#sephirothweek2020

"The Turks will investigate the slums for the publishers and ensure a meaningful understanding is reached, Sir," Tseng offered.

"Acceptable first steps for mitigation," Shinra replied, "but this rag made it topside. It's probably spreading outside Midgar. We need rapid counter-programming, and I want to know if Avalanche is involved. Wutai was always going to have an adverse reaction to losing, but no one else should be questioning that Shinra is acting in their best interests."

"Gyahahah! That kid's a hero if you ask me," Heideggar said. "You know how many infantry I'd have had to send into the meat grinder without him? Those boys got to go home and kiss their mommas one more time. Hardly had to fire a shot thanks to Sephiroth."

Shinra lit his cigar and puffed out a few smoky rings. "Sephiroth, celebrated war hero. We can sell that. We'll publish our own account and promote fanfare. Adjust his age to sixteen for the official story, and make sure no one says any different. Set up scripted media interviews with the cadets who came home early. They were proud to serve, would have done whatever it took, but they're happy to be back. If there are any eyewitnesses, it's all glory, minimal carnage. Sephiroth's an unmatched prodigy and they want to be like him. Let's turn this debacle around into a recruiting boost."

"Yessir," Heideggar barked. "By the time my guys are done, we’ll have their girlfriends calling the wrong name at night."

"…Right. Professor, prep Sephiroth for a dress uniform photo-shoot tomorrow morning. One of my assistants will meet with him and the camera crew to determine designer uniform options. "

Hojo lightly cackled and pushed up his glasses. "Very well, but I may need to sedate him…Sephiroth's enhanced mako regimen has given rise to certain uncompromising tactile sensibilities."

Shinra shook his head. "Work around that. The public needs to meet a sharp, lucid face, not a specimen."

"Hm..suit yourself," Hojo replied.

--------------

Sephiroth had originally been scheduled for a battery of mental exercises this morning, but this photo-shoot had usurped it at the last minute. Attempting to sleep had become unpleasant after returning from Wutai, though he'd been reassured it was a common occurrence treatment would resolve. Shouldn't that take priority? Pictures were usually for the lab, but he'd only been offered a hurried explanation that this was supposed to mark his first war victory.

He frowned at the crisp, starched blue button up and matching jacket that hung in the dressing room with him. Unfamiliar medals and pins adorned the jacket's left breast, and its shoulders were inlaid with a circle of silver stars. This was not the military's standard issue uniform for anyone, even higher ranking officers. If a change was coming to their design, there were simulations and hired models. Why were these untested clothes necessary to convey his performance in the war?

The short, quick-spoken woman outside the door who'd introduced herself as President Shinra's assistant had instructed him to put the button up on over the low, v-cut white undershirt he normally wore from day to day, and to wear the jacket over that. It was too much. Layers were claustrophobic for him, and anything that sat too close to the front of his neck gave an impression of being strangled. He sat down on the bench and pressed himself into the corner, hesitating. The idea of being so covered, and in all the wrong spots, made the room feel smaller and hotter the more he considered it.

"Need help adjusting anything in there, kid?" the assistant asked after several long moments.

"No. I…these aren't suited for me," he responded, struggling to keep calm, hoping that excuse would suffice.

"Ah. Well, the President did say we might need to try a few things to make it work. Let's see…You know, let's cut the crap and just go for the prototype special ops one. It's functional, so you'll be literally dressed to kill!" she laughed.

Sephiroth didn't know what to say to that--he required only selective armor to battle effectively--so he waited in awkward silence as Shinra's assistant rummaged through boxes and plastic wrappings around assorted articles. First, a pair of black leather pants swooped over top of the door. Inspecting them, he felt that the inside was softer than the outside, and cool to the touch. A matching coat, a black turtleneck sweatshirt, and a set of pauldrons followed.

He clenched one hand at the sight of the turtleneck. It was obviously an outfit meant for missions under cover of darkness--an improvement from the dress blues in terms of what he was accustomed to--but the shirt made it impossible. He opened his mouth to protest again, and then shut it. Complaining over physical discomforts didn't have a history of aiding his situation, but he could attempt a compromise. He was able to negotiate his field uniform without too many questions in Wutai because of how he fought.

The pants, he found, were perfectly fitted and allowed for flexible motion--acceptable. That was once piece down he would wear. Shoving one arm into the coat, he quickly recoiled and pulled it back out again. It created an unwanted layer with his t-shirt along his back, giving him the sense that someone was pushing on him. Sephiroth let out an exasperated sigh, and pulled his shirt over his head, hanging it up on the door's hook with the turtleneck.

Trying the coat again, his nerves instantly settled. He'd have to work on moving with the long, draping material around his legs when he trained, but other than that, it felt right on his torso by itself. The collar was unusually high, but it left the front of his neck completely bare--inoffensive enough, and he could use the pauldrons to raise or flatten it as needed. He finished dressing and opened the door.

"We got a winner?" the assistant asked, turning around to face him. "Oh whoops, looks like you missed the shirt."

Sephiroth pouted. He'd missed absolutely nothing, and he'd continue not missing it.

"I…see. It doesn't look bad…Just...just let me check if this will work for the shoot." She left the room to make a call, but Sephiroth could still hear her-- "Sir? Yeah, mostly. Oh, is he? Oh. That would have been useful to know beforehand. We did find something he's comfortable with pretty quick--the ops set--but he's bare-chested aside from the harness. Go ahead? Alright." Hanging up, she added, "Your funeral, boss. Your funeral." She poked her head back in, "Grab your things, kid. No makeup for that baby face, but we'll have to do something about your hair before we get this over with."

"Will I be keeping these?" Sephiroth inquired.

"Of course. That's what he does," he nonchalantly spoke of the matter, "Then I die, and it'll happen again and again and again. Maybe this time he'll even keep something of mine as a trophy, I believe. It wouldn't be so bad. A proof of my existence for the museums and all that. Not that I really want the fame."

"Sephiroth, please. I'm trying to show concern for your well-being here."

"Hn. I always thought you reserved that for Angeal only, after all that happened. And yet, here we are."

Genesis let out a dramatic sigh.

"You're insufferable. Is this, by any means, some sort of revenge for Loveless? Hitting the bits where it hurts worse?"

That of all things stole a little smile from Sephiroth. A little maybe. But that really was Sephiroth, so it was likely to be part that and part dodging the concerns of others about himself… albeit in a somewhat twisted way. A wounded wolf trying to bite when poked right in his wounds. Fair enough, but still—

"Bastard," Genesis mumbled under his breath, with a little touch of poorly disguised fondness.

Sephiroth had approached the door to the next chamber and pressed a hand against it, gently. Even under his gloves, the metal felt cold. It was falling apart at the edges and somewhat rusted, as most of the underground structure seemed to be after that long, but it still held itself up.

Unlike the rest of the city.

Unlike him.

"So are you," he mused aloud, "and you know it. The two of us are bastards... Unlike him."

"Who? Your murderous cat inside the box?"

Sephiroth shook his head and simply said, "No, Angeal."

Another sigh.

"You speak of me but you hold him on a pedestal way more than I do, you know that? He… our Angeal… could be a bastard, too, when he wanted. Sometimes a sneaky one at that. A soft bastard."

Genesis was pretty sure that he heard Sephiroth mumbling "our Angeal" under his breath before trailing off to process what it could've meant. He itched to explain his point about that, but thought that Sephiroth wouldn't believe him even if that bit of extra information was presented to him. So he left it at that and forbade himself from thinking once more that, had things not fallen apart as spectacularly as they did, he could've sat down in his living room at Shinra back in the day with Angeal and Sephiroth both and possibly arrived at a pleasant agreement about what he wasn't explaining directly now.

He focused on the fact that Sephiroth and him were deep down into the ruins of what used to be Deepground, instead.

And that they probably shouldn't be, but Sephiroth insisted on coming and opening the box; to discover if the cat inside was alive or dead. Or severely traumatized and ready to kill someone.

"I miss Angeal," Sephiroth said, "I wish he was here."

If he was, Genesis thought, would there be a cat inside the box to be found?

"Me too," he agreed, instead, "I miss him every day."

Sephiroth had to tear the door down, just like many others on the way. The rust eating away at them made the things troublesome to open normally, even for him. And if he stopped to open them the regular way, he would hesitate.

He was already troubled enough about it that he had to ask.

"What would anyone do to Cloud for him to be down here?"

"Guess."

"But Hojo was dead long after my last revival—"

"Wrong guess. But warm. Try again."

Sephiroth stared at him a little dumbfounded, but tried to think. That was Deepground and he had been down there a few times, under Hojo's supervision. To test things that would disrupt other people's work if tested in the building above. Things that scarred his spirit. Genesis had also been there, he had told him, kidnapped by the rebellious Tsviets and asked to "participate". Asked to offer his cells to them so they could—

"Someone else tried to clone him…?"

What for?

"Bingo," Genesis smirked, "I still don't quite know what for, but if I had to guess... Well, he killed you. When there's someone who can kill a certain Sephiroth in the world and when said Sephiroth is a threat to said world, you have to make sure that certain someone continues existing somehow, you know?"

"That's… idiotic. His clones wouldn't be him. He had to be himself to manage what he did. I don't think it would have worked otherwise."

"Oh. You put him on a pedestal, too. I see."

"I was merely stating the truth as I know it. It wasn't a matter of his strength or ability, but a matter of the technique he used. His capacity of adapting and improvising can't be copied."

"If you say so. But your eyes do sparkle when you speak of him, old friend. I stand by my point, still." Genesis took to leading before continuing, "I only found out because his clones started showing up dead in a few places. And especially now that you came back, it became possible to trace his location."

"Oh… Lucky me," Sephiroth mumbled sarcastically, a little distracted by the conversation, despite the horrifying nature of the topic. After all, he had been to the labs before as basically a lab rat through a significant portion of his life.

He never wished the same on anyone.

But Cloud… Cloud had somehow ended up that way as well, more than once, aside from all the poking around in his mind that Sephiroth himself, along with Jenova, ended up doing.

Hence why, among several other reasons, Sephiroth froze in place when his eyes landed on the mako tube containing him; probably the only truly preserved thing in that entire laboratory.

He didn't look a day older than the last time they fought, aside from his wild, long hair. Sephiroth stared him up and down; his mind a thousand miles away from there, from the scars on that body, mainly those in the center of the chest.

I don't put you on a pedestal, he thought to himself.

I never put you on this pedestal, I—

"...Sephiroth?"

It's Hojo and his legacy who put people on these pedestals. I know it, because—

"Sephiroth, are you listening to me?"

He put me on a pedestal.

"Sephiroth!"

Sephiroth blinked slowly once Genesis stood in front of him and pulled him down a little — because somehow, Sephiroth had returned from the dead even taller than he was before — to keep him from looking too much at the mako tank; to remind him to breathe.

Not that he had forgotten how to breathe. It was more that his breathing had gone all over the place with that sight.

If they all went back in time, that could've been him; staying in the tank for a solid two weeks because Hojo had been dissatisfied with his performance on tests. Grounded in the mako to reflect about his failures.

“Do you… do you want to wait outside?” Genesis asked, a little hesitant, “I definitely can handle—”

“No. It’s… it’s fine, I just… I just— Ah. Let’s just get him out.”

At that, Genesis just stared at him for a few, but far too long seconds before letting go with a sigh and turning to face the cause of their… visit. Would the mako still be fully liquid in there? Or would it have started to solidify by that point? He wondered. Wondered but didn’t let himself get distracted by such thoughts; moving fast to compensate for Sephiroth’s stiffness.

The machines, unlike the doors, could no longer be operated normally. So breaking the glass it was.