#;ic thread

He feels different—alive. He has a sense of purpose again that far outdid anything his mind created during the effects of the stigma. The preverbal time clock has vanished above his head. He takes another sip of the coffee— even it tastes different.

A vial is taken from his pocket with the use of his free hand, and the clear liquid inside shifts to the right and then left as he brings it up to catch the sun's rays. A huff a of a laugh, he focuses on the horizon beyond the vial. "Tseng," his voice rings out. "Contact Cloud Strife for delivery purposes." The cogs are turning, and Tseng, as quietly as he stood, just behind the President, leaves just as silent to make the phone call.

The phone rings twice until a woman picks it up on the other line; Tifa. "I'll deliver the message." Her voice was tense, though it held no animosity. ShinRa still had its own stigma associated with its name. A small knock was made on the doorframe of Cloud's room. Tifa clamped her hands in front of her as she spoke.

"The Turks called. There's a delivery to be made at Healen. It didn't sound urgent.. I wouldn't put it off too much, though. You know them." They made it their business to keep themselves relevant.

Maybe he was wrong. 

No, can't be. 

 Heidegger thanked him for his insight and left him to ponder if what he did was the right thing. 

-----

"There he is," Heidegger's voice boomed from behind the President's desk. A girthy finger pointing to the screen in the far corner. Sure enough, it revealed the man of the hour and his bloodthirsty description. While some of the SOLDIERs deployed hindered him, it was obvious that he had a vendetta of sorts. 

"I don't see AVALANCHE anywhere with him. Didn't they team up?" Rufus asked, not bothering to shift his sights away from the monitor.  "It seems he went AWOL or this is some sort of ploy."  "I don't think they are intelligent enough for this... He's alone with no foresight. What is the goal here?" Rufus muses, shifting to rest his hand on the side of his face. A move he often displays when in a conundrum.  "What do you expect from vermin such as these?" "We can't let him continue to take out our men. Our army is vast but not when the more skilled are bedridden." 

Heidegger did not like the turn of the conversation. After all, these were his men who reflected how well he was doing at his job.  "We'll capture him. He's alone. We have the upper advantage." A nod was given by Rufus, if this was a ploy then they would show their cards soon enough. 

"Another case," Reno says with a sigh and a visual display of apprehension.  "You can't catch it," Rude replies, quickly reading his partner's body language.  "Yeah, I know but... I dunno. Just really makes you uneasy, yanno? It looks like a sickness and some are like pukin' up the shit 'n shit. I don't want any of that."

"We still have to count it," Rude voices with a sigh, taking out a small black leather notebook and scribbling his findings as they stood in one of the many back alleys that provided an excellent spot to find discoveries that the growing city of Edge was trying to hide. 

"Already feelin' like Midgar, eh partner?" 

Rude gives a silent nod; it seems history is repeating itself. With a turn of his heel towards the entrance of the alleyway and out towards the bustling crowd of people trying to retain any normalcy of life, he scans the area before placing his notebook away in his breast pocket. "Come on. Still have places to--" Reno, sensing his partner's sudden abrupt stop in words and movement, shuffles past him only to see the sign that Rude was transfixed on.

"Whuddya know... walking dead." "There's no way." "He's right there, ain't he? We can't be both hallucinating."

And it was here that they saw a Walking Dead Guy. A person of interest who held a stronghold in ShinRa for the longest time. Presumed dead, there wasn't any other reason for this missing piece of ShinRa to be out walking around in the populace.  "People can't... come to life from this sickness, can they? When I see them dead.. they are stone-cold dead." Reno utters without looking at his partner. 

"Only one way to figure it all out.." Rude slips his fingers back into the pocket where he housed the notebook. "I might need more paper for this one." 

Little did anyone know that the very foundation of the bustling metropolis was intricately woven with the blueprint of a ShinRa itself. Rufus, playing his cards close to his chest, had gradually revealed his plans to extend his life, hoping that the Turks would come to his rescue before it was too late. The plans were set in motion, and although Rufus never publicly claimed ownership, subtle hints of ShinRa's trademarks were strategically placed throughout the city. A calculated move to downplay the oppressive grip they once held.

A grand scheme was already underway to bottle the wondrous water, meticulously adorning it with their insignia (albeit in a rather minuscule fashion) before dispatching it to the far corners of the globe. Those who initially rejected the prospect of consuming the liquid gold would need to be cajoled, and Rufus had already initiated a shrewd campaign to achieve this end. Despite the fact that the company's television propaganda had become a baseless medium, open to interpretation by the public, many still held them responsible for the various misfortunes that plagued the world. Rufus, however, was determined to turn the tide. He was furiously penning articles and producing magazines that highlighted ShinRa's virtues, all while deflecting any accusations of their involvement in the world's miseries.

There were still ShinRa loyalists in the midst and the Turks were gathering them up for usage later on. Their setup in Healin was coming to an end with the number of threats that were slowly trickling through. ShinRa growing presence, from their marketing ploy and shipment of bottles, was being known.

"Reno," Rufus calls out with a hint of strain in his voice. Despite his best efforts, he is still not at his peak physical condition. However, he is gradually recovering with each passing day. The prognosis for his geostigma was quite dire, as it had advanced to the late stages. Recent studies have shown that the disease can cause significant damage that cannot be easily reversed, requiring more time and patience to fully recover from its effects.

A glass bottle by his bedside holds the miraculous rainwater and an empty glass beside it. "Has the recent shipment passed the checkpoint?" There had been an upheaval in their plan-- a few of the shipments had gone missing. The papers documenting this situation are scattered in Rufus's room, which also serves as his office. His eyes glance up from their red stamped ink missing contents to look at the Turk he summoned.

While his fingers wrapped around Cloud's hair, essentially keeping the man aloft by the roots of his it alone, he leaned down while wedging materia between each digit of his free hand. They glistened from the light above, all colors of the rainbow. It didn't matter which one he used, just as long as Cloud's brain triggered it into attempting to summon.

"I still have five of these little gems that can find their way into your system. Are you sure you've changed, Cloud Strife?" Releasing him from the grip of his hair, he hears the thud before observing what little is left of this cadet he picked from the line-- one that was full of confidence and vigor. "When I plucked you from Heidegger's grasp, I fully intended to have a SOLDIER that eventually would do my bidding. Instead, I got a BRAT that insists on fighting me in every way."

x - @midgarwhispers

Why did the Drum, with all the experiments, have to be on the top levels where he mostly conducted his business? There was always an off chance of running into something unsavory. Rufus has never liked the science department, even if they gave ShinRa ample money from the exploration of topics that were otherwise over the ethics line.

It seemed one of their little experiments tripped over it. A low guttural growl came from Dark Nation, who lingered beside her master, pausing only when he ceased his steps. This ghostly figure was haunting the halls.

"What are you doing here?" This is a normal question to anyone in this predicament. "… or where did you come from might be the appropriate question." The only access anyone has on these particular floors is by the use of a keycard.

"I could get Reno… but he has difficulty standing in one spot for too long. You're a SOLDIER, right? They are required to stand long hours." A little flicking of his wrist, he shrugged. "See it as… some type of training ritual. Guard duty isn't always as exciting as this." The chalk smears across the parchment again.

“Sir.”

Rude takes the order as he takes any other; unphased, unquestioning, and compliantly. Reno’s fury was in his eyes as much as his voice on the other hand. Even Rude was taken by surprised at that tone taken when it came to Cloud. It sounded like genuine concern.. a sound not heard often from their boss. It was composed now but neither Turk would forget it. Especially Reno.

If anyone was going to be tending to Cloud, Rude can bet it’s going to be him now.

“It is looking bleak, sir. His chances get lower every hour. Don’t be surprised if we get bad news.”

There will be other cadets to choose from. Just like in SOLDIER ‘recruitment’ - some live, some die. You move on and find what works, no matter how promising the failures seemed. At the very least - at least not too much investment would be lost. If others would be taken a shine too like Cloud, well.. that was a rarity. 

Regardless of chances - if there was a way for him to make it out alive, Rude would see those doctors working around the clock to ensure it.

Rude turns to head back to Cloud’s room. A brief pause. “Are you going to see him?”

Only Veld and Tseng would recall Rufus's animosity for the West Wing. It reminded him of only coldness, death, and the building tightness he felt in his chest when having to venture over there. The night one of his Turks was sent there made him irrational enough that he ordered them never to be placed in that section again.

They obliged, not knowing the past that was attached to the room. Cloud wasn't a Turk and with the other hospital units brimming with war casualties and rebel resistance victims, the SOLDIER candidate was promptly shifted to that side, along with covering up the fact of their practices when it came to creating a warrior.

Rufus refused to see another death from there. Fingers curled over the cold railing of the bedside; the dulling repeating beeps from the monitors were enough to send him into those memories he forged to forget. 

“Are you going to see him?”

Why was he even here?

Closure?

Or was his fear of losing Cloud genuine? For whatever reason he was battling in his mind, the numbness seeped into his bones and rescinded everyone out from the tunnel vision he was experiencing. Even Reno, who had his arms folded and leaning against the open door, couldn't catch the VP's attention. Rufus's eyes were directly on the slack face of Cloud's. How awful the Mako poisoning must be with his sallow complexion and ashen rings under his eyes. Rufus was compelled to lean over and press his thumb against the upper brow, forcing it to reveal the eye color change underneath the eyelid. How beautiful the transformation makes it; the trademark of a SOLDIER.