#mxkosoulclone

"You agreed the second you showed your face to me. Now, get behind me." Was it kidnapping?? A rescue? Probably both?? He had his blade out and at the ready, rushing forward to slice up several enemies. There were guards, monsters, and the whole lot. Hojo had a whole lab of monstrosities, but this one that he found just felt different. It was strange enough to see an exact copy of himself, but his instincts to try to reach out and protect them was overriding the logical sense of wariness.

Only until after the last creature fell, and the sirens blaring loudly, did he turn his blade cautiously towards the other, not too threateningly. "This way... Don't do anything stupid." He grabbed for their hand, and rushed out the door to the many hallways, wanting to get as much distance from this place as possible. Whoever this was he had with him, Cloud felt an immediate connection, and a burning curiosity instilled deep in his mind. They needed some bit of safety, before he could turn his questions to them.

⸻ @mxkosoulclone sent. "I've never seen you around here before."

"and yet, i've seen you before." or rather his face, sera is privvy to a certain amount of information and has seen the type of shit that shinra is capable of, this is no exception. fucking hojo, the brunette thought to herself as she stared down at the blonde, arms crossed in front of her chest. what have you done?

"or maybe i'm just thinking about another blonde guy with mako eyes, who knows." she shrugs, eyes briefly looking away to glance in the direction of the observation deck, shields up of course⸺can't risk a potential sword or claw to the face. "you all have a tendency to look alike."

@mxkosoulclone. "I'm sorry to disappoint but I don't know what chocolate is."

Blink blink.

"Wait, really?" Aerith seems a touch taken aback. She tilts her head, looking the other up and down a few times before this incredulous look crosses her face — chocolate was great. This couldn't be real. Then again, it's him, but... "You've never had it?"

He had known something wasn't right about this particular soldier. His gut instinct telling him to get closer - and Glenn managed to protect the younger rebel just in time due to that. The sudden wing that burst from this man's shoulder was a real surprise, though. What fucked up shit had Shinra done now...?

He fights... passively. Glenn tried to gauge what was up with the other blond. But it was hard to tell in the few seconds their blades crossed. Out of the corner of his eyes, he noted that the younger rebel had ran away. Good. He was safe.

Having to take a step to catch himself, when the other suddenly dropped, Glenn cursed through grit teeth, using his axe as a cover for any bullets whirring his way.

Though the words his opponent spoke weren't lost in that.

Glaring at him, Glenn watched him over the edge of his own blade. Mustering, observing - waiting. As if this could be a trap.

"You don't wanna fight?", he echoed then. He was wary of that statement. Obviously that guy had had no problem fighting against the rebel groups for the past minutes.

"Who doesn't give you a fucking choice? Shinra? You can just turn their back on them and walk away.", he declared, as if it was that simple... because in a way... it was. He had done it just like that. Though the wing was something... different.

"...who are you to Shinra?"

---

The ground comes quickly, more quickly than his worn body can handle. Sand gives way under leather boots and the replica of the Buster Sword crashes onto the sands. Jutting upwards towards the glistening sun, dimly glowing aquamarine hues fluttering open as he ruggedly inhales air. The mako substance drips from his wounds. Mostly cuts and scraps upon his flesh, exhaustion is woven deep into his bones as the extra limb twitches underneath flesh, it's an insufferable thing.

Mako. What he lived on. His existence depended on it and he's unsure how many days it been now since he escaped the transport vehicle. When they drum had been all but destroyed, he'd been taken out of service and back...he'd escaped as they thought they had him unconscious like some rabid animal. He's certain that the armored vehicle tipped over and torn out of says otherwise. He'd wandered for what felt a night or two. The blistering heat of the sun is unforgiving, the long exposure doesn't help.

Now here he was, drifting in and out of consciousness as he tried to wrap his mind around the potential of freedom and what it could entail.

"Helloooo? Hello down there! Cloud? Are you okay?"

Corel desert certainly isn't an ideal place for everyone to get separated, but those damn sand worms really do come out of nowhere, don't they? She's mostly stayed around the same area, figuring it would be wise not to waste her energy, and when she stumbles across Cloud, well, just her luck!

Except...something seems off, doesn't it? He's bleeding, but it's not blood. She frowns as she kneels down next to him, tilting her head. It certainly does look like Cloud, but was it? Gosh, she half wonders if the heat is playing tricks on her. He's definitely there, though...hmm. "Hey, Cloud, c'mon, wake up!"

Working on reports has never been a favoured thing in Squall’s line of work. Taking on the role of B-Garden’s commander in the midst of war hadn’t been a willing choice but he followed his duty anyway… now it had become tedious and boring when he wasn’t allowed out on missions due to ‘health and safety’…

…What a load of bull.

Regardless, he soldiers on and pens his signature on another document granting permission for SeeD to be dispatched as a mediation between two warring ‘clans’ staking claims on the same plot of land… Well, he almost completes it before lifting the pen off the paper so he can gently rest his forehead down on the moderate stack of papers instead. A small break to hopefully ease the intricate throbbing starting behind his eyes.

Why am I still doing this…?

A question asked many times but one he still doesn’t hold an answer to. Idly placing the pen back on his desk, Squall raises his head when the light buzz of the intercom indicates someone’s entering. The weight of boredom on his shoulders lifts extraordinarily when one of his favourite people step inside. Nothing shows on his face yet, wondering what is it Strife wants when he recalls he did send for the blond earlier, wondering if he’d be interested in an infiltration mission… but when Strife says his name rather than some formality or title, it catches his attention.