danger.

"I don't want to talk to you, little rabbit," Emily whispers, her voice suddenly dropping into that chilling, layered echo that resonated in the dreamscape, vibrating the glass panels of the surrounding monitors. "I want to see what happens when the shield shatters. I want to see how much of her perfect little world burns when she wakes up." Emily was angry Isriael ruined her little plans with Cissnei. But it didn’t mean she couldn’t change those plans and take Viktor instead.

Without warning, her shadow on the floor begins to stretch and widen, creeping toward Viktor’s boots like spilled ink, completely independent of the room's overhead lights.

"Are you going to shoot me, Viktor?" A melodic taunt.

She believed Cissnei had control once she told Isrieal she could handle it from here. The real Emily still needed to be dealt with anyway and she seemed to suddenly remember that when Cissnei brought it up. She takes a few steps back and then fades from Cissnei's mind, waking up on the end of the bed facing her body. She gasps as she opens her eyes and pulls the nodes off herself. A glance to Cissnei's vitals assures she's still fine and then she notices Gregory slip behind the curtain into the room.

"What are you doing here?" She asks.

"Viktor called me about a situation with Emily-"

"Shit." She leaps from the bed but spills to the floor before reaching the curtain as a sharp pain stabs through her head, blinding her with a searing white flash that she cries out against. She shakes it off as quickly as she can, hearing Gregori's voice echoing if she is okay in the background. A rebound from being in Cissnei's mind no doubt. While gritting her teeth she forces herself to stand. "I'm fine." She huffs. "Stay here with Cissnei." She warns and then runs down the hall where a loud gunshot echoes from to find Viktor backing away from the shadows pooling at his feet.

Emily wasn't always correct. Viktor was important to have as someone to assist her in her schemes, and to play a guard to the public eye. But just because she had the image of a shield didn't mean that she needed one and she certainly wouldn't break if he were tampered with. That didn't mean that she'd simply let her have her way, though. The second the scene comes into view a razor-sharp fan blade spins through the air straight towards Emily. It strikes into the floor at her feet while lightning explodes from its spokes on impact, the dangerous shocks catching her as they bounce along the walls if the blade hadn't. Interrupting her process.

"You aren't stable, are you?" She wonders with narrowed eyes as she walks up the hall towards them. "Is that why you are trying to take his body?" She holds out her hand and pulls the fan back through the air, catching it in her grasp. "Pathetic." She hisses. "Preying on those weaker than you because you can't sustain...whatever the hell this is." She gestures to her form. "What use would he even be to you? He doesn't even have any powers." Both hands grip her fan blades tight as they spark with electrical bolts. The bolts leap between the metallic bands on her arms and around her waist, both grounded and concentrating themselves.

"I figured you were hiding something, Isrieal." Hojo's voice sounds from behind her further down the hall. What she had called about made no sense with the other bodies she had brought him, but this made all the sense. He wasn't foolish enough to get close, but he carefully observes the situation. "I assume this is the mimic you were inquiring about. I must say this is far more amusing than just a kidney. Although not quite as containable, it would seem." He hums in thought.

Her heart did not falter at the threat of Viktor, but it briefly stops at the sound of Hojo's voice. If there was anything that she didn't want Jenova to tamper with it was him. If there was anything that would shatter her existence, it wasn't Viktor but she kept her poker face all the same. At least he was smart enough to stay behind the creation that would protect him at any cost.