NationStates Jolt Archive


Prelude to the Promised Land.

The City of Midgar
18-12-2004, 04:15
The scaffolding acted with considerable aggression against the inky blackness of a quiet, serene night sky. Where before only the occasional twinkle of an impossibly distant star represented a break in the never-ending blanket of the void, now towering meshes of steel, and plastic reigned. Almost haphazard in construction, they entwined as the stalking vines of a plant might scale the crumbling brick and mortar of a long forgotten wall.

Thrust upwards from a frantic beginning, They fought for dominance amongst themselves. The occasional flicker of a navigational beacon at the very summit of the most reaching spire served to give warning to those in the air of the mammoth scale of the effort below. Fused to this framework, the foundations for progress were lain. Thick, traversing steel acted to secure the most basic skeleton so that further work might soon bless function upon what currently seemed little more than a building site.

Yet below, to the ground that so much life teeming was limited upon, such grandiose schemes were a pipe dream. Here, the sky existed only as an assumption beneath impenetrable metal and structure. The beginnings frustrating, though determined to see something from nothing rise. For one such individual, no less than the total sum of his heart, and soul were poured into this endeavour. He stepped out from the impressive shadow cast downwards by the gargantuan framework above, regarding the pale Moon watching, gazing upon these ants, scurry about their hive and busy themselves in an all to short existence.

How ironic, that from his perch here, scarcely a few feet from just one of the dozens of foundation supports for the scaffolding, what stood above occupied almost his entire field of view. To him, imposing and massive, yet in the context of the world he lived upon, and consequently the watching Moon, totally irrelevant and without care. He found it comforting, though a fraction belittling of his effort and skills.

With absent mind, he dutifully signed an outstretched clipboard, regarding the owner with little more than a civil nod of the head, his own thoughts a priority over conversation beyond necessities and vague pleasantries. His mind turned to other, more disturbing matters. Little more than an unsure footing away a tremendous chasm gaped. Not simply a hole, or excavation, but a torn, rended scar in the fertile flesh of the planet. A burrowing tunnel whose terminus lay well beyond any possible hope of glimpsing. For Markus, this oddity represented both his penultimate hope, and fear.

For the cause of this lay well known. No devastating offensive weapon, nor astronomical event lay at blame for this assault. Indeed he had been present, pouring over detail upon detail as he watched men, -his men- utilise pioneering technique to force their way through soil, rock and resistance. This pit quite simply being the most vital part to this structure, as well as what seemed the most basic.

Markus scarcely knew the science behind what he lay charged with. His knowledge of Mako energy was not only sorely lacking, but considerably insufficient for a project so preoccupied with the mysterious form of power. However, he had been tasked with the supervision of this reactor construction, and he would see it done. Already, advisers had been secured and the required scientific contribution in the form of the arcane machinery required at the heart of the reactor lay but a scant few metres from where he stood. Watching, waiting.

Still, niggling, he worried. Never in his experiences, both in the construction industry and in his life itself had he laid eyes upon such strange equipment. Massive pipes lay secured, tethered to long, obtuse transport trailers. Yet where normal tubing boasted iron, occasionally steel riveted for additional strength Markus could not identify the metal used. A gentle rapping upon disturbingly smooth surface with almost no return sound confirmed mystique.

Long, sharpened points like sewing needles yet many, many times larger lay side by side. Their flattened ends terminating in thick, bulbous tubing that snaked outwards and coiled lazily together in a nightmarish, misshapen mass of cabling and conduit. Control interfaces he recognised, yet did not. Where traditional power gauges measured and displayed electricity generated, other dials existed. Strange symbols etched into the metal and backlit to create an odd, disturbing literally hundreds of difficult-to-decipher keyboards lay bolted against inactive data screens. Such technology evaded his recognition even in his most fantastical dreams.

No time existed, however, for deliberation. The Shin-Ra Corporation pressed urgently for the reactor construction program. Time was of the essence, and the longer these behemoths remained inactive, and Midgar ran on energy supplied by more conventional sources, the larger the considerable costs of managing such an inefficient system became. Markus had learned, from the previous facilitator before his employment in that post, of the cost of disregarding the Corporation's orders.

Stretching his neck, and glancing right, he could recognise the faint glimmer of the distant navigational beacon of reactor number four, to his left undoubtedly shone that of reactor two. Shin-Ra pushed not for a piecemeal approach, but a titanic construction effort. The system would be brought to consciousness as one, and treated as such. Returning his attentions forward, to the massive, rain-diminished Shin-Ra logo that captured the attention of all those working on-site, he concluded returning to these musings at a later, less critical time.





The glass shook almost imperceptibly against the howling winds outside. Accompanying, a spray of cold, harsh rain fell against the window, distorting the reflections cast upon it by the internal lights and creating a hazy, merging curiosity before returning to normalcy. The room was obviously incomplete, and it required no prolonged examination to reach such a conclusion. Thick white sheets lay upon furniture yet to usher in the touch of prospective owner. Sections of curved wall remain unpainted and jarring against the soft almost golden tones of those that had received lavish attention. Not yet affixed to glaring and waiting brackets upon the wall in front of the bay window, the symbol of the Shin-Ra Corporation waited patiently to once more look down upon all.

A single figure sat, upon a still covered chair regarding the storm raging outside. His eyes passing through the toughened, enduring glass and outside. The City of Midgar stretched below, from a vantage point considerably elevated from much-distant street level. Obvious gaps in the massive base plate where construction efforts had laxed unacceptably revealed further habitation. Here gathered those that were not deemed “Economically viable”. These teeming hordes whose contributions to the Shin-Ra warranted tolerance, but nothing further. Existence, but not happiness. Such was the way of a cruel world.


They would receive housing, for a price. They would be nourished, for a price. Shin-Ra products as diverse as one could imagine would occupy their homes, and every waking moment. When, after their daylight hours had been exhausted carrying out the sheer physical exertions the Corporation demanded from employees, they would return to their slums, broken and weary. Unable even to look upwards in hope of a beautiful, starry night to watch over their dreams. The plate, and those many millions living in relative comfort and enjoyment on it, blocked even such a basic luxury.

With a painfully obvious creak, the massive entry doors to the room opened slowly. They stood at least twice the height of a man, ornate and inscribed with tasteful, if over-indulgent patterning. They bore little relation in design to their intended function, and the tiny creature that scuttled forwards did well to squeeze his portly frame through the small gap he had succeeded in making between the ajar doors. Slowly, he waddled towards the sweeping desk, and silent figure turned away. Clearing his throat, the guest looked to talk, but was abruptly cut off.

”Those doors are irritating.” She announced.

”I apologise President Ayala, it shall be addressed. Our interior decorating is not to schedule....” He stammered, clearly thrown from his carefully rehearsed lines, ”I bring other, more disturbing news...”

”Gregory, whilst I appreciate you clearly have something of importance to announce, do not seek to make my comment any less relevant. You shall find the person, or persons responsible for this construction delay, and remind them with whatever mixture of cruelty, intimidation and charisma you care to utilise that delays are unhealthy for the profits of the Shin-Ra Corporation, and their livelihoods.”

”It shall be done my President....To other news?” He questioned.

The still hidden Ayala sighed with resignation, ”Proceed.” She commanded.

Closing the short distance remaining, Gregory Vanciai wiped his perspiring brow for the umpteenth time, dismissing the sweat beads forming on the folds of his neck as nothing more than imagination. What he had yet to reveal would not give the President cause for celebration. He feared what had become a legendary, and utterly unexaggerated temper.

”The Gonganga reactor....has been compromised.” He ended, finally.

The chair swung round promptly. President Ayala Isabelle Shin-Ra, a striking lady for whom elegance and beauty were nothing more than insidious weapons for an intellect willing to utilise any and all resources to ensure success, narrowed her coal-black eyes. She remained silent, shifting her weight slightly as she leaned forwards. Gregory caught his drifting eyes in time to prevent them following the plunging neckline of her dress, and the tantalising cleavage on display.

”Elaborate.” She whispered, dangerously.

”An experiment in Mako compression led to a failure to maintain pressure within safety perimeters. The reactor consequently lost containment, and breached. It is nothing more than a tangled collection of twisted, crushed metal and discarded Mako, condensing into Materia. Massive collateral damage has been done to Gonganga Village, and dozens of inhabitants have already been struck down by Mako poisoning.”

Ayala seemed to consider this, her alabaster cheeks pouting slightly in thought. Gregory grew more nervous at the lack of customary outrage. He shuffled nervously, awaiting the rebuttal. He glanced towards the bay window behind, attempting to use the storm outside to calm his own raging whirlwind of fear, and terror.

”The Materia?” She asked, quite nonchalantly.

”President?....” Replied Gregory, confused to say the least, and worried all the more.

”Has the Materia at the core of the Gonganga reactor been recovered and transferred back to Midgar?”

Too late he saw where this headed. Full circle, and now he did not have the room to meneuver a better bargaining position for himself. Realising that either way, his options were limited to the point of non-existence, he sighed.

”I have not yet ordered it's removal.”

Ayala smiled, yet it lacked none of the charm and grace such an act should follow. It was vindictive, and selfish. It was not of pleasantness born, but a deep-seated seething. A fury and hatred burning unchecked and threatening at any time to burst forth and become an inferno.

”Your failure will not go unpunished Gregory, but for now more pressing matters are at hand. Have the Materia removed immediately, it is of far too great a value to simply leave to the charred ruins. Furthermore ensure those responsible for instigating this 'experiment' are suitably dealt with. I will not tolerate incompetence.”

Deep beneath his calm facade, Gregory wept for those responsible. For in reality, and truth, there could have been little done to prevent the accident. The Gonganga reactor had been amongst the first of it's kind. At the time a state-of-the-art alternative, the glorious prototype to a new age of Mako. Yet now, as Midgar prepared to construct eight of these powerful fuel sources, everything about the now-destroyed reactor cried obsolete.

Control and maintenance systems hopelessly inadequate to serve the needs of a system pushed beyond design limits. Relegated from show-piece to antique,. And forced into ever-dangerous experiments and tests to ensure funding did not cease, and the settlement as a whole suffer. A tragedy had been simmering, bubbling below the surface of reality for some time now. And with the limited equipment at hand, so very little had to conspire against those surely terrified operators to spell doom.

”I will see your will done, President Ayala.”

Within a second, the smile gracing her full lips disappeared. Once more a look of disdain, almost of anguish that she be forced to constantly deal with those she despised or felt below her level of interaction. A look Gregory had seen often, and never ceased to be alarmed by it, and her ease at which disregarding human life became a chore, rather than an evil.


”There is one final matter, the medication required to treat those suffering from Mako poisoning... The Gongangans do not have sufficient resources to...”

Ayala interjected before he could rush the final sentence.

”They are irrelevant. They contribute little to Shin-Ra, yet demand so much. However, public relations, as bothersome as ever, demand some action, if only token in motivation. Have a third of what they require made available to them, and ensure to dilute the chemical cocktail to delay the effects of the treatment. Should questions be arise, ensure those asking are convinced that the experiment leading to the destruction of the reactor has inflicted an aggressive and ill-understood form of Mako contamination. This will ensure our lack of meaningful assistance goes undiscovered.”

Gregory felt a pang. He struggled to identify it, and it's futile muttering. He mused that at one point, many years ago, it may well have been his ethical, and moral core. Screaming that what he did, accepted and carried out in the name of not only President Ayala, but the entire Shin-Ra corporation damned him. Damned his work, his life and his soul. Cursed and ensured that if the after-life existed, he would receive no rest there.

Turning with a polite nod, Gregory promptly left.

Amongst the teeming millions of Midgar, there existed no room for morality save as a final regret before death.
The City of Midgar
19-12-2004, 01:41
Overhead, a dozen ancient pipes ran. Some thick and cumbersome, held immobile by massive hoists that even after such ages untended continued to carry out form and function as those around rotted, and fell into disrepair. Winding iron tubing crossed the stone roofing, cracked and pitted in places, and sporting only the barest hint of original colouring. A tiny speckle of the brightest yellow, to challenge the burning Sol in the sky, broke free from the last of it's brethren and floated downwards, forcing ripples across water that lay undisturbed for a generation.

Here, a true Utopia of sort existed. For there were no tears shed, nor sadness dwelt upon. The inhabitants, as filthy and unimpressive as their surroundings, wanted for nothing amongst all the grime and decay that to them represented all required to live a full, if utterly irrelevant existence. These squealing, squabbling rats and vermin did not lust, nor fear, nor weep. In their own limited way as happy as possible considering that they had all they could ever hope for, and still boasted absolutely nothing.

A dull thud reverated the darkness, and broke the mundane.

An echo, carrying this curious sound duly repeated many times over. A shuddering, heaving that though as quiet as the mice that scurried for cover evoked a sense of belong. Seemingly belonging to the long forgotten environment. Echo it did indeed, but not diminish. For as it continued to rebound against claustrophobic wall, and heightened ceiling it grew louder. A powerful thrum seemingly driving this clanking, clicking, crashing crescendo onwards towards a mysterious location indeed.

Those impressively deep pools of water, stale and as bleak as the surrounding mud, began to shimmer, displaying subtle vibration. Soon enough, they began to visibly ripple, minor waves acting within a tiny ocean splashing the moss-dominated liquid out over clearly defined boundaries upon dirt that seemed as hard and baked as the concrete surrounding; Dirt that in a decade had not felt the cooling touch of water.

Not an orchestra of brass, or woodwind or strings but one of displacement. The echo driving underneath a harmony that involved the splashing of the disturbed pools, and now felt the powerful bass attention of the piping upwards. The larger conduits holding fast, yet creaking painfully. As a door left without oil or attention might eventually seize up and cease to grant entry efficiently. Smaller, looser fittings swung violently, threatening to break and fall upon the earth below. A hazardous blanket of loose rust and filth freely rained down, though it would not settle whilst whatever continued to increase in volume and disturb threatened.

Then finally, light.

Painful, horrific illumination. A beacon, a shaft of piercing white that did not simply allow one to gaze ahead, but in agonising, painstaking effort highlighted each rotting timber, each rusted support and the equally black orbs of the the foraging rats even as they scurried from sight. The black void, where before had seeped and covered all like an encompassing blanket was forced to retreat. Utterly unable to stand against that which granted the Sun free reign and such influence over the planet. It only grew further in intensity.

With an ear-piercing roar, it's source thundered from obscurity.

Multiple carriages secured in single file, and hauled onwards by the sheer tonnage and strength of the leading engine. Guided by two parallel rails of dented yet enduring metal that to all intents and purposes had been hidden and impossible to see beneath an untold period of cruel neglect. The dim internal illumination of the passenger sections allowing for a limiting view, though frankly nothing existed within these confines that warranted further examination or more than a cursory glance.


Hazell sighed loudly, caring not for the peculiar stares directed at her by those other passengers close enough to question. Pressing her forehead against the glass, she allowed her mind to disconnect from such stifling limitations. Against the impressive bleakness of the decay outside the carriage, she moved in peace to remember such things were only temporary. For in a short time she would once more regard the cleaner air, and general desirability life out with this barren habitation provided.

It had been with the greatest misfortune maintenance work had been carried out upon the line she had travelled so very often by train, and forced a detour against a seldom used section of track. She had grown accustomed, and so very pleased to have her morning greeted each and every day by the resplendid Sun as it peeked from behind fluffy, white clouds. Sparkling yellow and brilliant orange combined to shine against the metal of Midgar.

Yet here, amongst the rats and filth, she saw nothing. Such was the quality of life below the plate, deep in the depths of the 'Slums'. Yet of what concern was it to her? Her existence brought meaning and reality, from which she strived for success and achievement. Those here, whom were robbed even of a shooting star so that they might wish change, knew nothing of truly living. Was she to take pity on these wretches?

Hazell shook her head.

If all went as it should, never again would she be so downhearted by this dreary unpleasantness. The grime, the filth that almost forced her to wretch in disgust. Unfortunately all necessary so that she might press onwards and see to the multitude of tasks awaiting her in return for goods, and services that might so improve her quality of life.

She leaned back, her head pressing against the rest, and listened to the voices seeping into her subconscious. Laughter at a joke told many, many times over. The end of a marriage, and the subsequent awkward silence as those that once joined in holy union realised their ultimate failure. A complex and enticing debate from which supporters and cynics alike were attracted to take sides, and will their viewpoint on to glory.

Her lips curled upwards, forming a smile, as she caught sight of light, welcoming blue. The barest tiny of green flashed across, reminding her of the titanic energies being wrestled as the Mako reactors of Midgar duly generated tremendous amounts of electricity to sate the furious demands of the teeming populace. She was thankful however, for the opportunity to reflect. She promised further, that she would not grace these ruined walls with her presence unless absolutely forced, or consequently brought against her will.

The carriage shuddered, as metal not serviced nor seen to in many years struggled to replicate the abilities of material twice infant in comparison. Yet, it endured and functioned, and the shuddering subsided. Hazell watched as the darkness receded, and all thoughts of the Slums departed for altogether higher concerns.


”Riordan, your constant delays are neither appreciated nor required. I will not tolerate your continued corruption of our schedule. It is not behaviour fitting for a member of the Turks, and the sooner you jettison your considerable vanity the sooner you shall find yourself better thought of.”

The recipient of the tirade sighed loudly, once more angling the above mirror to better reflect the intensity shown in oddly striking green eyes. True to form this mirror had seen more use as a driving aid than to ensure the individual shafts of spiked, brown hair were perfectly aligned. Yet he wore the mark of a master of improvisation.

”You never bother to call me 'Rio, like almost everyone else I know...” He mused, brushing a stray strand back into place, ”You sound jealous.”

”I have no intention of granting you the satisfaction of lowering the reputation of the Turks any further than your prancing and general self-gratification usually allows.” Ashant pondered his intonation of the world 'reputation'. Something the Turks should in reality, rarely possess. The work they undertook, by orders of the Shin-Ra, spoken only amongst confident friends, and foolish strangers. Only their most obvious acts in any way, shape or form recognised in any detail by the populace at large.

Hauling himself from the vehicle, Ashant hesitated in closing the door behind him long enough to add a final motivational warning.

”Time is of the essence, hasten yourself.”

Exhaling loudly, Rio pushed the mirror upwards clumsily. Throwing his legs around the seat, he quickly jumped to the gravel-laden ground. He lost little balance as he compensated for the landing, pausing only to smooth the wrinkles in a stylish and eye-catching blue suit until they were invisible or negligible. Glancing upwards, he hurried after the retreating figure of his superior.

”We must be efficient this day, Riordan.” Ashant began, ”Our orders are clear and concise, and we would do well to keep our plans likewise. We will remove the Materia from the reactor core quickly and with efficiency. No theatrics.” He highlighted.

”What are you implying, Ash?” He jested, relishing in antagonising his mentor.

”Your flamboyance will not serve you well on this mission. The local populace have motivation enough to despise the Shin-Ra, we will not give them further ammunition to lead their war of words. We shall see it consequently remains such....words.”

Rio nodded, finding no fault with the statement.

The North Coral Mako reactor dominated the immediate terrain. Against a backdrop of splintered rock and snow capped summit it sat upon bare, scorched Earth. A rough cylinder of many segments that thrust upwards into the chilling, wind-swept sky. Weathered, grey brickwork extended upwards only twice the height of a man, before traditional steelwork and sheets of rusted metal took over structure. From the very top of the reactor, a cluster of creaking, fattened tubing ran. Supported by the occasional brace from the main body of the building, it descended into obese, waiting storage tanks and processing facilities.

Ahead, metal grating formed a simple staircase that lead into the sole entrance. From within, a figure emerged. His stature was impressive, and he stood taller than both the approaching Ashant and Riordan. Yet he bore a striking similarity, also clad in a striking blue suit. It was the upstart Rio who was first to break the silence.

”You took your time, Giggles.”

The intimidating stranger broke into a short sprint, the creaking steel steps positively groaning underneath the impressive if brief assault. He stopped before the pair, reaching up to remove black, impenetrable sunglasses. Without reply he broke into a deep, reverating laugh. Rich with hidden intent, and mysterious threat.

”You are late.” He finally said.

Rio grinned, though the usually stoic Ashant ushered the pair back to business. ”You have already seen to preparations Gigalo?” he questioned.

He nodded, ”The control team were most displeased at our intent. Specifically the reactor administrator, one Juliana Clarent.”

Ashant gestured to the Shin-Ra logo dominating the doorway ahead ”Clarent's wishes, and those of her team are irrelevant. Those responsible not only for our orders, but those of this facility and the constructors of this reactor itself have made their wishes, their demands clear. We will proceed.”

These three men, together the triangle of the Turks, at once stepped forward, towards a confrontation they hoped would be brief. For there could be only one one victor, the scouting arm for the fighting force 'SOLDIER', the powerful military arm of the Shin-Ra Corporation.


Juliana Clarent felt her cheeks sting crimson red. Her fists tightened until the flesh weeped white and her heart literally sought escape by tearing itself through her rapidly rising and falling ribcage. She stormed forward, the massive bank of controls and monitoring equipment behind creating an almost angelic glow about her angry features.

”You cannot do this!” She cried, attempting to gain the attention of the imposing figure ahead as she manipulated the reactor. Her reactor.

Rio continued to ignore the attentions of the irritating, if attractive young women. He growled with frustration as she continued to bellow in his ear, forcing his considerable concentration into play as he worked to ensure the core was stable enough to allow the removal of Materia. The shut-down procedure was lengthy, and he was growing impatient.

Juliana finally grew exasperated, taking hold of his shoulders, and with surprising strength, she span him around, almost thrusting a forefinger into his left eye as she shook with the emotions whirling within.

Rio was momentarily at a loss, quite amazed with her manhandling of him. Training and bravado quickly supplanted this however, and his eyes narrowed. He promptly took hold of her outstretched hand, gently but forcefully guiding it away from his face.

”Orders of the Shin-Ra Corporation.” He repeated robotically, as he had said to her no less than a dozen times.

”Cease your repetitive corporate dribble!” She shot back.

”Is there a problem here?” Interjected Ashant, seeking to pacify the situation before anything that could be deemed 'unfortunate' occurred.

”I will not allow you to ruin our hard work.” Juliana remonstrated.

”What you will is irrelevant, my dear. The Shin-Ra have made their wishes clear, and consequently we will act to carry their will out. You have neither displeased nor incurred their wrath...yet. It is simply logistics. Materia is required, and without Midgar running at full Mako extraction, it must be harvested from elsewhere.”

Pushing through the two Turk members, the petite scientist stood in front of the master systems control station. ”You'll have to knock me out before I let you do this to me, and my team and especially North Coral!” She spread her arms wide in a show of defiance. ”How will the people live their daily lives without electricity!”

Ashant sighed.

”Alternative preparations will be made...” He offered, half-heartedly knowing such a contingency would never arise. Clarent saw through it instantly, shaking her head.

”No.” She stated.

From behind, Gigalo stepped into the frame. Now the three senior members of this elite grouping converged on the shaking, if resolute lady. It was then Rio suddenly veered to the right, towards a large and non-descript conduit attached to a wall. As he extended his hand against he pulled a recessed housing outwards. As he did so a green glow quickly bathed the room, the sickly light spilling forth from the newly exposed section.

”Riordan!” Hissed Ashant, but could not complete his sentence before the young man quickly located his prize and with a show of impressive strength hauled free a bulky and trailing object. He stepped back even as the green glow began to wither. Fluctuating violently between the harshest emerald and the most unpolluted white. Eventually, it ceased altogether, and the master systems control station quickly spluttered into inactivity and darkness.

”Secure the Materia.” Urged the Turk leader, gesturing first to Gigalo and then the massive blast door barring entry into the reactor core itself. Nodding, the taller figure moved to comply. Now Ashant turned first to regard the distraught Juliana.

”You can do no further good Miss Clarent. I urge you to depart.”

He nodded sadly, and shuffled from view, stifling a tear.

She had scarcely cleared the door when Ashant whipped around, fixing a glaring stare at Rio. His jaw clenched, and his lips twisted in a vicious snarl.

”Removing the flow regulator from a reactor is foolhardy enough Riordan! He admonished, ”But to do so when the reactor is an original class one antique is suicidal. This system utterly lacks even the basic safeguards your training on Mako energy conversion covers. You might have not only fractured the Materia we came here to collect, but breached the core and killed us all.”

Ashant turned, observing the third member of his group enter the core and begin the process of securing the mystical chunk of energy-giving Materia.

”It was however, a brilliant and intelligent plan. I am impressed.”

Rio smiled, even as he moved to assist Gigalo. This day, once more the Turks and the Shin-Ra corporation had triumphed. The people of North Coral would wake this morning to find none of the basic amenities they had so come to rely on. No hot water, no electricity and the end of their comfortable existence.

An existence the Shin-Ra Corporation would promise to once more restore, at a price.
The City of Midgar
21-12-2004, 04:32
The clouds above were foreboding, and dark. A blanket of grey steel that obscured the heavens and the stars that fought so valiantly to shine through gloom. A once serene blue sky promising wonder and excitement now heralded nothing more than misery, and a tale to become tragic in conclusion.

The valley was silent. A deepening chasm whose rocky, splintered sides travelled almost vertically downwards until the slow-moving waters of the river obscured the dirt-brown, stony landscape. Without reflection from a sun-devoid sky those waters were not comforting as crystal-clear lagoon or warm tropical spring. They lulled lazily, unable to or unwilling to motivate themselves beyond restless shifting and the gentle lapping break of weakened waves on the outcrops of black, weathered rock.

Yet at the crest of the valley, forming an obvious and unnatural bridge between both banks, a titanic wall of concrete stood. An unremarkable colour performing a scarcely tolerable function. Curved slightly and backed by billions of gallons of water desperate to once more mingle with that of the river ahead, but forever impotent and powerless behind the technologies of man It seemed almost holy. A smooth structure so tightly knit it appeared one-piece in origin and construction. Only the thin, almost-invisible struts strengthening the two hundred metre thick concrete sections lent evidence against this theory.

The technological ability of Man never so thoroughly demonstrated as the surging torrents of Nature were not only held back, forced to bide their time, but forced to do his biding. Humiliated and humbled as vast turbines of shining steel and plastic churned at frothing waves to supply that most precious of commodities- Electricity.

From the crest of the dam, over seven hundred feet above the gentle waters the glittering spires of Libertia City joined in marking the landscape with the origin of Man. Great towers of impeccable aesthetic beauty fought with each other so that one might outshine and impress those that watched from afar. Impetus for this beauty, for this quest for grandness was supplied courtesy of what now held back a furious tidal wave of natural anger and rage.

Ashant regarded the view as his loud footsteps reverated across the narrow walkway. Making no effort to subdue such obvious approach, he took in the breathtaking view as pale, gnarled fingers wrapped around the guardrail as though that itself provided the most solid anchor not only to the dam, but the valley and rock itself.

”A splendid view.” He concluded quietly.

His musings were quickly interrupted by a loud, tuneless humming. It grew to deafening levels, until Ashant could scarcely continue to ponder the landscape ahead, turning his face settled in a frown before calm, and training reasserted themselves and an unsettling, neutrality once more eliminated any visible leanings.

”Quite the natural beauty spot.”

Rio grinned, more at his own impeccable sense of timing than any true humour in his statement. He stood alongside his fellow Turk, his unsettling, emerald eyes joining in admiring what stood ahead. The gentle pulse of navigational beacons remained visible even though a great distance stood between the watching agents of the Shin-Ra Corporation and the spanning complex of Libertia. Rio scoffed.

”They've got a superiority complex, you know...” He mused.

Ashant nodded, ”They do not believe in Midgar, or it's place as capital. Their distrust of Shin-Ra is total. Libertia citizens show a peculiar tendency to share a viewpoint irrelevant of age. Children, teenagers and the infirm and old revel in their independence. Taking great pleasure in this dam, this hydro-electrical facility and all that allows them to remain free from Mako energy generation and the new order.”

Rio nodded, aiming a kick at a loose stone balanced precariously on the edge by accident or intentional design. It arced high into the air, a mere speck against dark blue ripple. He turned away, wasting little effort in the foolhardy attempt to listen for the impact two hundred metres downwards.

”This structure defies the entirety of the Shin-Ra Corporation. Each gallon of water passing through these turbines and each watt of energy brings not further power and glory to our cause, but declines from our overall perfection. With each home heated and given light in Libertia, more influence is lost. This is not a city of the enlightened, but one of conspiracy. Hundreds flock here with every passing day. Intent not on devoting their lives to further our own, but to fulfilled their own individualistic excesses..”

Turning, he cast a glance towards the sole outcropping of concrete on the smooth walkway between valley banks, the entryway downwards, into the depths of swirling torrents, mammoth turbines and electrical machinery whose daily struggles brought such vital aloofness from the mono-corporate outside world.

”They will soon know the benefits of Mako. We must simply...restore sight to blinded eyes.”




Ayala allowed her weight to shift forwards slightly, as she brushed a stray lock of raven back behind her ear. She felt the banister surrounding the upper balcony assume her slight weight with little complaint. She found this a curious parallel to her true vision and desire. The banister was both strong and unquestioning. Devoid of complaint, or a grasp of such complex emotional issues as hatred, betrayal and cruelty.

Sighing, she wished the populace of Midgar, and the territory as a whole, would replicate these traits and spare her the unending frustration of maintaining order. Her eyes closed in reflex as a gust of strong wind blew directly against her face. Her forehead creased in a frown, and she cursed her inability, for now, to control the elements of weather.

As suddenly as the frown had crossed her face, a smile graced. Could she be far from such an impossible act? Would Ayala Isabelle Shin-Ra, president of the Shin-Ra Electric Power Corporation and Governor-General of Midgar and territories command the sun to rise when she woke, and fall when she grew sleepy? Would she command immense thunderstorms when the temperature became too uncomfortable, and dry?

Yet for a women whose very birth, and Shin-Ra name handed power before she was even capable of life outside a womb. It would be simply another means of control. Little gave her genuine surprise, and in almost five years as the premier head of the Corporation, not since the successful testing of the first Mako reactors, had she felt truly energised.

She fixed her attentions now to street level. Many times below her sixty eighth-floor presidential office, to mingling and discussion on the ground. She could already track those that would dare to stand against her.

They had swollen in numbers since early afternoon. From what Gregory had indicated, a majority of university students, interlaced with older, more experienced and supposedly wiser individuals. Ayala had identified a number of professors and tutors, of which she had already ensured the destruction of their personal careers beforehand.

They made no attempt to close on the building, they were far too intelligent for that, supposedly. Instead they formed a throng of free-will in the central plaza, where they discussed and debated, and bolstered the confidence of each other. Already 'SOLDIER' had made it's presence quietly known, though the majority of those present chose to ignore it, to their peril.

She became aware of Gregory joining her on the balcony before he had managed to secure himself to the banister. His fear of heights well known and the subject of many board-level jokes, and relatively good natured exploitation.

”Are preparations complete?” She asked.

Gregory nodded, wiping his brow once more, ”SOLDIER reports they have completed preliminary mapping of all possible contingencies in the plaza area. They are confident of a quick suppression, on your orders.”

Below Ayala caught sight of a banner, many metres long being unfurled. It seemed at first glance the Shin-Ra logo, but she quickly caught the crudely painted red slash across it's face. On either side, pathetic slogans involving the lifeblood of the planet, and demands for more political freedom accompanied. She turned away in disgust.

”Eliminate them.” She concluded, returning through the open glass entryway.



Professor Hiriitio glanced with apprehension at the impressively ornate entry to the Shin-Ra headquarters, but a scant few yards from where his students and several colleagues now gathered. He felt a deep-seated unpleasantness, stemming from his hypocritical thinking, plague his subconscious. He had freely indulged in open criticism of the Corporation ahead, and blasted their selfish aims. Yet now, as he stood with like-minded individuals and attempted to make their criticism felt, he pondered simply fleeing. Returning to his home and allowing the warming blanket of his bed to spirit away the demons of imagination.

He scanned the claustrophobic surroundings of the plaza. He had scarcely time to confirm the onrushing figures from darkened alley were those of his well-founded fears before hell literally unleashed it's most chosen. Gunfire roared above the chants of the gathered protesters as masked, armoured horrors approached. Some chose to demonstrate arms, throwing their unwieldy if devastating electro-rods, of ever reliable Shin-Ra design, against the concrete to provoke arcing blasts of nerve-shredding energy.

Others simply fixed the assembled students with such disdain and hatred, Hiriitio questioned whether in their eyes he and his group amounted to little more than sheep, animals to be rounded upon and slaughtered without further word than was necessary to instigate the deed. Slowly he stepped backwards, many choosing to take a similar course of action until a panicked shriek indicated all possible avenues of escape were blocked.

Hiriitio himself died before he could formulate a second plan. His skull providing little resistance against the mauling and irresistible kinetic motion the previously stated electro-rods boasted. He crumpled to the concrete, only a dizzy, intense buzzing signifying anything to be amiss. A moment elapsed, a hand offered to the attacked temple, and a palm of oozing, warm crimson instilled the urgency required to act.

Unfortunately, that same resistance to the agony of the injury proved nothing more than the preliminary stages of the neurological damage inflicted by the supposed non-lethal weapon. Hiriitio succeeded in completing a half-hearted hope for medical aid before his entire consciousness collapsed, his portly body being set upon by reinforced boot twice-fold before his still-jerking corpse struck the ground.

Others crumbled, in fear, cowering with their heads covered, bubbling desperate, half-garbled pleadings for mercy. They received no swifter ends than silence would have offered. Quickly and brutally, this peaceful demonstration become little more than an exercise in rapid response and submission. Again from above, Ayala nodded in satisfaction. She would see opponents of Shin-Ra not only crushed, but forced to realise the glory of her order and regime above their insignificant, pathetic existence.

Within the hour, the plaza was clear once more. Though only a handful of the original protesters left under their own power, and life.



Rio gently pressed his hand against the thrumming metal of the turbine housing. He could feel the heaving vibrations as thousands of gallons of water tore into and consequently supplied the kinetic energy required to make this immense production facility viable. He felt for a moment humbled by this amazing process. At one point, perhaps a few months in the past he might almost have felt sadness at the act he prepared to initiate. Swiftly, he shrugged and magnetised the explosive charge to the casing.

”They say this dam has had a most unfortunate effect on local ecological systems in the area.” commented Ashant as he joined his junior.

Ensuring the remote detonator was functional, and having absolutely no wish to return under time-constrained circumstances to correct a problem, he grinned. Running a hand again through immaculate, spiked hair he stepped down from the ledge. His superior awaited, having ensured the flood gates above were suitably awaiting detonation.

”So, your insinuating we're doing this for the fish?”

Ashant shook his head, as the pair began to return surface-side. Glancing back along the line of massive turbine units, he counted quickly the blinking lights mounted on the charges. Arriving at the required number, he nodded and continued. He pondered the niavity shown by the Libertians. In not only leaving their most important structure unguarded, but actually believing it to be safe against all threats surely raised questions about the prospective sanity of the city.

Or perhaps, they truly believed that not even the Shin-Ra would stoop so low as to commit such a depraved act as to what now was coming to fruition.

Libertia was a glorious and beautiful city. Ashant had spent almost five years living, and working for a small division of the Shin-Ra Weapons Development Program, before relocating to the burgeoning Midgar, and the Turks. For longer than he could truly remember a deep seated resentment of the Corporation, and all that Shin-Ra stood for existed within each man, women and child. Perhaps their relative size and isolation from Midgar explained such, or that this dam, the largest artificial structure known in the territories, provided a safety blanket from which Libertia could freely sneer and criticise the rapid rise of Mako technology.

Ashant knew that those in power within Libertia had little inkling for the truth behind Mako. How could they when only a handful of Shin-Ra executives could boast the same knowledge? Indeed through ignorance they did stumble upon the truth, or at least part of it. Hydro-electricity allowed them to continue ignorance, without need for the reactors of infamy.

However, this would change before night came to Libertia. When billions of gallons of furious water tore through this final barrier, and towards the prone city, they would flee. When an unstoppable wall of tidal proportions bore down, they would break, and weep. Many would perish, an unfortunate side-effect of progress. Regrettable but entirely unavoidable if those that would seek to disrupt true unity were not apprehended and stopped.

The Shin-Ra Corporation would descend. As though a guardian Angel from which silvery, astrologically divine wings spread forth from kindness, and charm. Seeking to help, render assistance in this tragedy and spread their message. Finally, when Libertia stood on the very edge of the abyss, towards utter disintegration and chaos, a solution would be provided. Ashant looked forward to seeing the spiralling, multi-storey Mako reactor draw on the energy of the Planet to quench the desperate thirst of the Libertians.

How deliciously ironic.

The wind now began to stir, as though sensing the work of the Turks to be nearing completion. Rio cursed loudly as the Banshee-like gales sought to conspire and ruin his hard-prepared vanity, forcing his carefully tended hair into new and wild formations. Ashant, lacking any appreciable hair suffered not from this problem, and enjoyed the relative harshness against his face.

”Let's move. I've got a date tonight.” Hastened the agitated youngster.

Ashant moved to jibe, then thought better of it, simply nodding.


With an almost muted thud, the first explosives detonated. In equal distances a scarce few metres down from the empty walkway, clouds of black, insufferable smoke pooled. Already large chunks of torn, soiled concrete were hauled downwards by the force of gravity. Impacting against the dam wall as they fell, sending great cracks spreading forth from the impact points, until they disappeared from view. Above, fissures now became obvious as the smoke from the initial blast cleared. As wide as a man stood tall now, and revealing the dedicated and fragile machinery inside, charred and crippled.

As a sheet of paper torn in half, such was the sound echoing around the reeling structure. Now the walkway above began to sag, and bend. Losing all proportions and reinforcement it began to sway beneath the gaping, shredded concrete holes. Before relative silence could settle, further explosions sounded. Massive sections of the gentle, curving face were simply blown clear of the steel supports. Now the first indications of a revenge-driven Mother Nature came to bear. Torrents of powerful spray, as though fired deliberately in a concentrated jet began to push through the largest breaches. As the water gathered in speed, so did the size of the passages they negotiated.

Soon the jets widened to form blossoming waterfalls as the Planet almost reclaimed the dam, the forces acting hauling yet still more of the intact into disrepair. Now even the redundant features of the rugged design could do no more, and the mass disintegration accelerated. Entire sheets as large as the valley wall slid downwards as one, crumbling only upon reaching the once shallow, but now swirling river.

With a final, tremendous effort, the Dam dissipated, and the long-held reservoir took opportunity to begin a final journey, towards the homes of those that would imprison it, and act as Warden.

Libertia would know no rest that night.


Gregory shuffled once more into the intimidating confines of the presidential office. His chest heaved with exertion at what had become a trying day. The incident outside had only antagonised his internal conflict that even after ten years as an executive he could still not quell. The only scrap of comfort for a weary soul coming in the form of the news he was to deliver to Ayala. At the very least, she would find little to make complaint over.

”How have the Turks faired, Gregory?” She called out, toying with a trinket from the comfort of her desk edge.

He shuddered, even the intonation of his name gave him cause for fear. The sickly sweet pronounciation, flawless and perfect...He felt no Human, male or female, should have such a cold and implacable grasp of the language as she did...

”I have received word but moment ago President Ayala. We have been successful. The city of Libertia has been devastated. Initial reports indicate upwards of twelve hundred missing, presumed dead. Our most preliminary indications further convey the near total devastation of city infrastructure. Transport, medical aid and basic necessities are in absence, or limited supply.”

”Excellent...” She began, standing. Where most women whom dressed in such a provocative and alluring way would ensure their stance had not forced their skirt to ride up into unflattering positions, Ayala's seemed much like her personality. It glided against smooth, frictionless legs. Settling once more to reveal nothing more than the barest hint of what an entire board lusted after, yet would not dare to allow a wandering eye for fear of losing such vision.

”Delay our response by a few hours. Not more so as to incur suspicion at our lack of reply, but to maximise the devastation and death. Handling of this is critical Gregory, I will see a Shin-Ra Mako reactor pumping at the banks of their former dam. I will see their filthy offspring utilise my electricity so as to make their pathetic existences more comfortable. I will see widows utilise my energy to cook their meals alone, without partner or solace. Do not fail me.”

“”Remember always, success for the Shin-Ra Corporation is success for all.”

Gregory nodded mutely, and exited. He felt, deep within him, a profound sense of loss. It took him moments to analyse and conclude what he now lacked, and with a dumb realisation, he stopped. Wiping his brow once more, he forced himself onwards.

Gregory Vianial, Head of the Shin-Ra Electric Power Division and member of the executive board, was now a man without that which made him unique.

His soul.
Menelmacar
21-12-2004, 05:53
As did hundreds of its counterparts, Elenpalantír 729 sailed merrily along on its orbit, watching the lands below. Its freakishly-high-resolution sensor arrays and holographic cameras swept an area of the planet's surface three hundred miles across thousands of times a second, capturing for posterity all that transpired below. The Elenpalantíri were used to watch just about anything Menelmacar might take interest in, from the movement of units to the construction of bases and cities to the movements of certain officials to even the progress of forest fires and tsunami and other such things. The satellite's unblinking gaze captured almost everything it saw, even headlines on loose pages of newsprint blowing through the streets. To read the articles themselves, the technology was not yet available, yet this too would come, in time. The Elenpalantíri were, literally, the eyes and ears of Menelmacar, and through them, one could watch almost anywhere in nearly real-time, delayed only by the few seconds required for transmission.

At this precise moment, 729 was above a truly vast hydroelectric generating station, which sat looming imperiously above the city that had built it, and had sat for years before and undoubtedly would for years to come...

...except it wouldn't.

Sudden changes that deviated greatly from the norm of past orbits would automatically grab 729's attention, and draw in the gaze of additional, still higher-resolution sensors and cameras. These cameras flicked online now, quickly enough even to catch the tail-end of the explosion's flash, an explosion that tore through the reinforced concrete of the dam.

Optronic eyes of many spectra watched impassively as the dam cracked, fissured, crumbled, and was consumed by the onrushing tide of water from behind it, which wasted no time in rushing downvalley, tearing a great swath from the shining city's downtown core. The city flickered and went black, its lights now dark, and thousands of lives were erased in an instant, shattering thousands of others in the wake of their passage.

And Elenpalantír 729 sailed on.

-------

The Menelmacari bureaucracy was notoriously selective. It was capable of moving extremely slowly if it so desired. The Noldor had thousands of ways to draw out just about any response or turnaround into the multiple tens of years. Or, they could move extremely quickly if they wished. Today was one of the latter days.

"Great holy Eru in a sidecar," Ailintelpë muttered as she watched her screen. About forty minutes previously, 729 had red-flagged what looked like a massive explosion in a corner of the world to which Menelmacar had paid little interest before. The Noldorin MISSION analyst watched in horror as the city below the dam was utterly devastated... when it was over, she brought up local broadcasts to see what the newsies and talking heads were saying.

"...and this is SNN breaking news. The Libertia Hydroelectric Dam was destroyed less than an hour ago in a massive explosion, which appears at this time to have been an accident, and has taken thousands of lives... President Shin-Ra has not yet made a statement, but there can be no doubt in anyone's mind that the Company is even now organizing a massive response..."

Ailintelpë would normally, at this time, make up a quick report with the hard data, a synopsis of what happened, and what her assessment was, but she was already off and running; lives were at stake, and more could die with every moment of delay. Less than two minutes later she was three floors up, in the office of the Deputy Director (Intelligence), Ataralassë nos Fithurin, panting rather a lot.

"Is something the matter?" asked the DDI.

"Yes, milady," Ailintelpë replied, "Bring up 729's feed."

There was a sharp gasp from Ataralassë as she watched. "By the Valar. That certainly doesn't happen every day. Thank you... I'll pass this over to PCR right away. We'll still need a report, but Maglor will have to move on this quickly, so I'll call him right now." Ailintelpë nodded, and bowed her head a bit, knowing she'd already been dismissed, as Ataralassë had already been reaching for her comm.

--------

x - Office of the Mayor, Libertia City-State, Shin-Ra Territory
o - Lord Maglor nos Fëanor, Prefect of Compassionate Relief, Eternal Noldorin Empire of Menelmacar

Greetings from Menelmacar. It was with shock and sadness that I learned of the tragedy that has today befallen your fair city. The victims and their families are ever in our thoughts. But there is hope for those who still live. Menelmacar is prepared to provide as soon as is possible a humanitarian aid shipment to relieve the suffering of your people. The shipment would consist of food and water, along with basic supplies such as medicine, blankets, and clothing. We could also provide a limited supply of prefabricated housing and portable electric generators.

The supplies would arrive aboard one of our Vingilot-class freighters within forty-eight hours. I look forward to your prompt reply.

Sincerely,
Lord Maglor
The City of Midgar
23-12-2004, 02:27
A tremendous roar tore through the evening, bloodshot sky resounding against torn, cracked concrete and warped, twisted steel. From above, rending flashes of the brightest, blinding light temporarily removed all building and ground from existence. As though a magician of the mystic arts swept a gloved hand across all he surveyed and removed without so much as an uttered incantation or magical trigger.

An illusion it proved to be, as the receding brightness revealed all that had existed before, unmoved and for those that once called the devastation home, unfortunately unrepairable. Blocks of uprooted concrete struggled in the torrential waters that surged through the narrow street. The barest corners of disturbed chunks remaining precariously above the surface as a struggling creature might with all energy and urgency continue to keep head above water in an eventually futile act, prolonging life for a further few moments.

From once busy and bustling pavement, stretching towers watched as spectators. Themselves submerged below basement and street level, and unable to render any further assistance than supplying relative shelter for those few individuals of strong will or stamina whose battling against the currents rewarded them with the opportunity to starve, rather than drown.

Ancient trees of century-spanning Oak were uprooted and carried before the fickle nature of the Planet disregarded them atop overturned transporters and vehicles. Whom in turn were dragged and forced against both the anguished scrapings of gravity and their own impressive weight, into each other and further obstacles.

The only indications that this city at one time harboured a populace came as those unable to remove themselves from the water in turn were removed from life. Cold, slate-grey corpses finally laid to a rest drifted within the thrall of the river. Above the thrashes of thunder, and lightning and from an unknown distance, the loud peal of a bell began to toll. It's irresistible yet methodical rhyme providing the only unnatural break in a symphony of destruction composed entirely by Mother Nature.

Rio deftly landed on the outcropping of rock. Originally an immense and suitably unpleasant gargoyle whose intentions and origins were as unlikely as the young Turk's likelihood to lose balance and plunge into the murky depths had upturned, providing a useful platform from which to plan further movement. Behind Ashant followed, the age gap between the pair unapparent as the older of the duo negotiated a Similiar course with ease.

”A curious merging, the natural with Man-made...”

Rio grinned, as he completed a final leap. He came to rest on a high and considerably long flight of stairs. Looking back, he watched the carved marble steps disappear deep into the torrent of foaming water. Readjusting his gaze forwards, he settled upon the immense archway, whose equally impressive steel entryway was not only ajar, but seemingly all but torn from hinges in the resulting panic and urge to flee, and escape.

Judging from the amount and proximity of the bodies surrounding, Rio could not have handed good odds to the success of such an endeavour.


Ashant joined him promptly, pausing to shake excess moisture from as always impeccably polished shoes. Taking a further moment to adjust his neck tie, assured in the motto that one who took pride in his appearance took pride in his work. Looking to Rio, Ashant pondered whether an individual who clearly fawned over himself at every opportunity yet, in his opinion looked no better for it could be considered to have fulfilled the saying.

”Do we know if he's inside?” Rio questioned.

”The whereabouts of the Mayor are unknown. Intelligence had suggested he remains within the office complex, yet it would seem commitment and valour beyond what I believe him in possession of would be in requirement for us to find him here. Yet time is short Riordan, and President Shin-Ra will not tolerate further delay. Already she stands ready to address the Territories, from which aid will be announced.”

”Noble intentions, as always.” He mocked.

Ashant sighed, no longer willing to indulge his protege in further antagonism. Pushing forward, he began to climb the stairs that would lead them into the heart of the Libertia City administration. Yet in his opinion, and that of the few that mattered within this drown wasteland, it was a heart cold, and without a beat to break the silence.



Ayala slowly lowered herself into the chair. She felt the slight hiss as the pistons mounted beneath took into account her slight weight and pitched the chair backwards slightly, further increasing her comfort. She often pondered just where she would find her disposition were it not for these small improvements and innovations. Certainly under appreciated, yet vital.

Sat at the head of the slim, yet elongated table, she observed others arrive, and take seat. The table itself was a mostly unpractical affair. Soft internal lighting surrounded by a partially opaque covering originally designed to assist the reading of notes and graphs instead caused even further hardship in reading. Yet in a thoroughly unexpected turn of mood, Ayala had tolerated, and enjoyed it. She found it's peculiar construction combated the overall sterile theme of the board room. She took leave of her chair as Gregory found himself seated.

”A month has passed since last we gathered here, to discuss and guide the helm of the Shin-Ra Corporation onwards. Again, much has changed and yet we endure, profit and success hand-in-hand we march yet towards our eventual goals...” She paused, taking a moment to glance at the discarded tabletop schedule. ”I shall demand from all department heads an immediate report into their current status, and timetable.”

She turned to Gregory, her lips curling upwards, ”Begin.” She said simply.

Mopping his brow, Gregory moved to stand, then thought better of it. Already he felt the smug, self-satisfied glare of Windagger bore into his temple. A perfect and notorious example of the textbook, ideal executive Trent Windagger possessed wit and cunning with a controlling factor of sleaze to ensure he remained at the summit of the Shin-Ra pyramid.

Gregory conversely, had little in the way of conversation skills. He could not recall the last occasion he graced with a joke, and doubted at any time he had managed to elicit a laugh, or smirk form such an endeavour. Focusing on the task at hand, he cleared his throat, avoiding a stammer.

”Our department, as always continues to focus on the innovative fields of Mako energy... He began, taking his cue from Windigger, and noticing the frustrated rolling of eyes, accelerated slightly, realising it would do little good to remind the entire board of the fact his energy division was continuing to generate energy.

”The Midgar reactor construction phase is now entering it's penultimate phase. Number three, five, six and eight are on-line and completing final test phase ignition processes. Barring unforeseen delays we anticipate the structural completion of one, two, four and seven before our next meeting.”

Ayala nodded, and as she began to reply, Gregory felt his knees weaken. He had learned over time to extrapolate and plan the behaviour of his President as much as possible, eliciting apprehension when she broke from this planned behaviour. He took comfort in at least choosing the option to remain seated.



”You have improved our timetable for complete switch-over to Mako based energy generation Gregory, my faith as always is well repaid. However do not become complacent, for much still remains to be done. Exhaustive tests must be completed and all reactors ensured operational. I care not for the almost entirely-useless populations of Gonganga, but I will not tolerate a failure here within Midgar, where a malfunction could prove to be devastating to the Corporation....”

She paused, ensuring Gregory had her undivided attention.

”...And myself.”

He nodded. His gaze dropping to inspect notes now useless as his contribution to the meeting ended. His chest heaved with exertion. At times such as these, he questioned whether he retained the steel to cope with such a high-pressure position.

Conversation passed over him, slightly beyond range of comprehension. He noticed Windagger stand, and sighed.

”Weapons and offensive research continues to go from strength to strength My President!” Enthused the stick-like executive. ”With your gracious supply of Materia from both the wrecked Gonganga and Coral reactors, we have completed our preliminary plans for a wide-dispersal Mako cannon with an effective range that puts the Northern continent well into targeting sights for a Junon-based construction effort.”

Crossing to the far bulkhead, and calling the blank screen into service, a considerably complex wireframe model began to circulate. Though inexperienced with this form of graphical interpretation, Gregory recognised key structures such as the firing barrel, recoil absorbers and Mako capacitors. He shook his head as he poured over the finer points.

”Utilising an experimental form of Materia compression, we believe we can achieve a near complete energisation of the Materia without doubling reactor expenditure.” Announced Windigger, obviously pleased, and puffing his chest outwards to compliment his impressive worlds.

”That will not work.” announced Gregory, half-heartedly. Long ago, he would dared not have uttered a word. To interrupt another executive was considered at the very least poor etiquette, yet to risk the wrath of the President by snatching at her attention as though something trivial, and traded between children beggared belief.

Yet that had been long ago. He had learned the mistakes of allowing a flawed plan to proceed, and he was well aware of the ultimate penalty more likely to be paid in the long-term than making himself heard now. Ayala turned, and motioned with a deft flick of her hand to continue.

”By removing the secondary coolant subsystem in an attempt to shrink the size of the crystallisation chamber you have created a situation whereupon core temperature will quickly become overwhelmingly high, creating a feedback situation which will overload the remaining safety systems and explosively detonate the collective Materia.”

Windigger snorted abrasively, ”Computer models show no such problem. The coolant system has performed within expected perimeters.”

Gregory pondered. ”You have utilised the Materia from Coral and Gongaga to make these tests a reality?”

His nemesis nodded, both well aware of the impossibility of obtaining an accurate computer model where high concentrations of still ill understood Materia gathered.

”You have not duplicated your results correctly. You have failed to take into account compound energisation from the high volume of Materia present. Put simply, you have not tested the cannon with as high an amount of Materia as you plan to utilise. At the level indicated, Junnon will be reduced to a scoured, blackened cliff.”

Windagger hesitated, and Ayala saw her opportunity.

”You disappoint me greatly, Trent.” She announced, gesturing to Gregory. ”You have at your disposal the most well versed Mako energy expert the Shin-Ra can call upon, whom at any point in your current design process could have advised you to the problem and found a solution. Had you put aside your pathetic rivalry and attempts to curry favour with me, you would stand before me with a successful plan awaiting funding and implementation. Instead you are lucky to still find yourself on this board for such a foolish and idiotic error. Make the changes as required, and fail me not again if you wish to salvage a career.”

Gregory shrunk back into his seat, wiping at his perspiring brow. He knew his appreciation for spotting the error had been conveyed in that Ayala had not addressed his interruption of her consideration. For a man now growing weary of all that surrounded him, finding new fault with each facet of his personality though old and long-standing.

The voices blurred, and he passed into deep thought.


Ashant stopped quickly as he pushed through the small door to the left. Instantly he became aware of the flowing water as it passed over his shoes, and ran through the imperfections in the floorboards. Ahead, row upon row of bookcases stood. Arranged in parallels, so one who entered could look easily upon their faces. Yet form above, through shattered pipe and tubing, small individual waterfalls thrust forth.

Books of considerable value and age floated serenely, nudging Ashant's ankle as they bled ink, history and the genius of Man into a flood that cared not for the destruction of priceless art, music and literature. Stooping to the floor, he turned a soaked tome over, passing curious gaze over the cover. A small, and ironic smile spread across his normally passive features.

A history of the Libertia Hydro-Electric Dam.

Disregarding the book back from whence it came with a soft, forgetful splash, he stood in time to meet Riordan as he quickly entered the room. Taking only a moment to assess the situation, he focused back on the reason for his appearance, gesturing back into the corridor.

”No sign of the Mayor, or his staff. But I've found something extremely interesting in his communications chamber.”

Ashant wasted little time.


Ayala sighed as she pressed her thumb down hard against the ornate and utterly unrequited document. Retrieving her fountain pen, she duly scrawled her looping, curving initials underneath, and pushed the unsavoury executive order away, as though a few inches distance further would help to ease the obvious distaste etched on her face.

It seemed that at every opportunity, the disadvantaged sought to drag her down once more. Where she granted them the kindness of residence, of work and monetary reimbursement in return for unskilled, incomprehensibly unchallenging employment they did not grasp eagerly with frenzied thanks. They sought to take more. Where she silenced them in the darkness of the Slums, beneath the immense plate that her chosen few, whose presence greatly added to her perfection resided, they yet endured, and spoke. Their voices a thousand feral scratchings, screams and demands for more.

They would see the Shin-Ra Corporation reduced to the role of humanitarians rather than accept that in a world where no favours were owed, and fortunate favoured those with drive, focus and determination their near-constant complaint and grinding irritation was counter-productive and tiresome. She glanced at the newly signed order in front.

Even as she spoke, 'SOLDIER' mobilised to enforce a curfew, as by her order. Now those who would drift through their lives without commitment to her glorious cause, or at the very, very least sit silent on the sidelines and observe would be foiled. They would remain within their shanty towns, of gutted, rotting timber and steel. Ayala had gifted them ignorance. Before they could maintain, at least to themselves that they lived some semblance of a respectful life. Now they would realise their place, as nothing more elaborate than vermin. The most insignificant and worthless wretches whom could ever be gathered in such numbers the Planet had ever seen.

Fit for nothing more than consumption. To act as fuel to ensure the fires of progress burned bright for all eternity. Satisfied she had slowed the detrimental effect of their now-curtailed freedom, Ayala turned attentions elsewhere. Upon her small communications terminal, an urgent message demanded consultation. As she made ready, the ident number immediately piqued her interest. It had been long since the Turks contacted her directly. Such was their way to prefer more, indirect means.

As her piercing cobalt eyes passed across paragraph and line, her jaw tightened visibly. She experienced the high of success, and the irritating sting of unexpected and troublesome development. Moments later, the communique fulfilled in it's usefulness and consigned to electronic oblivion, she contemplated the outcome.

Ashant had successfully penetrated Liberia in the ensuring confusion. Practically without name check entering the office of the Mayor to the point of downloading and examining his personal communications. There they had discovered the introduction of an unknown element. At first Ayala had been furious beyond comprehension at the possible involvement of a power beyond the Territory. She considered herself no fool in the affairs of other lands, and knew this Menelmacari Empire well enough to realise a possible problem.

Even as she began to instruct for an immediate dismissal of the offer of assistance, she paused. Her forehead creasing in contemplation, then nodding. Her lithe, sensual fingers pouring over the keyboard with passion and vigour. Soft and supple keystrokes conveying a far more urgent meaning. Satisfied, she transmitted.

Ashant would ensure the Menelmcari received a strong invitation to assist. Though in their position the hand that shook their own would be of the Libertian Mayor's office, and not of the Shin-Ra Corporation, or Ayala herself. Even as she mulled over this change in plans, a thunderous chopping eminated from outside the tower.

Standing, she closed sufficiently to glance through the toughened glass, to the bustling Midgar below.

Anchored at three of the eight reactor assemblies, levitated colossal airships.Almost as long as the reactors stood tall, though obviously lacking in related tonnage and width. Massive blades of toughened steel whipped and sliced at the battering winds, ensuring steady hovering even as crates of supplies, and equipment were brought and secured on-board. Watching this fascinating dance of evading, as again Mother Nature was foiled by the brilliance of Man, and as an extension, the Shin-Ra.

In the next hour, a pre-recorded conference would ensure her response to the Libertian dam disaster was met with praise and clarity of purpose. Critics, whom many foolishly believed to be in possession of not only their own free opinions, but safety and comfort would unite behind the charitable example of the Corporation.

As the multiple mooring lines were cast free, and the behemoth-like airships floated upwards from view of the central tower and Ayala, she pondered those still surviving in the disease-ridden, drowning alleys of Libertia. A once proud collection of people and structures now desperate for assistance, irrelevant of source or intention. Fortunate also that in their ignorance they examined not what approached...

Progress. In all it's furious, unquenchable and unstoppable rage.
Treznor
24-12-2004, 23:17
A short, indefinably ugly man carefully wraps linguine around the tines of his fork while listening to the Imperial Ministers give their reports. It's a working dinner, a habit he's retained from growing up in the Dominion. While most of his Ministers tend to be uncomfortable in the presence of the Emperor, most appreciate the fine table he sets. If it's going to be their last meal (which is not uncommon for high-ranking government officials who make big enough mistakes), it might as well be a good one.

It's good to be the king.

He's mostly bored. The administration of ruling an Empire tends toward dry statistics and monotony. Spend more money here. Spend less money there. Suppress this information. Play up that news. He's streamlined the bureaucracy to the degree that things can function without his direct involvement, but he prefers to maintain oversight and his lengthy work days are spent reading over as many reports as humanly possible. The dinners are used because he also knows the importance of personal interaction. Nothing can replace direct contact for gathering information.

"Menelmacar is spearheading a humanitarian effort," announces Ben Vitner, the stolid Minister of Intelligence. "They haven't brought the Triumvirate into it; the scope of the effort will barely register on their budget reports, but it's a rare piece of good PR. I thought you might want to look it over to see if you want to spin it up."

Treznor quirks an eyebrow as he pulls up the information on his datapad. "So it is. Libertia City-State? Gods, it's not even on the map. Sirithil is demonstrating no one is too small to escape the notice of her gargantuan empire?"

"It's also contested ground. Apparently, they've been fending off encroachments from a growing mercantile force called the Shin-Ra Corporation. They've been actively converting everything in reach to their new power system, and Libertia was reportedly denying them access to their markets. They were nicely covered by their hydroelectric dams, which failed catastrophically not long ago. Menelmacar was first to offer aid, followed shortly by the Shin-Ra."

Treznor smirks. "Are you implying what I think you are?"

Ben grins and shook his head. "There's no proof of it, no. The circumstances are...suggestive, but if anyone sabotaged the dam they were careful not to leave any tracks. The Shin-Ra were quick to take control of the investigation, and they're claiming poor maintenance is the ultimate culprit. The details are pretty vague. The Mayor of Libertia isn't saying anything one way or another."

"Well, sabotage or not, it looks like Libertia can't afford to say no to the Shin-Ra any more, can they?"

"No, Sir. The alternative is to secede to Menelmacar, but the Shin-Ra already have a strong foothold in the region. The Elves couldn't do it without stepping on their toes. The Corporation isn't big enough to stop them, but it would be a huge black eye from a public relations standpoint for Menelmacar to summarily wrest control, even by invitation. Libertia hasn't got any grounds for such a request."

"Hmm...I know what I'd be doing in their place. In fact, I did it. Do the Shin-Ra strike you as a viable corporate entity? Can they maintain control in the face of opposition?"

"It looks like they are as we speak."

"Okay. Initiate Project Piggybank. Let's do some investing." Treznor gestures to the Minister of Foreign Affairs. "Coordinate with Mark's people and investigate their willingness to deal."

"Yes, Sir. And Menelmacar's activity?"

"Play it for what it is. Praise 'em for not being snooty bastards, for a change. Not in so many words, of course."

"Of course, Sir."
The City of Midgar
26-12-2004, 05:03
At one time, the fabric had shimmered as though each individual stone shone with the combined brightness and fury of a star. Whose immense and barely suppressed energies whipped and frothed a storm not of water and howling wind, but searing-hot gas and temperatures of near-sheer impossibility.

At one time, the fabric had stretched tightly against subtle curves, to indicate, and assist the seduction. As guiding a force as the gentle yet strong hand of a would-be lover, caressing against firm, warm flesh yet frustratingly denied that final freedom that would see no barrier between the skin of one, and that of another.

Yet all was now in the past. Surviving only in the memory, little more complex than a chain of chemical bonds held enclosed within the most fragile of all things. Of which the slightest knock, or careless recklessness would see render eternal damage to something so precious. Unfortunately, there existed no computer nor system to aid in the duplication of these precious points of a time elapsed. Such was the motivation to ensure their safety, at all cost.

She cried out quietly, a combination of repetition and weariness contributing to her less than heartfelt efforts to make yet another fall to the ground count against the bustling noise surrounding her. She felt a splintered shard, of shattered rock, or glass. Of crushed metal or worse. Delicately it tore a neat line against her thigh, now robbed even of the pathetic protection her evening gown once provided. She felt the biophysical responses to the injury, and the sickly-warm flow of crimson against already fevered skin. Yet oddly detached as no pain pushed through the incredible metal fatigue suppressing all but her most based centres, and instincts.

She glanced towards her wrist, and chided herself for such a foolish action. She would find not what she sought from the mangled and crushed remains of a once dainty and aesthetic timepiece. An anniversary present much cherished and now destroyed, or a wonderful and breathtaking present. She could no longer recall, and it mattered little.

Radiating from the centre of the watch face, cracks ran a spider-web of damage. Individually set jewels, impeccably manufactured and polished and once proud markers of each hour as it duly passed, were either in absence or collecting uselessly inside the rim of the watch. Here they were held in an observationary role by the surviving shards that at once point belonged to the covering.

Her arms threw themselves upwards, less from rational thought than the debased instinct to haul oneself upwards and avoid the incurring vulnerability found in her present inclination. A window's ledge provided a small relief, and eventual standing. Even as she gazed into the darkened interior of the mysteriously nondescript room whom the window belonged to, she staggered back as a blinding glare assaulted her eyes.

She stepped away, to find the direction of the dazzling light lay ahead. Her hands instinctively rose to protect her face, though the sheer power of the violating beams were such that her actions were purely for her own comfort, rather than any real chance of success. She squinted, her eyes narrowing to little more than slits, limiting her own vision as much as this odd halo.

”Identify yourself!” Came the gruff command from white noise.

She gasped, startled at the real and very obvious signs of life surrounding her. Yet within her being, a shrill cry of warning sounded. The disturbing lack of emotion for such a demanding statement was apparent. As though the speaker had issued such demands a hundred upon a thousand times. Worse still, the apathy in his tone further indicated the answer, given a hundred upon a thousand times, was irrelevant to whatever was to follow.

”My name...is...Tessia...” She strangled.

As though plunged from a room of boiling heat, to intolerable cold, the blazing illumination died. For a moment, Tessia felt curiously naked, as though many eyes now free from the equally distorting beam of light could now gaze upon her torn, bleeding form with leering, lustful desire and curiosity.

Vision cleared and now able to ascertain, her heart refused to beat further. Only the most desperate demand for continuation from her unconscious centres of control ensured cardiac malfunction remained as she recognised with revulsion what stood before her.

The man stood far taller than Tessia. A gargantuan six foot ten to stage a conservative estimate, And positively stooping to glance over the tiny form of the now trembling women. His body sagged almost imperceptibly with the weight of the armour that adorned his chest, thighs and upper arms. Coloured an uninteresting grey, it clashed slightly with the generally light blue tone employed by his pressed trousers, and long-sleeved shirt. Upon his hands were bound gloves from which naked and exposed fingers emerged.

Of his face, Tessia could see nothing. Only the dim red of obvious retinal enhancement broke an enclosing helmet. Yet it was none of these features that instilled the blood-curdling fear that rose up within her being without containment nor means to suppress.

The small, yet instantly recognisable red diamond from which the words spelt such were regarded with disdain and disgust across not only he city of Libertia, but the surrounding lands.

SHIN-RA ELECTRIC POWER CORPORATION- 'SOLDIER'

”You have no authority here!” She garbled, seeking anything, something from which strength might pour and reinforce her wavering self-belief.

A rich, booming laughter echoed. The vox-processor augmenting his callous disregard for the freedom of Libertia into outright ridicule.

”Your point at one time rang true with authority...” He began. ”Yet with the thunderous destruction of your hydro-electric facility, and the tremendous tide of watery destruction that washed away your achievements, glories and hopes came also the loss of all authority! Your most prized city officials are all but perished! Their cold, decomposing corpses either awaiting examination by our medics, or contributing to the pollution and disease that runs rife through the river-streets of this once great city.”

He closed the distance between the pair. From the very limit of her vision, she spied others, garbed in the same intimidating costume of conformity, and intimidation.

”Yet still, after decades of mistrust, of slanderous and untrue allegations that soured our impeccable reputation, the Shin-Ra Corporation stands as your ultimate saviour! As we speak machines of great size and strength, whose mighty and titanic energies navigate the skies above your very head deliver both medicine and supplies. The very same people, your friends and relatives, colleagues and acquaintances who belittled the Shin-Ra now clamour and beg for our help, and assistance.”

”You assist even those that would see you perish from this Territory?” She replied.

His tone rose slightly, indicating a change in his pronunciation of words and indicating, in her imagination, a smile laced with malice and hidden, cruel intent.

”We do not provide such for free. Our price comes higher than the richest of Libertia could hope to satisfy in ten years of outstanding achievement. Glance around you, to these shattered spires and gutted factoriums. These devastated homes and crushed transport networks. The very core of Libertia, of the Libertia that stood against Shin-Ra and cried out fury at our every effort to improve the lives of those that inhabit this place, is gone. Those most senior of the administration that resisted the onslaught of Mako energy are dead, or effectively so.”

He looked upwards as a terrific thundering lashed from the air. The impressive and elegant frame of a Highwind class air-ship rose above all else to demand attention and respect. Emblazoned on the fuselage and wing sections, the all-powerful symbol of the controlling and multi-conglomerate Shin-Ra shined proudly, as if simply to prove the previously stated point.

”We shall rebuild Libertia. We shall bring your schools from crumbled, torn rubble to glimmering, shining examples of education. Yet they shall teach not freedom of expression, nor the right to be in control of one's own destiny. We shall rebuild your hospitals from crushed, burnt-out husks to towering enclaves of healing and medicine, yet only those who can afford those medicines shall be welcome.

All that you have seen painstakingly collected. Your precious freedom and appreciation and devotion to that freedom shall be expunged. A second wave, as devastating as the first and just as man-made in origin and intention shall sweep away the remains of this liberal infestation. All that once was shall be no longer.”

Tessia gasped.. Her injustice and rage pushing through fatigue and weariness until she felt positively imbued with energy. Her eyes widened as the final statement passed before her stunned ears. Her jaw tightened, and she fixed a withering stare, her reply as much a question as statement.

”You destroyed the dam.”

With a loud hiss, the giant before her removed his helmet. Piercing, ruby-red eyes tore through her being and emerged to continue on intimidating stare. Tessia recognised the results of deliberate and controlled Mako exposure. His roughly-shaven, stubbled chin quirked in amusement.

”I do not believe you really require me to answer that.”

From behind, a small shuffle began. A likewise soldier, of slightly smaller height, briefly exchanged muted word with the first. His eyes moved away from Tessia, into nothingness as he nodded, and pondered the information. Seemingly just as the conversation ended, he learned of a new fact. His mouth curled upwards to form a vicious and nauseating smile. His fearsome features once more clamped upon the distressed women.

”I am afraid our time is limited, and much is still to be done. I regret further we cannot indulge your presence...Minister. Your presence has been much in demand amongst those of my superiors. For it is you and your entire department who, if I am not vastly mistaken were responsible for the maintenance and replenishment of the hydro-electric facility, amongst may other duties.”

He glance downwards, obviously taking cue from a small data pad or other storage device.

”Ah yes, the Ministry for Environmental issues and structures. An impressive title, and one with much importance. Had the situation been more kind, it is very possible you would have been reunited with not only your staff, but the multitude of your likewise executive colleagues. Though most certainly not to resume your duties.”

Tessia swallowed nervously. She felt that voice, so angry and terrified and full of warning and danger fall silent. It's passionate pleas to flee, and find safety now utterly and totally without chance of success.

”It is unfortunate the Libertian administration did not see the impressive benefits of mass identity chip implantation. Had you been a citizen of Midgar, your location would not have remained so difficult to ascertain. However fate it seems sides with that of the Corporation, and you have presented yourself to us.”

From behind, the hard thud of reinforced soles reminded the Minister Tessia her final avenue of escape had been lost.

”Minister Tessia DeVosci, I hereby charge you with conspiracy to defraud the Libertian people, and gross misconduct of your position and power, in relation to the destruction of the Libertia hydro-electric Dam. Under martial law declared in absence of the Libertia Executive by the Shin-Ra Corporation, I sentence you to death, with immediate effect.”

Still nameless, and without even so much as a designation number by which Tessia might beg and plead for mercy, to avoid this infuriating and horrific betrayal of honour, integrity and the honest truth, he duly rose his sidearm pistol.

Taking only a moment to ensure eye contact was established, he pulled the trigger.

A flutter of birds, whose resting beside the remains of a flooded fountain garden complex were disturbed by a loud crack of what seemed like thunder bolted high into the air. They wheeled around the very reach of a collapsed, partially ruined tower. Oblivious they cawed, and screeched even as a dull thud echoed through the motionless streets. The thud of a disregarded, now worthless object Whose purpose had been removed and was now consigned to the same eventual fate as those damaged structures surrounding.

Ashant glanced upwards, his eyes fixing upon the dry, well maintained road. Lining the quiet streets apartment buildings rose high into the air. Compacted together, but with style, as to avoid the claustrophobic trappings so often encountered in inner cities.

From many windows, he could spy activity. Bustling, organising. Certainly here the effects of the devastating flood were invisible. On such relatively high- and consequently rare- ground escape was possible and made done. It was here Ashant doubted the intelligence of the citizens and organisation of Libertia. Were such a disaster to occur under a Shin-Ra administration, here where the Turk stood would be crammed full of the most important and vital members a society could lay need to. The cream of culture, science and order granted safety and security against the vast, nameless hordes of the public from which little of importance spawned and the majority were irrelevant.

However as he gazed around, he saw not the cultural elite, but a cross-section sample of the mundane. Children with little or no futures, parents whose entire lives have been devoted to simple existence, shunning the fantastic wonders of the world surrounding them. In such circumstances, he truthfully pondered how the could stand to live with their utter uselessness. Yet it this was not his primary concern.

A soft thump dragged his attention upwards, to an unremarkable window many floors high. A long, red pendant unfurled, pushed from a tightly wound roll originating on the ledge. As it unfolded fully, it was duly tied from above securely, flapping gently in a serene breeze.

A gold trim surrounded the red, creating a stylish yet not outlandish border. In curling script, originating from side of the border to the other, formed a name known by all. Whether revulsion or praise took the reply, the Territories could not flee from her never-faltering, merciless gaze.

“AYALA.”

Below in similar style, though slightly more diminutive in size, scrawled the phrase “An eternal administration.”

As though a catalyst had forced action upon the entire block for as far as Ashant could see, identical banners began to drop down. Quickly, as those instigating stuck to a timetable that forgave no slip-up nor granted leniency for error. On the opposite side to Ashant, the identical occurred. Only moments were required before a suitably warm welcome was in the offing for the arrival of the most infamous president in the history of the Shin-Ra Corporation.

Casting a glance towards his watch, Ashant grew impatient. He had deliberated long before tasking Riordan with the vital objective of ensuring the records of the Libertian Ministry for Environmental issues and structures were suitably modified to incriminate their staff with siphoning of funds meant for dam maintenance. Amongst other things, gross misconduct and illegal alteration of records to indicate work had been carried out when it had not.

Of course, none of these falsifications bore any truth whatsoever in grounded reality, or even immediate fantasy. Fortunately the almost complete lack of surviving structure to the dam ensured the Libertians would be forced into accepting the outcome of the purely-theatrical enquiry. Occasionally Ashant found the act of deceit to be positively thrilling. Now was such an occasion.

Sighing, he began to move. He could waste no further time waiting for his junior, and he held little doubt that Riordan had not only completed his task, but found a method of entertainment Ashant would furiously object to. The only surprise remained why he hadn't chosen to conduct said activity in front of his superior. Leaving such thoughts, he readied himself for a chaotic and involved afternoon. Much work was still required to ensure the official visit of President Ayala to Libertia achieved the dramatic effect intended.

Unfortunately for the mostly ignorant citizens of this ruined city, many of whom continued to be absorbed wholly by ensuring their pathetic lives continued past the point of the immediate flood, the visit would mark the unofficial beginning of the Libertia Shin-Ra administration. They would know soon enough order, and discipline.

Or they would know death.


Ayala stretched outwards, her lithe arms ceasing their unconscious stroking of the cushioned headrests mounted unoccupied either side of her person and dropping to her lap. Her head turned slowly towards the impressive window on her immediate left. From which the rolling terrain of the Mountainous Coral region dominated proceedings. Here the tendrils of the Shin-Ra found no root. Unable to stand against the might of Mother Nature they slinked back into sandy shade and level, generous grass. Those inhabitants of the mountains, sparse and few as they were, believed in their utter isolation and safety.

They were fools.

Ayala could easily, should she have found herself in uneducated company, point out the Nibleheim reactor should she have found her presidential train routed in that direction. A mountain range rivalling the Coral in size, and inhospitable condition. Those of the small town at it's base believed in their home, free from the concerns of Shin-Ra, or the techno-metropolis of Midgar.

They were shown the error of their ways before the time of Ayala. Her predecessor, whose name she would not mention if only to reinforce her utter domination of the present and most importantly, the future. Yet she continued the legacy, and the town of Nibelheim had never again so much as attempted to question her directives and orders.

Now the Coral range passed onwards, and she pressed her hand against the cool glass. She would see a reactor at the summit of Mount Coral. She would see the undisturbed forests of the slopes hacked and transported away to provide fuel and materials for 'SOLDIER'. None could stand in her way, and only the limitations of her Corporation, as powerful as it was, prevented her recognising ultimate dreams and aspirations. It was of little matter. Time was simply a measure to success. She would utilise what remained before ultimate victory to educate those doubters into realising the error of their ways.

The carriage shuddered slightly as blackness stretched across the windows. The change was almost unnoticeable, with the sophisticated, self-setting illumination inside responsive to the entry of the train into a tunnel. Ayala pulled her flowing, yet severe ponytail from behind her head to over her shoulder. Gently she picked at the bound strands, more from lack of interest in an uneventful trip than due to some deep seated nervous disposition. Her new-found interest was halted as a body shuffled into view, hunched.

“I trust we are moving at optimal speed Gregory?” She enquired flippantly.

Gregory sighed, reaching for his handkerchief then thinking better of it, rather resolute in his attempts to wean from it's use as a show of stress and difficulty. Slowly, he pushed his portly frame between the table and opposite seating, as per usual waiting for the offer to sit, which came in the form of a tilt of the head.

”We estimate an arrival time of twenty five minutes to Libertia Central Station.. Preparations are well under way within city limits, at least those left standing with sufficient safety concerns to warrant your attendance. All should be ready for your arrival.”

Ayala nodded, her eyes now finding their way back from to the window and wide, silent outcrops of rock, and grass. Short and ugly-green, without the order and neatness her own penthouse garden boasted of.

”I would like to have this area cultured. Nature seems oddly messy in it's approach sometimes, don't you agree?”

Gregory sighed. Either Ayala allowed it to pass, or was so caught up in a flight of fancy she did not hear the lack of respect evident. Quickly shrugging off the answer to this question and ensuring he did not warrant further attention by his pause, he replied-

”I prefer some randomness to an otherwise uniform scheme. Midgar has begun to tire me as of late, it's beauty as a technological achievement is without parallel, yet it is sterile, and without the organic inspiration of the Planet, something we cannot rival, no matter how advanced our technologies become.”

The conversation continued in much the same meaningless direction. Gregory found himself pleased and yet at the same time hugely disturbed at how easily President Ayala seemed to shift forth into an almost normal member of society. Here her psychopathic, furious leanings were not only curbed, but utterly hidden. Those without the education could foolishly believe her to be nothing more than an a rising, young executive with much to learn and error at.

Yet she had ordered the deaths of tens of thousands in her five year tenure to date. She had destroyed the natural evolution of entire cities and counties. Entire industries had been brought to their knees and crushed before being rebuilt in her image if only to satisfy a hypothetical curiosity. At time he pondered whether she might genuinely have crossed the line that marked and divided sanity from it's terrifying, no-holes-barred counterpart.

He shrugged, even if the latter were true, none could act to correct it. They would listen to her will, and carry out her demands. The entire board little more than puppets from which she held aloft above others as to enforce an utterly theatrical chain of command.

Staring into cobalt blue eyes opposite, Gregory felt at this point he stared into the closest representative of evil the territories had ever seen. A representative he served to the best of his mind and ability.
The City of Midgar
03-01-2005, 06:03
Delicate patterns of light found themselves dragged towards the gaping weapon. Shining purple met and merged with flowing pink to reflect the brightest summer flowers whose beautiful blossoming inspired such work in men, and appreciation in nature. Through this technicolour swirling, as water travelling down the drain might form a whirlpool, lightning propagated. Oceanic blue in colour and intensity, silently arcing between a Sol-like yellow, and brooding, questioning black.

Moments later, and the whirlpool of intense light began to rupture and split. Captivated colours now began to levitate upwards and into the immense cannon's maw. Forming bright individual pearls of glowing, promising energy whose purpose could be no further from the obvious intent of the behemoth weapon. Yet as quickly as this incredible procedure had begun, a brief flash of the brightest white revealed disappointing normalcy. The seething ribbons of energy had disappeared, seemingly banished and replaced with nothing so entertaining.

With a recoil deserving of the tremendous barrel length, the cannon fired. Rising some feet upwards of the skeletal framework surrounding, a screeching heralded the twisting of steel into new and unpleasant shapes. Constructed to provide immovable, unquestioning support obvious flaws were displayed with little appreciation as the frontal barrel scaffolding simply shattered. Beams of steel fully a metre in thickness disengaged from the superstructure, plummeting to the ground and impacting as though laden with explosives.

From Sol, in times of great fury did flares tear out from her bubbling surface. One million seven hundred thousand degrees in raging, unquenchable anger, incinerating any and all that would under foolish bravado or mindless ignorance grow complacent within her all-powerful shadow. Even on Earth, cradle of humanity and gentle protector against that which would seek the destruction of her charges, chaos would reign. Civilisation affected by the very actions of a star separated by the scarcely measurable gulf of space.

Such a situation described the plume of coruscating energy that erupted from the cannon. A piercing, mottled hue of white and blue tore free and sought maximum acceleration before it had even fully discharged from the barrel. With similarity to a solar flare, the surrounding environment reacted. Hardy, dogged trees lining the fertile green of the valley below were uprooted and tossed aside by the violent changes in air pressure incurred by the passing bolt of energy. Shredded whilst airborne into an obscene rain of blackened leaves, and smoking bark.

Though purpose had been fulfilled, not all was silent at the point of firing. Shredded metal continued to fall upon those that regarded the leviathan-like structure above. Piping fully ten feet in width wrenched free and fell impotent and useless, creating great depressions in soil once regarded as pristine farmland, now ruthlessly exploited and ruined.

Columns of steam escaped with a violent hiss from fractures along the length of the weapon. Leaching into the sky, until they seemed to form expanding clouds of impossibly low height, adding only to the impression of massive size. The incredible barrel sagged visibly, lacking in almost all of the original supports designed to ensure a true and steady aim.

All was forgotten as the energy bolt met barrier. With a tremendous shattering, as deceptively fragile glass might be broken apart into a thousand facets of reflective beads, a mountain face provided no further progress. Vision was stolen as the energy manifested itself further in a glorious, if blinding burst of pyrotechnic light. For moments none could tell whether success had been granted, or setback and more worrying, delay.

The answer was obvious without having to await the state of the mountain. Now shards of splintered grey rock twice as large as the vehicles used to transport the attending to the location littered the verge. A playground of hastily carved destruction, the rapidly dissipating funnels of smoke testament to the enormous heat generated by the impact. Above, a great hole was turn deep into the critically wounded heart of the jagged peak. The edged of the crater bristled with sharp, twisted detritus. Heat and light shaping the thick rock into new and insane forms on a whimsical decision of which reversal on reflection was impossible.

A hiss echoed upon a dozen times reverated as rain began to flow from above. As though the Planet sensed such devastating experimentation, and through limited means sought to wash away trace of such sickening disregard. From above, amongst a backdrop of technological triumph mixed with frustrating repercussion, Trent Windigger allowed a small smile to spread upon his gaunt features.

There was little challenge to be entered into against Nature. Such test firing against rock, and water proved nothing, a parlour trick or pathetic show of power against that which could not fight back. Yet Windigger lost no thought in regarding what lay ahead. Much still required analysis, examination and finally replacing. However soon enough he would receive due award for his work. With the implacable power of Materia, and the consequential magical energy contained within, The Shin-Ra Corporation found themselves armed further still with the tools required to increase their sphere of influence.

And he would see himself stand atop that sphere, and regard his kingdom.



Ashant stooped slightly, as his gaze traversed the small patch of immaculately tendered flowers to his immediate right. Bright red petals flapped lazily amidst an equally procrastinating breeze. Bright yellow centres of pollen shone dutifully, cursed to mindlessly procreate without the higher functions of Humanity to appreciate such an act. Pausing, he pondered, then corrected himself. Perhaps Blessed was a more suitable description.

Elsewhere, chilling blue countered the crimson, creating two banks of contrasting horticultural arrangements that lined the gravel drive towards the rather individualistic structure ahead. Ashant stood poised between two concrete pillars. Between them, black cast-iron gates stood slightly ajar as they had been to grant his person access. Curling patterns of repetition marked them, simple two-dimensional images of faceless birds improved aesthetics whilst leaving dangerously large sections of the iron free of obstruction that might very well grant an intruder access.

”Liberal in name, liberal in nature...” He mused loudly.

He stood within the gardens of the Libertia Presidential estate. A title grandiose, noble and utterly undeserving of such awe and respect. Indeed the actual office of President was nothing further than ceremonial in nature, and powerless in reality. Yet the citizens of Libertia continued to tolerate, nay, appreciate such a pointlessly aesthetic office of government. It was by even the most conservative means a grand affair, and a spectacular construction of traditional technique amongst the modern skyscrapers and spires of Libertia City, and the polar opposite of the technological metropolis that was Midgar.

The colossal estate was split forth into two distinct wings, emerging left and right from the central entryway, and disappearing towards the far boundaries and consequent reinforced fencing of the enclosure. At the end of the driveway ahead, impeccably chiselled steps led upwards between smooth, elongated columns of a Greek-Ionic style. Through these columns lay great oak doors of considerable age and craft. Standing many times the height of a man reinforced the aesthetic, the decadent and the overall artistic flair exerted over the almost peach-hue blocks of smooth concrete.

Utterly without purpose, thought Ashant with more than a little venom.

A society without purpose, whose existence seemed dedicate to stifling the creativity of other, more forward-thinking settlements rather concentrating on giving their own lives meaning. For such an agonisingly long period of time had Libertia stood against Midgar, and by extension Shin-Ra with endless preaching against the Corporate Dictatorship employed. Holding dear their pathetic, bloated ideas of Democracy even as all those around saw the reasoning and benefits the Corporation brought, and willingly submitted.

Yet now, all was lost for these supposedly brave political warriors. Ashant glanced upwards at the billowing, rolling banners of red, and bordered gold. Hung from the upper balcony, and a selection of suitably raised window ledges, they proclaimed loudly the new order upon a resistant if slowly accepting people.

Ashant nodded with grim satisfaction, Ayala had yet to arrive, yet her name adorned each street corner, and was foremost on the hushed lips of the populace. She had become the most oft-discussed figure despite never having visited Libertia. Here, she would find temporary residence and in time, when the new Shin-Ra administration was in place, this estate would be added to the incredibly long and ever-increasing list of official residences and homes she called her own.

Perhaps, as had been the case before and surely would still be, she would make only one brief stop here. Yet for the duration of her presidency, and due to the nature of it by close association her life, it would remain awaiting as though an official visit remained but an hour away. Ayala tolerated not any perceived lack of preparation, or readiness. Turning Ashant slowly slid his body between the gates, closing them behind his retreating form.

All was almost complete, and it would show poor form not to meet the President herself.


Ayala leapt the last few inches where the small instep failed to match perfectly the height of the platform. With agility befitting her lithe frame, she landed soundly. She shivered slightly as warm clouds of lukewarm steam lazily extended from underneath the carriage, tickling her flesh into goosebumps.

Turning, she ensured her crimson-coloured, pseudo-militaristic attire was free from roughing or creases. It was curious clothing, seemingly for one function in style, yet possessing factors that made it totally inappropriate for such. A crisp, white shirt was visible, from which the collar boasted a thin, matching red business tie. A coat was worn, whose shoulders were adorned with epaulettes decorated as though a symbol of military achievement, when all knew no prerequisite existed. The course of the outfit took an unforeseen twist with the addition of a short, though not lewdly so skirt. Reaching down to scarcely cover the knees, it's length was almost irrelevant. It's mere presence on what had seemed a slightly overbearing military dress uniform immediately transformed the attire into a personal fantasy and tragic reality of the wearer.

Gregory struggled, his hands gripping the grimy handrails tightly as he lowered himself gingerly downwards. Ayala sighed as she watched him hug the carriage, until a surprising burst of confidence allowed him to leap the final three inches to safety. He waddled quickly over, wiping his brow and succeeding only in smearing his forehead with dirt.

”You are an unending source of amusement, Gregory.”

Pausing, his face twisting into a frown, Gregory opened his mouth to question. As he did so, his eyes travelled down to the contaminated handkerchief, and he sighed, defeated. Closing his mouth once more to restore a shred of dignity, he swallowed pride and turning his back, spat upon the back of his hand, and began to doggedly rub against his dirtied brow.

Ayala glanced at her surroundings. She would not deny the impressive stature of the station. Above her a glass canopy of crystal-clarity extended, curving slightly to sit upon pillars of a distinctly Doric styling. Thin strips of polished brass held the largest segments together, from which elegant, if subdued silver Chandeliers descended, providing an ambient glow complimented by unobtrusive illumination strips mounted on marble played wall.

The centre of the station was dominated by an ornate fountain, fully ten sections in height. From the smallest receptacle at it's apex, water spurted forth, filling and descending from one delicate ceramic bowl to the lower counterpart. As though the points of North, South, East and West on a compass sculpted figures emerged, dolphin-like creatures whose fins pressed back as though they pushed through some invisible current. From their bulbous heads, graceful streams of water emerged to join the larger body of water below. Each receptacle held these figures, becoming larger as the fountain descended until the dolphin-creatures stood in statues as large as a man at the fountain's base.

Gregory scuttled forward, already assigning the long list of internal notes priorities according to previous instructions. The station was curiously silent for the massive throng of people present. He noted with dispassion their locations as severely limited to the far sides of the station. Understandable security in the presence of the Executive President of The Shin-Ra Corporation, and those of 'SOLIDER' would see that security well enforced.

Through the glass roof, the massive form of a Highwind class airship came into view, the shining, chrome-plated hull glinting against the crystal waters of the fountain below. Through the skies, through the ground and on the sea the various agents of the Shin-Ra invaded Libertia. Though they broke no strict policy nor law, all could see the intent. Powerless to prevent yet not so blind as to go ignorant, those few citizens gathering were suitably intimidated into compliance.

Some clutched hastily distributed Shin-Ra flags, more in the belief that the tighter the hold, the more leniency granted by the agents of 'SOLIDER'. Only the children waved, and sadly, waved with enthusiasm. Such was the innocence of the young, whom knew nothing of the murderous culling of freedom they validated with every eager swipe of cloth against air.

Above the non-descript exit to the station, a massive and dominating banner hung. It moved not with little in the way of cooling breeze to stimulate. A blood red, bordered by toned gold, the name was emblazoned on eye-catching white, so that all irrelevant of stature or breeding were drawn to gaze upon the name of Ayala and wonder. The executive delegation moved quickly, there was little to see here and Gregory was almost irritated as they came to an abrupt halt just shy of the exit.

Ayala glanced to her right, behind the security barrier, a child leapt up and down. In her hands, two cheaply-produced and ill-fitted Shin-Ra flags waived merrily. Lacking even the height to approach the top of the barrier, she pushed her small hands through the railings, a wide smile on her face. Stooping down, ignoring the hesitant step forward of the nearest 'SOLIDER' agent, she matched the expression with a similiar curling grin of her own.

”What is your name?”

The child blushed, yet her hands worked furiously to increase the pace of the spinning flags. ”Emily!” She chorused loudly.

Ayala reached outwards, gently ruffling her hand through the child's strawberry blonde locks. Again a smile fit to dazzle a would-be-suitor, accept an invitation to the theatre, or declare a war that would see a million die. Reaching upwards, she removed a clip holding part of her severe ponytail intact, gently sliding it into place as to push upwards part of the fringe of the little girl.

”Thank you! I'll wear it everyday!” She croaked, her face split forth between intense joy, and the scarlet-ridden cheeks of shyness.

”I hope that you do, and that you keep these flags.” She gestured, towards the massive banner above their heads, ”Remember what I do for you my dear, and my company. Give thanks, we do our very best for you.”

As Ayala stood, she caught the eyes of what she assumed to be a parent of the young child. She could see intense loathing, a deep-seated disgust that lingered long after piercing eyes snapped away, focusing on a distant and obviously non-existent scenario. Fear permeated now, as Ayala made sure to fix her most withering gaze upon the upstart individual.

She grew bored of such cowardice. At one point, many years ago a parent would have become enraged at her subtle sweet whisperings to their offspring. Grown livid and screamed, demanded she cease and desist and remove her lecherous offerings at once. Yet now, none would stand against her, few could even stomach the fight to gaze upon her beautiful form without relenting.

”Come Gregory, we move on.”

The executive, a member of the board and a director of the entire energy production capabilities of the Shin-Ra Corporation, nodded, and followed mutely. He had observed the exchange, and grown numb to such betrayal. At once stage Ayala's ability to seduce all whom did not suspect her true nature through ignorance or a simple lack of understanding repulsed Gregory. Her ease at which she ensured the co-operation of the next generation by conditioning them in place of the teachings of their parents was nothing short of disgraceful.

Yet none would stand against it, and it would continue. Gregory would revel in his hypocritical nature, lambasting one thing whilst being happy, or at least content to carry it out. He had long since ceased combating the nature of this fierce internal division. He had come to the curious decision to accept that he was unable to fully release his humanity to the point that allowed him to agree with Ayala's decisions wholeheartedly, yet could not, and would not stand against them.

Outside the streets bustled, not with commerce, nor traffic or pedestrians. It bustled with fear, of change and damnation. Those that lined the streets, young and old, handicapped and sound of mind reflected within their eyes, windows to the soul, a deep-seated terror confirmed as Ayala strode from the station entrance. Parallel to the pillars supporting the station doorway, Shin-Ra banners hung grotesquely, deceitful in existence and meaning. She would be spirited away the short distance to the remains of the City Council house, deliberately allowed to fall into structural disrepair to enhance the notion a of crumbling, ruinous regime being replaced, the outdated and old-fashioned giving way to progress.

For those watching, nothing short of political slavery.

Ashant stood on the platform. It had been hastily erected, and not without considerable inconvenience to those concerned on learning of yet another change in location. Ayala had decided that the Presidential residence was an inappropriately informal venue to host a life-altering address to Libertia, and several days of construction and improvements to the are to bring it into line with her own exotic tastes had been wasted.

Fortunately, she had concentrated far more on effect than trinkets such as stage, or lighting. Ashant had neglected to pass this onwards to the actual team responsible for the podium. Better to ensure a superior result and pleasant surprise than to make them aware and lower their overall work rate.

Already the crowds had gathered. Scarcely three days ago the square was a fractured mess of collapsed pavement, flooded inlets and splintered steel. A minor clean-up operation had seen steel observation platforms installed over the shattered square, two large structures to the far left and right of the podium in front of the steps leading into the remains of the Council house. Water had been deliberately pumped into the concrete below the platforms, to give the illusion of a rising wave which would sweep at the ruins of the old Libertia, to allow fresh hope for a Shin-Ra future.

These people gathered because they had little choice. Hours previously it had been made clear to a percentage of the demographic that participation in the visit was mandatory. Those that decided against such participation were liable to found much needed disaster-relief supplies and various necessities revoked as suitable punishment.

Now all that remained was to wait. President Ayala was nothing of not punctual.



The storm clouds had now traversed the short distance that had previously relegated them to nothing more than observers. With a crack of thunder much like the peal of an ancient and implacable bell, rain began to lash downwards. A thousand droplets erupted from the murky, disturbed flood waters, the hazy tone indicating a nauseating blend of imperfections within. However the platforms viewing were duly filled to capacity. Amongst those restless and eager to return home, agents of 'SOLIDER' stood poised. Utterly unrecognisable until such time as they chose to reveal themselves.

Ayala cleared her throat. Before her a standard statistical proportion of the Libertia population awaited her announcement, her intentions, her plans. Whether coerced or not they hung on her words as though a fish cruelly hooked upon a barbed fishing line. Desperately unwilling to be present, but totally unable to withdraw.

”People of Libertia, I come to you now in a time of grave ecological concern.” She began, her voice amplified promptly and sent booming and rolling across the flickering waters before her podium.

"Differences aside, your City lies in ruins. Your people once the very envy of democratic freedom lie in your flooded streets, drowning and wallowing in their own filth, and decay. Your ancient structures, libraries of incomparable age and beauty torn asunder and deposited in vast mountains of shattered concrete and steel. This building that rests behind me, the once proud seat of your government lies in ruins, the officials once charged with inhabiting it dead or surely missing beyond hope of location. “

”Your schools, universities and places of learning and advancement, destroyed. Your hospitals, where the sick, the injured and those of poor spirit might seek solace, eliminated. Your crowning glory, that which once supplied more power to your City than could ever hope to be utilised, lies in pieces around you.”

Ayala gestured to a blackened, deposited chunk of concrete. In truth, it could very well have been a remainder of the Libertia dam facility. However it could equally have originated from the building to her immediate left. None could say, and none would challenge the validity.

”These pieces, these chunks of nothing more than history cannot aid you further. It will not rebuild your torn roads, nor replace your buckled water piping or most vitally supply you with the energy you need to continue your daily existence.”

”Yet do not descend into morbid thoughts of loss. For The Shin-Ra Corporation enters at hand to aid you in rebuilding. Already supplies of the most vital medicines and equipment have landed, and are being handed out upon a sequential route which will cover all intact sectors of the City. From which a program of rebuilding will begin promptly. Behind your imminent return to civilisation, Mako energy shall supply you with all that you can desire. Nature has failed you once, let it be in turn relegated from master, to slave by our hand.”

Ayala felt surprise as raised voices, not of dissent but agreement, punctuated her pause. Evidently not all Libertians shared such delusions of democratic grandness.

”Where your previous elected officials failed in their duty to protect you, and your interests The Shin-Ra Corporation will not! We instigate a new and fully flexible administration to serve your needs to the best of our abilities. Our appointed officials will consult fully with you, our citizens before coming to a conclusion that is in the interests of both parties.”

”You were lead to believe our actions were immoral, against the designs of Mother Nature, and ultimately the Planet. Yet now, can you hold these same beliefs? Your families are irreparably damaged, your brothers, sisters and parents dead or dying. All that you had strived for is gone, and you are left with a stark choice. Either accept our tutoring, in the hopes you will one day once more take your place at the head of the Territories, or relegate yourselves to death, and nothing more than a footnote in the passage of time.”

”I will not allow this, I cannot allow Libertia to fade from the modern world. I choose for you, I choose survival. I choose a Shin-Ra future for the people of Libertia City.”

From deep within the agitated, yet malleable crowd, a shrill voice rose upwards.

”All hail President Ayala! Glory to the Shin-Ra!”

Ayala herself had no planned deliberate instigation of praise. She knew her own aids sufficiently well to tell none would have the foresight or gall to arrange this without her knowledge. She strained her eyes, picking out the figure. He stood shivering, in tattered rags and grievious grime. His lips trembled as he mumbled the words repeatedly. Her interest was piqued as others adopted the chant, more well-dressed, supposedly middle-class in stature. Though it showed no signs of spreading to even a small minority of the crowd present, Ayala noted with satisfaction the control of Libertian minds would be decidedly easier to achieve than previously thought.

Turning to Gregory, she gestured towards the sky.

”Have my car prepare for immediate departure. I tire of this City Gregory, though it is now ours to mould, and control I still taste the bitter sting of freedom, and liberty in the air. I am not used to such a stench. I will be content when such terms are forgotten amongst the vocabulary of these people.”

Gregory nodded, wiping his brow to remove the gathering droplets of rain. From dark clouds, whose presence reminded even the most optimistic Libertian of foreboding, harsh times ahead for a once proud centre of reasoning, and beauty.
The City of Midgar
06-01-2005, 21:37
Nature as a force favoured symmetry in theory as well as practice. From structures as simple and striking as a snowflake fallen fresh upon an ashen, silent field to beautiful blossoming flowers whose multi-coloured petals expanded across a dazzling backdrop of simplicity.

Complexity breeds appreciation from those who would insist effort is proportional to exertion. Yet how could the world of Man compete with the both subtle and gross delights of that which naturally exist? This Earth, from which all must originate whether the marvellous architecture of Venice, city of canal and Gondola or the much-maligned towns of rusting corrugated iron lining the bustling cities of third world nations. The foundations of Man and his beautiful civilization owe not only thanks but their very existence to green, rolling fields and swarms of mindless flying insects more often regarded pest than saviour.

The floorboards were of uniform dullness and disrepair. Where the planks met filth-encrusted walls one could gaze upon the original finish of polished wood and varnished coat. Scant inches of this broke apart a visual assault of grime, decay and squalor. Set high into the walls amidst moisture-weeping, cracked plaster tarnished windows of stained glass stood. Though they had seen not the touch of deliberate cleansing in a decade the tales of biblical characters and episodes set into the multi-coloured panes stood resplendent even in partial clarity.

However not all who had regarded these windows had shown due respect in process. Considerable gaping holes passed through the fragile glass and where they opened to the elements searing beams of sunlight passed through. As though miniature spotlights from unforeseen intruders sought to rob any further treasures from a now worthless horde.

The altar had long since fallen into disrepair and collapse. The remains of a podium once giving rousing speech and dedication to the glory of God now having rotted away to soiled timber and screeching, scuttling rat. Yet in front of the altar a bright shaft of yellow shone downwards, forming a crude circle from an obvious breach in a roof whose tiles had all of ten years to slide and fall from position. Still further in amazing break from the decaying norm the floorboards at the boundary of the column of sunlight broke apart, crudely mimicking the circle and ending the man-made over which a mass of fertile, rich brown soil rose upwards and formed a small mound.

Basking in this refreshing sunshine, delicate stems of the brightest flowers rose upwards. Clustered so that they might overlap with stunning, eye-catching colours of the most intense red and yellow they easily caught and retained attention from the drab grey and browns of the surrounding ruinous walls. It seemed impossible and utterly unlikely that here amongst that most artificial of creations, religion and God, plants as vivid as these could take root.

The remaining space from the surprising oasis of green, red and yellow to the rearmost and devastated entryway was a chaotic mixture of upturned, rotting pews whose original position relative to each other had been utterly abandoned in favour of chaos. Some were pushed sideways, until they formed convenient spots from which to regard the mould-infested parchments adorning the walls. Others were overturned, so stubby yet broad feet were exposed and plush, once-regal red cushions allowed to rot into feathers and fillings.

A select few were utterly smashed almost beyond recognition. A mighty beam once charged with supporting the roof structure had fallen loose and impacted as a miniature bomb might, throwing shards of splintered wood high into the gloomy air to rest still on intact supports and ledges.

She pushed the heavy door ajar. It's once-polished brass fittings now sufficiently filthy to prove no further decoration, and add only unnecessary weight to an already substantial burden. With caution simply not suited to this obviously threat-devoid church, she slipped inside, allowing the resounding thud of the closing door to echo through the damp interior, and announce her presence with vigour.

Time had obviously conspired with furious activity to rob her once tightly bound ponytail into a loose knot, so that her eyes were partially obscured by stray locks of brown that required the semi-regular swatting of a bothered hand to brush behind delicate ears.

The tone of her flesh struck a violent discord with the relative paleness of her surroundings. Here deep within the techno-metropolis of Midgar, for those unfortunates bound to live below the plate, below the reach of Sol and it's most cleansing rays there could be no hue of health. Her skin betrayed contact with the brightness only a star could offer. Indeed as her emerald orbs glanced upwards she spied the shaft of powerful illumination spreading forth from the shattered roofing above.

Clutching her lean, clasped limbs to her chest, from which she carried an empty wicker basket, she stepped forwards. Her sensible, battered boots clipping loudly against the dust-ridden floor. They were practical, heavy and seemed much to large for the slight frame of the youngster. Curiously her footprints were not merely enshrouded as she walked, but visible ahead of her movements. Clearly she embarked on a journey many times previously completed.

Her dress was one of antiquity, of a style not suited to the bustling and ever-changing fashion scene of the Midgar catwalks, and beyond. A respectably sedate pink, it extended below her knees to force the imagination to wonder and lust at hidden proportions. So unlike the evolving fashions of the current time in which beauty seemed undeniably linked to an increasingly shrinking skirt length. Patches of bothersome dirt blotched in clumps of hastily-spewed and dried waste water the hem, and above. Discreet tears, where a hasty repair left an ever-present reminder littered the thighs.

Shining brightly to form an ever-rippling vertical line, spherical buttons glinted proudly. A stark contrast to the pink, they reflected sadly the smudging and dirt which had now taken a toll upon a once beautiful dress.

Over the outfit she wore a faded jacket of red, and silver. The sleeves long since cut back in obvious irritation over length. They now traversed just over half of her arm length, terminating slightly below the elbow in a somewhat uniform explosion of threads. Oddly, the jacket seemed far too small for even her not considerably impressive stature. Though it fitted loosely around her shoulders, it barely extended to her waist, seemingly of little actual use as a further layer of clothing. Indeed one might make the passing observation of tramp, of nothing more than a slum girl as useless in purpose as the collected and rusting piles of detritus surrounding her.

She stooped as the flowers stood but a few inches from her grasp. Lowering herself downwards so that her clothed knees were further pressured against the shuddering damp, and filth her hands graced outwards. Slowly it crossed the divide between and lithe, elegant fingertips dirtied yet still not robbed of subtle beauty grasped a stalk with care. A quick, merciful twist freed the blossoming flower for closer inspection, and returning it to a position underneath her nose, breathed deeply of its perfume.

Here in Midgar, domain of The Shin-Ra Corporation, nature could not withstand nor endure. A supposed unforeseen side-effect of the all-powerful Mako energy production, no green graced the techno-metropolis. There were no flowing public parks, serene and wide. No expansive ground to run, to leap and to play. To share a picnic, or stare at the stars above. For even if plant life could once more bloom, it was doubtful the Shin-Ra would tolerate such open land being put not to use as factoriums, or yet more crowded living space, but relaxation, and personal enjoyment.

Even in that most mighty of places, nothing beyond the artificial existed. Dominating the city and rising above it much like a giant could so easily map the courses of men by simply towering above his lowly stature, the seat of power for the Shin-Ra Corporation stood. Without delicate hanging baskets of precious flowers, or well pruned shrubs to mark an entrance.

The abuse of the Planet to provide electricity demanded none could dare grow and support such horror.

So here, amidst the overturned conduits, and long-abandoned sheet metal of the Sector Five Slums, within a forgotten and long abandoned house of worship where surely there could be no less interesting or important an event, nature conceded. Acknowledging her beauty was not simply desired, but required she was content to allow a select one, a single girl access.

Slowly, she placed these rare gifts into her basket. As though laying a child to rest with care and gentle, loving tenderness did each picked flower receive individual solace and appreciation. Having obtained scarcely a dozen, she strode on the side of caution, and decided against removing any further than she could realistically sell for such pittance. She sighed with burden, that as rare a thing as a blossoming flower provided her with nothing more than token compensation.

Yet she struggled on, content that at least for the most part, her activities would be forever ignored in favour of those with more importance, and supposed worth. Standing, and pausing to brush what dirt and dust she could from her creased dress she turned. No sooner had she passed the first pews than a voice rang out.

”Aeris! Aeris!”

The young women turned sharply, her face a mask of tension. Yet as her dazzling, encompassing green eyes settled on the intruder, she relaxed visibly. Dropping to one knee, she placed the basket carefully down before throwing her arms open.

”I have missed you!” Came the shout, as a small, grubby child emerged from the shadows. He continued to plod forwards, until he was stopped only by the relative size of the stooped women, even then almost managing to bundle her over in his enthusiasm.

”I am sorry I haven't visited lately, things have been busy at home.” said Aeris, ruffling the boy's hair with affection.

”S'okay, I've not been allowed out either. Shin-Ra been skulking around Sector Four Slums, Harriet said he saw 'em taking someone away.”

Again her face changed, that same tension applying lines where before joy twinkled. ”You stayed out of the road? I don't want you going anywhere near them! They're only going to bring trouble!”

The child nodded, shrinking back slightly.

Aeris smiled, pulling the boy into a tight hug. ”I know you're sensible, and trustworthy. But C'mon, I really don't want you to hang around here too long. You know these flowers are special, and the only reason they stay here is because it's quiet. Too many people here for too long and that'll change.”

Matching the grin, he pulled away and nodded, ”'Kay, I'll see you later!” He cried, bounding back from where he had emerged.

Aeris sighed in relief, retrieving her basket. Her parting statement had been founded only in half-truth, for the reality made more depressing understanding. Shin-Ra presence in the Slums was by no means a spectacular event. Simply because the people here had little income did not encourage the Corporation to remove less of it, and they frequently appeared to serve little more than “reminders” of their power, even below the plate.

However as she had grown older, from toddler to child to teenager and now, on the eve of her twenty first birthday, their presence had grown alarmingly. From sporadic intimidation they seemed to systematically sweep entire Sectors in an attempt to locate, or come upon something or someone. Every month that elapsed saw them gradually complete a methodical stalking of the lower plate citizens and now it seemed Sector Four had heralded none of the secrets they lay claim to.

This would leave only one final place unchecked, a final stone left unturned and tantalising in hidden promise.

Aeris drew her short coat around her form. Clasping the basket tightly, she hurried onwards, pushing through the door and into the cooling air. Glancing back before the heavy wooden strut closed, she saw the shaft of sunlight begin to dim. The Sun would set shortly above the plate, and what little artificial light existed in the depths of the Slums would be taken completely. What passed as night would soon be upon her.

She would hope for a restful night, and a productive day attempting to sell these wonderful plants on the disregarded, hurried streets of Midgar. As she attempted each day, following each month, since she had come of age at sixteen. Though her enthusiasm waned with the end of daylight, it would return restored upon the dawning of the morning.

She increased her pace now, for she did not wish upon her Mother any undue distress. Though the majority of those termed undesirables in the Slums were unjustly persecuted and labelled, a sizeable contingent deserved full dislike and loathing. Those that would taunt and attack, rob and murder. Whom used the darkness of artificial night to ensure their victims would see no artificial day. Aeris had no wish to run a gauntlet, and no wish to become another faceless casualty to the vast criminal furnaces that burned brightly within the darkness of Midgar.






The darkness was overwhelming in its entirety, a stifling blanket of ignorance that robbed the eyes of any and all means by which to see. The air was cold, so that the nostrils might flare with the subtle burning sensations evoked and seen as bright white vapour expelled from the lungs as condensation. The flesh did react also as swathes of goose bumps and subtle, involuntary shivers.

Aeris mumbled incoherently as consciousness returned not in an overwhelming wave of feeling, but in a trickling stream of reality, and awareness. Her eyelids flickered upwards yet demonstrated little ability to remain open. Several abortive attempts to focus on her surroundings eventually saw clouded green orbs narrow in anguish. Dried, gasping lips parted to emit a strangled and weary cry.

”Hello?”

With an obvious exertion Aeris raised her head, moaning as stiff, raw muscles stopped short of physical rebellion yet made well aware their inherent displeasure. Though this blanket of black extended considerably she could gaze down upon her tied, bound limbs held against her will upon a cold, metallic table. Thick straps of featureless brown, marked only with the dullest buckle to retain tightness ensured her paralysis at elbows, wrists, thighs and ankles.

Gone was her battered yet elegant pink dress, replacing it an unremarkable generic gown of white. Seemingly made from paper-thin fabric it extended barely sufficiently to grant her modesty cover, and relative obscurity. From the flesh of her left arm burrowing deeply to extrude a trickle of crimson flexible tubes terminated in cruel, pointed needles. Though they were transparent, they heralded no foreign substance, much to the relief of Aeris.

With a high-pitched whine, agonising white light tore from the ceiling. Eight individual beacons combining to form a halo whose powerful illuminations banished the darkness yet further as though a nocturnal predator foiled by the triumphant rising of the morning Sun to end lunar domination.

Aeris cried out, a petrified scream rather than any words clearly audible. The buckles ensuring secured bonds scraped loudly against the table as natural reflex demanded her arms cover her delicate face from such high-intensity assault. Again her voice rang out, pleading and desperate in its questioning tone.

”Why am I here?”

Amongst the shadows metal glinted against the outstanding light, sinister and with malicious intent to wound. Carried by none, apparently merging with the black to provide neither bearer nor carrier. Curved to provide a blade of both real and imagined terror whose purpose required little hypothesis or estimation.

Aeris felt her heart quicken in its sacred task to continue pumping the crimson ichor of life. Her chest constricted as fear, that most bestial and uncompromising emotion, took hold and dragged her downwards into trembling disarray.

Without warning it emerged from the shadows, garbed in a robe of the bloodiest red, a hood extending over whatever face lay beneath sneering. Outstretched hands that did not seem to exist, that matched the black background perfectly still clutched the cruel barbed edge. Silence remained the only constant.

Aeris once more struggled, her shoulders aching with the concentrated but ultimately useless act of resistance. Clearly these bonds were designed with those far stronger than her slight frame would allow, escape was essentially impossible. Still closer it stalked, raising the blade upwards to that it might point down above the valley of her breasts. She realised with only dim confirmation the person -if it could be called such- did not seem to breathe. No rising and falling of its chest, nor audible inhalation.

”Why are you doing this to me! I've done nothing to deserve it!” She cried, initially defiant and enraged, yet quickly giving way to more reasonable concerns of imminent injury, and disfigurement.

Then it looked directly at her. Though no face was visible save the inky nothing that somehow fulfilled the proportions of the drawn hood precisely, she knew eye contact had established. From here she felt herself rise from the table in spirit, drawn towards the non-existent. Where eyes, nose and mouth should at least give emotional indication as to intent there instead existed blankness.

Hoarse, as though a voice starved of fluids that might lubricate a dried, parched throat the creature whispered forth.

”Shin-Ra....”

Aeries gasped, and in the moment taken for the blade to plunge downwards, parting the air efficiently as it consequently parted fabric and flesh she found limited understanding. Only scarce seconds more would reveal knowledge required to impart true peace and serenity on her person. Yet the light died above, eyes becoming useless to further her cause. Requiring little additional aid the darkness overwhelmed her before the answers so tantalising in their proximity could be welcomed against thumping chest.

Aeris bolted upright, eyes restored to emerald green clarity. Her face adorned with a cold sheen of sweat that did force earth-brown locks into an unpleasant union with flushed, alabaster flesh. Her mind a second behind physical action snapped her head awkwardly back, as consciousness reasserted itself with gusto.

Slowly, she swung her trembling legs over the side of her thoroughly disorganised bed. Thick covers of intricate floral designs abandoned and consigned to the floor in the fevered spasms of her dream-state. Standing unsteadily, and commanding each movement of heavy, unresponsive limbs persistence slowly brought Aeries to the dress mirror standing silently as sentry aside her door.

Gazing into the crisp reflection, her shoulders sagged in both relief and weariness. The nightmares had plagued her before, as relentless visions of death and terror. Of people murdered, terrorised and forced into quivering submission and obedience. Yet the sun had risen and set an incalculable amount of times since last she was disturbed in rest by them, and never had she seen her own involvement in the disjointed images.

Retrieving a brush, she feebly pulled back the larger, bothersome strands.

Never before had she heard speech within these visions, from the cause of such horror no less. The words still rang out, fading not despite the time elapsed and the usual dearth of memory from dreams.

”Shin-Ra...” She whispered.

From the window, the artificial Sol announced presence. Golden yellow pushing against the minimal shadow still intact and demanding it acknowledge the presence of the new day by abating immediately. Lacking the power to resist these black shapes relented, and Aries squinted before the dazzling man-made sunshine.

Occasionally she forgot what light entered was not of the true Sun. The technology of Midgar ensured few, if any of the populace amongst busy lives of simple continued existence questioned the very light that allowed them to work. However Aeris knew of, and frequented the long-abandoned church ruins. Aeries knew of true light, of the beautiful touch of the true Sol sadly kept secret to ensure its continued existence.

Shaking her still clammy head, she resolved to answer these questions later. For now it was time to work, to attempt to collect enough funds so that she might retain a home to return to in order to formulate the answers for these mysterious questions.

Under the guidance of the day, she would rest with greater success than the coldness, and terror of night.
Treznor
06-01-2005, 23:33
"Oh, do get along, Charles." Ambassador the Honourable James Grant sniffed as he waited impatiently for his assistant to shuffle through the mound of paperwork in his datapad before he found the required document.

"Sorry, Sir," Charles Bishop said quietly. "It won't happen again."

"See that it doesn't," Grant declared as he pulled up the document on his own device. He began to fill out the details, writing with his characteristic sweeping script. Charles would need to review the results later and correct the errors that would inevitably creep up.

"What's the matter with you?" whispered Catherine Ravon after she watched them finish their typical dance of bureaucracy. "Didn't you get enough sleep last night, or did that maid keep you up too late?"

Charles flushed and shook his head. "No, I was alone last night. But this place bothers me. I don't know why, I just feel jittery, on edge. It's like there's a buzz just beyond hearing."

She chuckles. "Maybe you should have let that maid keep you up last night."

He frowns at her and goes back to his work.

"Well, I believe everything is in order, now," Grant announces as he signs his name with a flourish. "Catherine, my dear. Do you have your speech ready? I'd like to hear it before you present it to our hosts. We must put our best foot forward."

"Yes, Ambassador," Catherine replied dutifully. She stood and began to recite her prepared speech explaining to the Shin-Ra Corporation how thrilled they were to be there, how much the Empire admired their work ethic and resourcefulness and how the Empire felt that money invested here would be well-managed. It then continued with an offer of trade, resources the Empire felt the Shin-Ra might be better off importing rather than producing themselves such as food, wine and other luxuries. The potential for growth for both nations was staggering, and the speech was designed to emphasize that fact. It carefully glossed over the degree to which the Empire hoped to insinuate itself into local economics.

Grant, as usual, made a point to improve the speech with suggestions and corrections, a process Catherine was long familiar with. She already knew which areas could afford his improvements, and which could not. She acknowledged everything without agreeing to anything. Working under his authority gave Catherine ample opportunities to hone her diplomatic skills.

"I guess we're as ready as we're going to be," Grant announced as he adjusted his tie in the mirror. "Let's go mingle, shall we?"
The Architecturex
19-01-2005, 14:11
He was whole no longer. As a delicate and treasured crystal might over time gain value and prestige, only to be carelessly dropped upon and shattered tragically. So his consciousness had been rended into peices, segments of ability and treasured power isolated from one another and until recently forbidden from interaction by the hand that had so deflty cleaved them apart with vicarious willingness to main, and tread upon. Such glory had been burnt upon the stake of overwhelming odds in one simple night of restoration. Bubbling couldrons of the slain whose blood provided lazy channels from which the tower of Siderius found root were drained, and filled not with the sacrified but with the health of nature. Blackened thorns rising from cracked Earth superceded by weeping vines of green....

The iron-hard, almost chitinous stone thought unbreakable slowly and agonisingly torn asunder by the vicious and maligned swords of the masses. United against common foe and bringing to bear power that not even the Architecturex could withstand. Fury and rage that his gentle machinations and subtle redirections were useless against. So he had fought as they did, arcane magics of flesh-rending ability unleashed to blast soft sand to polished glass, and metals sharpened so that they might find target with little more energy than required to swing... So it was brought to bare, and the legions of the Deciever were decimated accordingly. Nikari could no more prevent their downfall than he could resurrect his long-departed bretheren and wage agony upon the Earth itself and all those that ruled.

As such, did Nikari the Deciever, the Architecturex of Fate pass from mortal memory. Thought slain, or at least banished to parts from whenceforth he could not return for millenia and a day. Yet for arcane beginnings rose thanks for such obscurity of origin. In their ignorance, the would-be destroyers of the Architecturex did not pay heed to ancient scriptings and foreboding warnings- indeed Mikari endured, though not prospered. With each passing century time brought the double boon of a restoration of power and the further death of those that once stood against. Physical form now bestowed the pleasure of corporeal existance upon appreciative reciever, and contentment was temporary in forthcoming nature. Darkened armour that did once adorn a non-existant body would be called upon soon.

Once polished to a dazzling shine, of silver and considerable expense and now adorned with patches of corruption not dissimiliar to corrosion, aging and the vicious onslaught of time who respected none.. Even a deity or god-like entity for which the passage of ages, the birth and death of civilisations and the march of technology meant little, if anything, such as Nikari. Tragedy foretold reality as the Deceiver held little in the way of excess energy to restore his once divine appearance. Such expenditure would be to threaten his very existance on this plane, and consequently quelled with logic. Still, he would await in shadow and darkness, content to be amongst the whispers of the wise and the fevered rantings of the deranged. Best mortal Man learn not of his survival until such time as it is the end of their own.

Rags adorned the upper half of his form. Clawing around what might once pass as his face and secreting a blackness sorrounding so that none might gaze upon his visage, and were cursed to know only the darkness sorrounding whereupon such variable features as eyes, nose and mouth should reside. Resting upon a thigh a gauntlet from which lithe, plated fingertips emerged rested. Tapering to cruel, barbed termination they were clenched slightly, slow in their reaction to manipulation as a result of the ages passed since when this infernal armour had been forged upon the very ashes of Human suffering, and despair. He longed for such days again, and though immortality by right granted him oppertunity after oppertunity to reclaim former glories, he still burned with a fierce impatience.

He could not see as Mortals did, regarding their world. His vision barred him from the dew-laden leaves upon lazily rolling hills of lushness and nature. His eyes would not allow to pass the seemingly benign clouds whose random shapes gave rise to inspiration or storytelling. Only these barest outlines, cold shadows and forgotten lines remained to guide his passage. Yet still there endured dazzling, pyrotechnical illuminations of almost painful proportions. The living soul of all beings exchanged with the spirit world light, and energy. For the majority, a pathetic yet visible sparkling. So that to blink would be to see it disappear in the ultimate sadness of mortality. Others, stronger and with abilities superceding the average burned with vigour, torrents of furious twisting flame.

Unfortunately, this appearance was maintained not within the physical world, but simply a facet of existance. Within a prison of splintered, glass-like substance he lay far from the electrifying touch of those that would see his freeodm granted. Buried deep beneath the rock, soil and greenery of the Earth from where none could gaze upon the shining reflection of precious stone- beautiful to those that suspected not, but containing within a secret of terrible repurcussion. Since his fall from grace Nikari had remained here, simply one such fragment of his once nigh-unstoppable spirit, torn asunder and scattered. Around his crystaline enforcement the world had continued to evolve, and grow. Men had toyed with the sciences to create technology unrivalled and impressive to the stage that they now tore at the lifestream beneath the crust, to the very source of the Planet's energy and drained it to their wishes and desires.

The Architecturex of Fate knew of such technology. For though he was unable to recall his lost consciousness totally, he was aware of the machinations of Men. Thoughts of typical greed, selfishness and power leached through bedrock to tantalise and tease the imprisoned crature to irritation. Such depravity existed for him to harness, yet out of reach without intervention. He had little choice but to remain, to endure and persist in the watching of years, and decades elapse. Eventually his resting place would be disturbed, and perhaps utilised so. The Deceiver of Worlds would once more wreak terrible, twisted agonies upon a sphere already weeping with burdening ills.

Fate would bow once more to his supreme will.
The City of Midgar
19-01-2005, 21:47
The vessel had come to a laborious halt, the squeal of overworked and weary engines betraying the stressful counter-energies required to bring a stop to the ponderous boat as it inched slowly along the pier to which it would soon be moored. Through repetition and strict training, those assigned such duty hurled thickened steel chord from the decking, the sound of their impact against reinforced steel jarring to the auditory canal and the soul.

The pistons buried within the hull cranked slowly now, as the titanic energies harnessed to cut through the water and bring swift motion were disbanded to allow the opposite. Great gouts of steam were released as though a weary beast might watch it’s breath in turn become vapour to expand in the cold morning sunlight. Heaving with obvious effort the tether lines were secured, and quickly pulled taught as residual momentum required their services to render complete stillness.

With a loud, ringing clang gangways were deployed with haste, snapping into place even as chain-linked armrests were hauled into precision placement and secured. Elsewhere the motorised whir of gargantuan freight loaders roared to live, as the aft cargo sections were exposed to the salty air via the rising of immense, plated cargo doors. Quickly as to ensure a professional impression the Treznor delegation were led from the vessel, so that they did stand upon the pier and gaze at the cliff ahead.

Junon docks were a non-consensual amalgamation of the natural and man-made. Steep cliffs that extended upwards until they seemed to scrape at the very underbelly of Heaven itself- Towering and sweeping in once-crumbling glory. Yet upon the face of these wonders stood not loose rock and dirt, constantly in a cycle of reclamation from the sea, but the glint of metal, and concrete. In a slope that descended downwards until it merged with the rows of mostly empty, anticipating piers an almost golden hued skin of choking steel and reinforced support structures demonstrated the extent of warping apparent.

Dominating the cliff and rising from the slope, a tower stood. From its circumference powerful beams of illuminating light shone outwards in piercing shafts which seemed to sear with the energy displayed. Parallel to each other, seemingly bizarre ‘shoulders’ upon the expansive chest of this curiosity, vast funnels rose upwards. Belching flickering green mist and twisted veins of life stream they cast a sickly green pal over the watching clouds. The tell-tale signs of Mako energy were unmistakable for those that understood it.

Fortunately, at least for the meantime, the Treznor did not.

Emblazoned upon the tower, and also as sweeping banners mounted from jutting splinters of concrete, the symbol of The Shin-Ra Corporation stood resplendent and glorious. As if to proudly announce those responsible for the massive manipulation of the surrounding lands. Hanging still in the air, tethered securely massive airships awaited, of the Highwind class. Bloated grey, dart-like structures from which spacious gondolas hung marked by expansive wings and tremendously powerful, blade-driven engines. They waited upon the very summit of the cliff-face, behind the tower upon a clear stretch of concrete.

Pausing only long enough to withdraw his handkerchief, Gregory Vinial hurried onwards. His portly frame was hardly adept at the ferocious physical pace he maintained, flanked by the ever-watchful eyes and every-ready limbs of ‘SOLIDER’. The journey from Midgar to Junon was not necessarily long by any stretch of the imagination, yet he always found it exhausting to spend any prolonged duration onboard the unsettling gravity negation of the Highwind vessels.

Pausing before the foreign delegation, he extended his arm, shaking the responding hand of Ambassador James Grant.

” Welcome to The Shin-Ra Territories, and the city of Junon Ambassador. This is indeed a historic period in the history of our people, and first contact between ourselves and foreigners. I do hope your stay is a pleasant one.”

Flanked by the operatives of ‘SOLIDER’, Gregory led the delegation away, towards the canopy-laden entrance to the impressively sized cliff-structure. It was then that the city to which the Shin-Ra executive had referred to came into view, and would shock. As one looked both to the far right and left of the cliff, large depressions in the Earth revealed ramshackle buildings of wood, and timber. Arranged hastily in poorly conceived streets they seemed utterly alien amongst the landscape of steel and concrete so utilised against nature. Only the iron utilised to build the snaking staircases granting access to some of the higher properties shattered this conception. These inappropriate dwellings extended as far as the eye could chart, and were numerous.

Above the tallest abodes however, hung curious netting. It extended for the entirety of the city, scarcely ten or so feet from the rooftops in some areas. Held in place by far-reaching, diagonal struts they seemed to crackle with the electrical intent of energy. One could postulate that these homes drew energy from such a net, for domestic and recreational use. Yet like so many things in The Territories, not all was quite as it seemed.

The corridors were a dull grey, painted in uniform monotony, broken only by obvious patches of stark concrete from which construction work was not yet completed. Bare girders of supportive metal and electrical cabling were clearly visible through such unfinished breaches, along with ceiling mounted conduits whose destination was unknown and purpose unclear. Through each reinforced doorway the numerals denoting section and level were clearly displayed.

”Apologies Ambassador, this facility, as you will without doubt have already deduced is not a civilian structure. Consequently the interior décor is often not to standards preferred. If it is of any relevance I concur that it is not pleasing to the eye, but at least functional.”

The group moved onwards, until they reached an elevator assembly. Stepping inside once the curiously thick pressure doors had receded into their alcoves, they found a spacious lift with sufficient room so that uncomfortable social closeness was neither issue nor problem to contend with. Gregory promptly selected the destination, and with a stutter as winch assemblies began to carry out sole function, they rose upwards.

”It came as a frank surprise to see contact made at all.” Gregory began. ”The Territories are not famed for their comprehensive trade routes nor diplomatic overtones. Our relative isolation contributes no favours in this department but… our policies are oft not agreeable with the majority of others.”

The climb was considerable, and despite the hastened abilities of the motors dragging the occupants ever closer to the summit time still remained to fulfil. Gregory, no stranger to small-talk and idle banter, felt his abilities well suited to just such a meaningless pursuit.

”This facility, Junon Docks is a relatively new establishment. Despite having been utilised in one capacity or another as a harbour for the last hundred or so years this cliff-face is a recent pinnacle of our ever-marching technology front. The construction techniques that allow an entire base of sorts to be installed directly on to nature as you might bolt one section of steel to another is quite remarkable. Yet we save our most beautiful constructions for later in your visit. I am reliably informed almost all not native to these lands are impressed by our techno-metropolis, Midgar.”

With a loud thud as locking mechanisms ensured safety for all, the elevator hissed to a halt. With a creak that did not escape attention, one Gregory would vow to have fixed immediately lest other more senior figures notice at his peril, the pressure doors parted.

Immediately the harsh, whiplash-like sting of a foul wind assaulted those present. Save for a tiny material-adorned canopy extending some ten feet forwards above their head, they stood at the very top of the cliff. Behind, the open and restless sea and ahead the artificially flattened airstrip, to which the tremendous vessel of the air currents were harnessed awaiting.

Gesturing upwards, Gregory offered first step. ”Shall we?” He asked, attempting not to overindulge in the false charm that so chafed his weary, tired self.


The wall was a veritable explosion of activity and potential influence. Every square inch seemingly dominated by diagnostic runes, flickering dials relaying temperature, pressure and safety margins and bank upon bank of manipulation dials and illuminated buttons. It required the absolute focus of the operator to understand, and as such was unlikely to receive required attention during the long, gruelling shifts so experienced by those trained in the unholy arts of Mako energy regulation.

The deck plates rattled, as the entire superstructure often did when the quasi-mystical energies beneath were harnessed and processed to provide the electricity so desired to quench the voracious thirst of the local populace. This life stream, though the term was virtually unknown to the general public, uprooted and forced surface-wards by the irresistible attraction of the burrowing, molesting pipes that did sink deeply into the crust of the Earth and gorge themselves on what they found. As was the way, when a certain amount of Mako energy had been processed erratic multi-faceted crystals would form inside the reactor chamber. Their origins as mysterious as that which provided power in the first place, these crystallisations would seem destined from the Planet itself.

Those that dared to harness such mystery were greatly rewarded. Often near-fantastical powers were imbued upon the possessor, and this “Materia” as so was the term inspired weapons and armour forged with the facility to accept these crystal structures. Sweeping swords were made able to cleave through iron as though rotting, decayed flesh without a sweat breaking. Armoured plates could shrug aside the most devastating blows imaginable without a scratch nor blemish.

Still the most potent could call upon whatever energy flew so richly within the life stream. Bolts of searing lightning to force stone to blackened, charred nothingness. Chilling ice to freeze that which was once warm to cold death and the agonising roar of boiling flame summoned forth at the beckoning of the wearer.

It was consequently of no surprise that virtually no Materia survived outside the hands of the wealthy, the elite and The Shin-Ra Corporation. The former displayed as trinkets, museum pieces and utilised by the most potent private “hunters” and bandits in order to hone their skills to murderous precision. The latter utilised this magic in far more worrisome capacities. Introducing the Materia into the very arteries and veins of those elite warriors within ‘SOLDIER’, and refining it as a devastating explosive option upon cannons of unimaginable size and lethality.

Great precautions were taken upon examining a reactor core for Materia crystals. Such was the danger of Mako energy exposure that the cores were initially designed to be utterly and forever isolated from the rest of the reactor facility, long before it was known of the crystallisation effect. Metres thick shielding of the hardiest materials, with multiple fail-safes originally ensured none could cross into the central chamber and expose the core through unlikely accident or deliberate design.

Yet in the selfishness of interested parties, these safety measures were stripped away. Hastily installed blast doors enabled access directly where before security was assured. Indeed only the near-brand new reactors of Midgar were purposefully designed to be both secure and accessible. However such ponderings were futile in theory and application. The blast doors were duly opened; the pulsating energy of the arcane casting a curiously green glow upon the surrounding corridor as a lone individual, garbed in a heavy, protective suit dutifully and ponderously made his way inside. A hood of which only a narrow, tinted visor penetrated stood attached to overalls of a decidedly grubby fashion. Clearly utilised many times and rarely serviced sufficiently to render aesthetic concerns irrelevant, thickened gloves and boots completed the appropriate countermeasures.

Indeed the room had long ago lost its original finish, even initial structure. Before the ravages of Mako were fully realised, and design concerns went as pathetically intricate as painting schemes for the interior core. The steel had long since been turned a bizarre and nauseating blue, the edges still carrying a tinge of the original silver that so seemed to indicate strength. From the roof and ceiling, where bulging pipes vomited forth the elusive energy itself, corrosion was evident. The seams between the conduits torn and resealed a hundred times yet still no more solidified or secure.

Yet what was unavoidable were the curious growths that seemed to sprout from every corner and orifice. Groupings of rough, sharpened splinters upon a bed of glass-like purple mounds clung to piping, storage tanks and the immediate spaces surrounding the entry point for the life stream. Pushing out from amongst these splinters, radiating from emerald green to cobalt blue and subsequent electric pink flat, pronged crystals gave out captivating light displays. It seemed as though the entire chamber throbbed with pyrotechnical awe, as though Nature had despite being so raped beautified the horrid process as best she could.

The majority of the growths were useless. Mere deposits of waste from the life stream in much the same way as pus was discharged as a by-product by the immune system response of the Human body. Yet the rotating plates of light, amongst the purple splinters were what had brought the individual on impossible-to-counteract orders and against his better judgement here.

Yet these Materia crystals bore an unusual sign of alteration. Where previous the plates were smooth, tapered and elongated now they seemed riddled with a foreign substance. A dark, never-changing green that seemed as alien as the presence of the Sun in the night sky when the crystals shifted to a lighter shade of illumination. Yet they seemed, in the immediate future perfectly ordinary. Lacking even a percentage of the knowledge available on Mako the figure simply continued as he was charged, gingerly selecting and removing the largest samples for analysis and transportation.

With an echoing clang, the core was once more sealed from the outside world. Yet that which had once ensured isolation and safety from the horrors of the Planet would now no longer lend such assistance. Too late to regret or feel remorse, as quite unknown to those awaiting their Materia greedily, there would be more amongst than parlour tricks and impressive display pieces.



Gregory felt his pulse quicken as he glanced over the railings. Beneath the lands of The Territories were lain out as a blanket of mottled green and brown by which those given such freedom from gravity might gaze upon it and wonder, free from such concerns as those they spied upon so rudely and without thought or permission. His knuckles faded to bright white in respect of the pressure exerted in grip, as he took a step back. About him the wind roared tremendously as the Highwind pressed onwards over these silent yet expansive fields, and rivers.

Slowly he retreated, into the superstructure and descended until such time as he felt safe within the artificially regulated bosom of the airship. Taking a moment to mop his brow of perspiration, and ensure his suit was sufficiently wrinkle-free to facilitate good relations, he entered the lounge by which the delegates had last been left.

The room was dominated by the large, conical window at the extreme rear. Reinforced with rings of steel, it provided a spectacular view to the fore of the ship- The bulging engineering sections extending above almost into the distance with overwhelming length and mass. Stretching equally far in proportion to the room, a table of polished oak sat. Sufficient chairs to seat all Treznor delegates as well as Gregory were included, the ever-vigilant operatives of ‘SOLDIER’ choosing as always, to stand.

”I trust your travel thus far has been comfortable?” He said, gesturing to the appetisers and various liquid pitchers adorning the table top. ”I do apologise for the security presence but the populace of certain areas of The Territories do not… appreciate the work carried out in their name by The Shin-Ra Corporation. Consequently we guard against acts, no matter how foolish, in supposed retribution. Whilst unlikely, we value your continued health.”

A gentle, warming tone flittered through the air signalling an announcement to be made or delivered.

”This is your pilot speaking; we expect our arrival in Midgar City in approximately ten minutes. Please prepare for disembarking and subsequent transfer. I thank you for your time.”

Gregory stood, flattening the obvious folds in his trousers. ”Perhaps you would care to observe Midgar from the air, as to truly appreciate its uniqueness?”

Though a question, he had already moved to the door to lead the part upwards to the observation decking. Occasionally even someone as well-honed and practised at procedure and protocol as Gregory became caught up within the moment. This was one such time.

The land quickly flattened, as the towering, watching mountains of Nibel and Coral receded and with them the thickened verges of grass that crossed over their lower threshold. Here the texture of the flatness was grey, and cold. Occasional cropping of shattered and lifeless rock broke the monotony, yet the landscape was clearly vastly different to that which had primarily sat underneath the airship during its journey.

The City of Midgar stood unmistakably apart from the desolate space surrounding. Sat upon a shallow lake scarcely twice the height of a man it seemed a coin floating within a cup. Bevelled, curved walls circular in shape separated this water from the boundaries of the city limits. From this eight large and brooding constructions, reactors, rose upwards and dominated the skyline save for one overriding structure. From these eight, four shuddered with life. Gouts of furious green mist erupted from vents secreted at their top, coruscating with by-product and wasted energy.

Each reactor marked a sector, so that Midgar was divided into eight such, ordered numerically. From the centre of the city rose a tower that simply dwarfed even the colossal reactor housings. Tapering as it rose upwards, yet possessing little symmetry with arterial-like groupings of bulging pipes and conduits snaking around the superstructure and disappearing between tanks and observation windows. From what one could only assume was ground level, powerful shafts of brilliant light illuminated the sides and nuances of the tower, which proudly emblazoned logo and identify upon its front. The Shin-Ra Corporation Headquarters, a symbol of mono-corporate dominance and a simple but precise declaration of the whereabouts of true power within Midgar.

From their position so high above, the Treznor delegation could see not the Slums- Each a perverse, vile mirror image of the sector that stood above. Forever banned from the forgiving and healing touch of Sol, where only the hum of artificial lighting told one the difference between day, and night. Even as they walked amongst the bustling upper plate, they would see not the suffering below. It was not required nor wanted- Those below the plate sacrificed their rights so that they might share in the glory of technology, and the new age of Mako.

The airship descended, slowly allowing the details of the unique, floating city to become apparent in sharp focus. Rising high above the smaller, compact city blocks of an unknown sector the mooring tower stood proudly, awaiting the grasp of the Highwind so that it might steady and bring to a stop the shining machine.

”Mister Grant, President Ayala waits…” Gregory buried instantly the throbbing nervousness that threatened to rear its uncontrollable head at the mention of such name. Ensuring his composure had remained flawless, he made sure to lead the delegation from the descending vessel promptly. The Techno-Metropolis of Midgar awaited them, and it was eager to impress.
Treznor
04-02-2005, 20:46
Grant stares at the vista around him with curious interest. Catherine surveys the area with a much different eye, noting strengths and weaknesses in security and the attitudes of the people in sight. Charles looks down at his shoes and swallows heavily, clearly in distress.

At the opportunity, Grant shakes Gregory's hand enthusiastically. "Thank you so very much. I look forward to the opportunity to open positive relations between our peoples. May I present my staff? Ambassador Catherine Ravon, my protege. And Charles Bishop, my aide. Charles, where are your manners? Goddess only knows why I put up with you, man!"

Charles stumbled forward to shake hands. "Sorry, Sir. My stomach must have disagreed with dessert last night."

Grant sniffs loudly before he dismisses him with a wave. Once inside and Gregory makes the comment about isolation, he smiles broadly before forming his response. "Curiously enough, it was Menelmacar's intervention with that unfortunate accident that brought you to our attention. But I think you'll find our Emperor somewhat sympathetic to your situation; he was forced to build what has become a fine example of national strength and unity out of a corrupt, powerless republic. He knew what needed doing and didn't let anything stop him from getting it done. He then went on to form an alliance that preserves the right of each member to govern themselves as they see fit to demonstrate that our chosen form of government is viable and effective.

"Ultimately, it's about the Emperor's ability to judge a good investment, and considering his track record in building our economic and industrial standings, I'm inclined to trust him. If he tells me to open economic ties with your people, then I go."

As the trip progresses he seems more and more enamoured of the accomplishments of the Shin-Ra, while Charles looks more and more ill. Eventually, Catherine excuses them and drags him to the back, leaving Grant alone with Gregory.

"What in blazes is the matter with you?" she hisses at him.

"I don't know," Charles replies miserably. "I feel horrible."

"Come on, let's get you lying down. You're no use to us like this."

"I'm sorry."

"It happens. Just bad timing, is all."

Once she's satisfied that he's settled in and taken care of, she goes out to do her job, poking her nose around the craft on her way back to Grant.

Eventually, they make their way to meet with President Ayala.
The Architecturex
10-02-2005, 01:09
-OOCness-

This post contains a scene or two that should be avoided if one has strong views against hinted violation of women- This post also contains violence against a woman. [Nothing graphically so]





His footsteps fell silently, as though the entire mass of his body was negated and only his gaze reassured him he walked upon the ground at all- Soft gravel that should crunch, clink and crackle underneath such pressure made neither sound nor movement to indicate displacement. He paused, entirely unsure of where he was or how he had come to be in this curious place.

Grey uninspiring gravel stretched for almost as far as the eye could see, a brooding desert of concrete-coloured nothingness that rattled the senses through sheer lack of interesting features to mull or ponder over. At a great distance of which it stood perilously between imagination and solid reality, a chain of mountains stood. At the periphery of vision it was utterly impossible to ascertain any great detail- perhaps laden with chilling, fresh snow upon a craggy peak? Or a dried and unremarkable centre of splintered rock and chasm-like breaches?

The temperature simply mirrored the infuriating monotony of the landscape- Neither too warm so that one might seek shade or respite, nor chilling so that the warmth of a blanket or another might be equally desirable. The sky was as unremarkable as the dullness ground level, a repetitive sameness of grey so that he looked upon the horizon and could not truly see where one ended and another began- As though his entire world was a sphere of fog from which he could walk endlessly and without change upon its curved surface.

Stooping, he sought to scoop a small sample of the dirt for closer inspection. He recoiled in shock as his limb simply passed through the gravel. There was no shimmer of physical disruption nor evidence of some occult practice- His flesh simply passed onwards and through as though attempting the equally futile act of grasping a sample of oxygen from the air itself.

”Monotony is acceptance of the mundane…”

He leapt to his fate, his eyes immediately scanning the unchanged landscape. His features twisted into a frown, clearly unable to comprehend the source of the voice, though it carried no echo in such a cavernous location as this.

”Accepting the mundane is a step already taken towards insignificancy.”

The voice seemed not of one throat, but a collection of hushed whispers gathered and orchestrated so that their timing was flawless, though individual intonations and mannerisms crept through the unification. It was sibilant and somehow seemed knowledgeable in the extreme upon him though he had never before in his life heard such a curious accent.

”You fear insignificancy, as only a truly mortal creature can- Snivelling, weak and without the courage to accept that which is most inherent and unchangeable about your being. “

He shivered now, at this perspicacious and callous assessment. Yet he found himself unable to deny these shameful truths, and his head bowed in intense embarrassment. His cheeks flushed a furious red, as he felt his very being dissected for analysis and amusement.

Overhead, the sky began to darken- The previous inoffensive generic grey mutating and forming an oppressive blackness that began to seep- First into the mountains so painfully distant and towards the prone and harassed individual, as an infectious agent might overwhelm and assume control of a powerless organism. Not unlike the malicious machination of a virus as it infected and assumed forced control of cells, to ultimately betray their kin by aiding in their continued manufacture.

”Observe the gravel, so great in number and overwhelming in their nauseous and self-righteous dominance of the land. See how individually they are less than nothing- insignificant, unimportant and a blight on which the plants and associated, worthy beauty cannot flourish.”

He looked down, now able to touch the splintered, sharp shards of stone.

”See how they gather in number, for their paranoid and power-hungry personalities would demand they co-exist in order to fend off all other worthy adversaries. Look now, upon the tide of change that approaches.”

He looked upwards, his eyes widening as the blanket of viscous blackness rose above smooth stone and splintered rock alike, enveloping and forcing them downwards to form uniform flatness. He watched, utterly transfixed and unable to look away from such sights- The limited individuality of the setting swallowed and assimilated without mercy. He blinked only as his subconscious cried at the dangerous proximity of the fluid.

He moved to step back, nerve impulses duly dispatched by motor cortex and ratified by the receiving muscles responsible- Yet he made no movement.

”See how your pathetic existence confines your potential so? Electrical impulses transmitted from a limited and finite organic brain along a network of nerve pathways that do trigger jerking, heaving bundles of muscle tissue to mobilise an essentially crude and paralysed skeletal system. It beggars belief one can stomach such existence- The sickly warm crimson that flows through bulging, pulsating veins- The festering, fleshy bag of digestive acids that take even the most beautiful works of your culinary art and rape it of previous form and beauty into simple proteins that can be absorbed by your bland system.”

The assaulting wave of absorption now pressed a few scant metres from paralysed feet.

”All of this- Your digestive system, your circulatory network and your much vaunted and admired neural capacity in the pursuit of one thing, and one thing exclusively- Procreation. The continuance of your species through procedures so inefficient and stupendously complex than to refer to it, as some of your kind does, as a thing of wonder is not so ridiculous a concept. One wonders how your race ever survived to expand to the stars- And beyond.”

An audible whimper escaped his lips as he felt the blanket of black sweep upwards, encompassing his frozen feet. He tried to examine the texture, the feeling and the impulses of the bizarre mass as it slowly continued upwards- Yet he could feel nothing. As though robbed of the limbs as they were progressively obscured from view, only his eyes allowed him to know they continued to remain attached to his shivering frame.

”beyond is why you are here.” It rasped, the myriad voices unifying in their malevolent intent. ”You have spread far, and wide since last I woke upon this Earth- Even I could not have predicted your success and dominance, so much so that you have expanded into theatres beyond this world. To the stars and to below.”

He frowned, a look of incomprehension dominant.

”You have dug, and drilled. You have tunnelled and mined and you have uncovered what you refer to as ‘the Lifestream’.”

Realisation dawned as the sun might peak through murky morning clouds, he realised now what it spoke of.

”I am glad you are knowledgeable in such matters, I have not chosen badly. Now Humanity has taken the stuff of life- That which constitutes what you term a ‘soul’ and used it for profit, and gratification. The very essence of life and the creation of new life warped and abused so that your kind might benefit from inconsequential leaps in technological development.”

Submerged to the waist now, he ceased any attempt to control his height, feeling his spinal column freeze upon an almost painful straightening.

”Do not mistake me for some protector of this world- For my interests in the Lifestream are as selfish as yours, though I dare say far more impacting and important. It comes as a great disappointment I must utilise you in such planned fashion- You are insufficient and weak, yet needs must and I cannot delay any further.”

With a sudden jarring, his head snapped upwards, freezing his eye level at flawless midway. He could only deduce the fluid had surpassed his neck. He attempted to open his mouth- To utter the first words spoken since his bizarre appearance in this seemingly insane land of warped nightmare, unfortunately his lips held fast- Already covered.


”You shall be of great benefit to me- Know further you are the beginning of the end for your dominance on this planet- Poorly spent and ill thought upon. Be content you shall never be faced with the insignificancy you so fear, my dear Christopher.”

He fought the natural reflex to close his eyes as the blackness filtered over his temple and forehead, noting with resigned curiosity that it stayed clear of his sight as it continued journeying upwards- Numbness enveloped his being, robbing him of sound, taste, smell and touch.

As the sea might flood inwards upon high tide and overflow rock pools and crevices, so did the liquid fill his eye sockets as they stood frozen open. Pouring into the white matter and continuing to do so until the subtle definitions of the eyelid itself were utterly lost.

Until he was utterly lost.


The room was silent- evidently nocturnal even without the pale moon watching dispassionately from beyond the window, curtains drawn loosely and without the care to prevent this Earthly guardian peering inwards. He rose mechanically from the bed, his limbs jerking as he sat up and swivelled towards the small nightstand. Standing as still as the wall to which he stood almost parallel against, he brushed a finger crudely against the mounted light switch and bathed the compact room in harsh, artificial light.

Crossing without the air of weariness one might expect from rising at such an early hour, he entered the bathroom. Flicking the small spotlight mounted above the sink, the reflective sheen of a mirror becoming apparent- From which black orbs stared vacantly back. Not simply pupil altered, but iris and white matter so that one might think the eyes themselves had been crudely painted upon a piercing and all-encompassing black. He stared for several minutes, before returning to the cramped bedroom.



The sun filtered in haphazardly, through the space where curtains failed to meet in their hasty closure. Golden rays passing against the wall and bathing thin strips of the room in light, whilst leaving others in total darkness. So illuminated so by this, a statue of imitating stone stood- The only true difference between that which was carved and that which was altered being the mechanical rise and fall of his chest.

Yet now he was adorned in something other than sleeping fatigues. A two-tone blue jumpsuit, from which red bands bound tightly about the bicep and wrist. Over this jumpsuit an unremarkable white lab coat, which carried an identification plate upon the breast pocket.

SHIN-RA CORPORATION SCIENCE AND ANALYSIS DIVISION

MATERIA RECOVERY AND COMPOSITE TESTING

DR. CHRISTOPHER INNES.

With the dawn of a new day, he turned abruptly, and exited. New purpose and new position granted, though not willingly or accepted so equally quickly.

Benjamin Rutledge, senior nightshift security supervisor sighed loudly. His eyes betrayed the heavy bags of prolonged wakefulness and despite the near continuous consumption of caffeine his eyelids did drop slowly and rise only with forced effort. The desk, dominated by banks of television monitors and recording equipment received his attention only grudgingly, and even then mostly directed towards the worn, pale white mug whose ceramic base had imprinted multiple rings about the surface where it had been consistently sipped during the elapsed hours of the night.

Behind him, a tasteful mosaic of the familiar diamond logo of The Shin-Ra Corporation hung, flanked by polite welcoming to the headquarters of the mono-corporate entity. Benjamin stood, to once more cross the massive and cavernous structure of the main reception hall- The Shin-Ra building dominated the techno-metropolis of Midgar utterly, and was most definitely worthy of such grandiose statement. Visible from any sector, towering into the sky and almost constantly illuminated by vast banks of blistering lights, eighty stories of control and subjugation.

Benjamin shrugged visibly, though his conversation was an internal one. He had long ago pushed aside his qualms and moral outrage at the acts of his employers- The brutal fact remained as the sole source of employment in Midgar and consequently the only real way to avoid being relegated to the Slums beneath the plate the Shin-Ra were praised when possible, and at least tolerated at all other times. He reasoned that resistance against their ideas would do him little good if he were dead- And do his wife and children a likewise unpleasant fate.

His train of thought was broken as the vast entry doors to the tower hissed open, admitting an individual inside. The role of security supervisor had become all but administrational as the march of technology had improved security beyond that which a mere man could offer- Automated entry systems scanned the identification badge of those seeking inside and were able to grant immediate access to employees and those qualified, whilst others were held back as staff vetted their entrance.

Benjamin recognised the passing figure, and called out a greeting.

”Mornin’ Doc!” He said, relatively cheerfully.

Though he continued walking, the figure exchanged the greeting with a muted and clinical monotone. ”Good morning.” He uttered, continuing towards the bank of elevators at the very rear of the hall.

Frowning momentarily, Benjamin pondered- It wasn’t like Chris not to take the time out for a friendly, if totally irrelevant morning discussion on the state of the planet, the fortunes of the local football team or how he was finding settling in to Midgar.

”Must be fair busy, up there.” He mused out aloud.



The laboratory was a convergence of pale green shadow, flickering against the walls as though the work of some warped flame that burned not only in the centre of the room but at curious distances from the middle so that these shadows danced and waned as a sunrise and sunset condensed into minutes of frenzied activity.

The light from a corridor beyond flooded in, diluting these shadows only for a brief moment as the world beyond was once more sealed by the hissing of a door and morbid darkness was restored. Christopher crossed to the centre of the room, where a pedestal dominated and reached from floor to ceiling. A six foot portion being composed of a reinforced glass that allowed those qualified as such to gaze upon what lay inside and continue to learn, and discover.

Inside this chamber currently, the familiar crystalline structure of Materia sat- From which various probes and tubes prodded and embedded themselves so that the entirety of the free space above the magical element was a maze of wires and sensors, the better to allow analysis.

Christopher stepped back; as if to reach down to manipulate the controls below. However instead he raised his right arm, and formed a fist- It seemed a foolhardy effort indeed, for the glass he opposed was not only reinforced specifically to contain the treasured Materia, but insulated against the unpleasantness the unstable element could frequently unleash if prodded in poor taste. Seemingly now unconcerned with this despite his familiarity with this as suited a scientist of his station, he brought his fist into the glass.

The smooth, transparent shield shattered- Tendrils scything outwards from the point of impact and pulling pane from pane as they fell downwards. Almost immediately a visible green fog began to fill the breached chamber, expanding through the break and out into the laboratory. Seemingly more comfortable at lower heights, it hugged the polished floor resolutely.

As though he sought to further horrify anyone who might have observed he reached into the chamber, as unprotected as possible against the deadly effects of handling unrefined Materia. Closing his fingers around the sample and utterly ignoring the terrible hiss of rapidly burning, and mutilating flesh he pulled it free of the secure mounting- Ignoring the blare and shrill of various alarms as the probes previously embedded were pulled outwards and exposed to the air.

Retrieving a reinforced steel transport case utilised for movement of such Materia, he carefully lowered the liberated sample into the fitting provided, strapping it securely and closing the lid with care not to press upon the Materia and subsequently damage it. Taking it by the supplied handle, he turned and stepped towards the door. Suddenly, his head snapped upright- As though a puppet whose strings are manipulated suddenly and without warning for the care of the wooden toy. A loud snap heralded the breaking of vertebrae at such rough treatment, yet Christopher seemed in none of the pain or discomfort such a devastating injury should wrought.

Instead, he rummaged through a wall-mounted cupboard, retrieving a roll of medical tape and bandages. Setting down the case, he began to strap the tape around hastily wound, bandaged palms and fingers. It would be foolish to give oneself away to irritating questioning and concern with obvious physical injury on display. Though undoubtedly these dressings would soon weep crimson they were sufficient to enable the final phase of his redirection, which lay many floors upwards.


Ayala stood before the stretched bay window, regarding the sprawling machinery of the city of Midgar below. From her vantage point, here on the seventy ninth floor of the tower she felt her position as Executive President well supported by location- As a god no less amongst these riff-raff and assorted shuffling workers she stood upon a mountain summit and passed her divine commands below for all to obey and carry out.

She focused her attention upon sector seven, which occupied the wedge almost exactly to the far right of her field of vision. A sigh escaped her pursed lips at the thought of the endless trouble originating from that which was below the plate. Little controversy surrounded the sector seven visible to the eye- Packed with loyal, hardworking citizens who genuinely appreciated what she did to improve their lives. It was that which thrived in darkness, the Slums beneath that section of the plate that heralded traitors, criminals and mercenaries. Though within the reach of the Shin-Ra, they foiled time and time again any attempt to sweep away resistance and continued to grow as a cancer might and as nothing more than a tapeworm might cling to the gullet and extract the nourishment it required whilst giving nothing in return.

Turning away, she ran a lithe hand down her ordered ponytail. It seemed as though the roots of evil within the sector seven Slums ran to the foundations- Of which nothing less than total annihilation might bring hope of repair and order. Bringing her attention back to the mass of paperwork and official documents awaiting verification, she sat- Concentrating on the more mundane.


The guard was a foreboding sight- Total anonymity assured by the heavy mask fixed to the armoured helmet which complimented the fortress-like body plating that so distinguished the chosen of ‘SOLDIER’. Though clearly a man he seemed a giant in stature, quite easily blocking the corridor so that no meaningful route ahead could be formulated. He remained silent for several moments, before barking a demand through the distorting, tinny vox-processor.

”State your business on the executive levels.”

Christopher stared ahead blankly, before slack lips moved of a will not his own- ”I must speak with President Ayala.” He said, simply.

The immense giant stalked forward, scrutinising the identification badge on the newcomer’s breast. He paid little attention to the black, soulless eyes that regarded him- It was not unusual to see such birth defects in Midgar, and he could not show concern for all the wretched spawn of deformity. Grunting, he shook his head. Spying the case in hand, he gestured to it-

”What’s in that case?” He asked tersely. Receiving no reply, despite a generous few seconds to allow for explanation or reasoning his patience grew thing, and he sought to dismiss the upstart scientist back from whence he came.

”You do not have clearance for this level, be on your way immediately.”

Doctor Innes remained utterly motionless. The guard, becoming clearly irked repeated his demand with an obviously less restrained temperament. When his second attempt met with no response he stepped forward, intent on removing the stubborn refusal with bare hands and physical displeasure.

Christopher extended his hand, gently placing it upon the breastplate of the opposing man. Without uttered words or gesture, a ring of cobalt leapt forth- Increasing in diameter as it traversed the height of the soldier, who remained motionless save for a repetitive stutter that seemed more at home upon a malfunctioning record player than a living mortal.

After a moment, the Doctor removed his hand.

”Step aside, and ensure all other obstacles to my progress are lifted.”

The guard seemed dazed, and only slowly reaffirmed eye contact with Christopher. After several seconds, he nodded dumbly, already crossing to his security station to ensure the required authorisations were granted and processed. Innes had already begun to walk onwards, scarcely a few short floors from his goal.

A voice, sibilant as it was graceful, croaked harshly…

”Eternal remembrance is but a hair’s breadth from your reach, my dear Christopher… Grasp it!”


The desk intercom buzzed loudly, so that Ayala was forced to slam her palm into the relevant touch pad to silence its growling and irritating cry for attention. From the silver grille, a voice came- Curiously uninteresting and delivering intent with a decided monotone.

”President Shin-Ra, a Doctor Christopher Innes to see you.”

Ayala frowned now, more curious than annoyed at this interruption. She knew well that her next engagement was nothing of the sort as had been announced a second earlier- Indeed she was to inspect the final construction schedules of reactor number eight at noon. Certainly no visitations with her company were scheduled this day. She resolved to have the administrational assistant responsible for the mistake suitably punished in a way that would see her make no numerical error again in her lifetime.

Yet before she could speak, the doors to her office opened. Her brow furrowed, as she clicked the intercom off. From between the gigantic, oak-finished doors the gaunt and rake-like figure of this supposed Doctor shuffled. There was a considerable distance between Ayala and the man, and despite her position and reputation he was seemingly in no hurry to increase his pace to compensate. She was almost aghast at what was taking place- A blatant disregard to courtesy and her position as Executive President. This was rapidly souring her mood.

”Whilst I am sure your appointment slipping my notice is not your direct fault; I warn you your manner is both unpleasant and offensive. I advise you rectify the situation before I cease to have such tolerance.”

Christopher said nothing, continuing to walk towards the desk.

Ayala rose slowly, now focusing on the pitiless, black orbs staring. She was neither fearful nor concerned- She had felt the cold steel of a blade upon her throat a dozen times and each time welcomed death as it threatened to take her from her glorious empire and achievement. She had ordered ten thousand murdered to prevent the transmission of one stray thought or deed that might sour her reputation by even a miniscule amount. Such were the sights she had seen and acts committed in her name an apparent nothing from the science floors did not phase her.

Finally he paused, gently placing the case, with the handle towards Ayala, upon the desk.

”I have come with a great discovery.” He droned, emotionlessly.

Ayala frowned, ”You are neither the head of your department nor a particularly high-ranking official- I fail to see what gives you right to demand my time.”

”You do not understand…” He slurred, ”But you shall.”

With a blur fitting for such phenomenal speeds, Christopher leapt over the table- Ayala had barely the time to open her mouth to admonish him for his impudent presumptions when she felt a propelled weight force her to the floor, driving the wind from her lungs painfully as her ribs cried out against such pressure.

Her instincts allowed her to strike back where pain might blind a less able-bodied woman. She forced her hand upwards, driving the base of her palm into his nose with a satisfactory snap as the bone broke forcibly. She ignored the unpleasantness of the crimson as it washed downwards upon her hand and wrist. Yet Christopher did not recoil in agony or surprise, nor did he cup or cradle the painful injury inflicted upon him- Instead he simply sated at her, still pinning her torso to the floor.

Ayala struck again, driving her fist into his forehead with a disdain for his well being that saw not even his neck snap back at the momentum of her impact. It was then she noted with interest the radical bruising and swelling about the immobile neck- Craning her own, she realised that it could only be broken.

Broken, yet he flinched not at the second attack.


Christopher instead moved his arms imperceptibly quickly- pinning the women at the wrists and rendering her essentially immobile. Lowering his head, she paused a few short inches from the alabaster flesh of Ayala’s face- as though studying it with those dark, malevolent orbs.

Accepting this latest limitation, she simply brought her forehead upwards sharply, driving it into her counterpart’s in an effort to elicit unconsciousness. She felt the impact, and her head dropped back to the floor, dizziness overwhelming her and forcing her vision to swirl painfully. Innes had yet to react, though the impact was clear to see.


He opened his lips, yet not one voice stood alone- A dozen, a hundred, many thousands spoke with a gravel-like unity that was bound only by sibilant intonation.

”The energy that radiates from you is not unlike the scalding steam of a blazing furnace…” He mused, though Ayala felt no longer could “he” be anything approaching an ordinary man.

”I am fascinated by Humanity, utterly entranced by the sheer variety of your race. Here is this shell- Both pathetic and weak. Having spent almost half of its regretfully short existence absorbing worthless tomes of knowledge in the vain hope that it could then disperse that wisdom in a capacity that granted respect.”

”Residing within the cramped confines of this city, one amongst a million strong and with absolutely no qualities to demand attention over the teeming souls surrounding.”

Ayala felt the pressure tighten upon her wrists, though she did not struggle- Clearly the strength endowed upon this thing was far in excess of her own- It would be futile to expend effort where no reward would be forthcoming.

“But you are so different, we are not so unalike, you and I.”

”You are riff-raff, and unworthy of my attentions.” Ayala replied, dignified to the end.

”Without doubt, this current shell is not fit to grace your presence, of that I will not deny. Yet this is neither true form nor reality for that which awaits you, my dear. You stand upon the brink of a glorious change- One which will see your true spirit freed from this prison of flesh, and bone. It has been so painfully long since last I found a presence as deliciously dark as your own, and only such a reprehensively diabolical spirit such as yourself can finally grant me the freedom I crave.”

”Your rhetorical meanderings are pointless- I shall not accede to your demands and your stay within my company will not be an extended one- Whatever splinter group or militant organisation you belong to will find no favour with me.”

For the first time, a look of emotion passed over the vessel pinning her to the floor- A scowl, an angry sneer. Without warning Ayala felt herself rise upwards, gravity defied as her body was thrown from standing to the wall behind. A loud crack saw a particularly priceless art work break into constituent parts as it fell only a second after the wheezing form of the Executive President did so.

Ayala grimaced, succeeding only in preventing her head impacting the wall and at least retaining some semblance of conscious ability. She felt compelled to revaluate her classification of her attacker as nothing more than common vigilante excess.

”Do not pour insult and scorn upon me! You do not truly realise what it is yet you shall soon be party to, it is nothing so minor and inconsequential as political gain.”

Crossing over, the vessel hauled Ayala to her feet, which instantly buckled and she found herself continuing to stand only by the strong, though not excessively restraining grip of the intruder. Extending a finger, he gently cupped her chin, turning it to the side so that he might better inspect the flesh.

”You are striking, for a mortal.” He began.

Ayala’s gaze did not falter from his. ”I beg you remember my visage- It shall serve to torment you well in the after-life.”

Pausing, though not relinquishing his hold, the vessel pondered aloud- ”I have always been fascinated by the various aspects of Human nature. These bestial emotions that despite undergoing refinement in the form of intellect still drive and motivate your people after thousands of years of evolution. So varied…Take violence for example, the simple expression of power above another.”

Ayala knew only to close her eyes as she found herself returned the short distance to the wall. This time she could not prevent her head impacting painfully against the reinforced steel, and she gasped audibly at such rough treatment.

”Simple strength that can reinforce control of an individual, a group or indeed a great number. Is this not how you maintain control of your organisation, of your territories and people?”

Ayala felt herself hover dangerously close to unconsciousness, seeking something by which to anchor her waking mind to she saw little option but to entertain his delirious questioning. She nodded slowly, ensuring she did not exacerbate the pain.

“there is another, altogether different emotion- That which gives such strong connection between parent and child, lover and lover, husband and wife. I am fascinated by such dedication to another, and the mental and physiological aspects of such.”

Stepping forward, he roughly took hold of the almost paralysed women underneath the arms, and raised her upwards so that he might carry her. He moved towards the desk and able to handle her slight frame with one hand, cleared the desk promptly. He sat her upon its edge, now no longer forced to restrain her so as her own body sat clearly to fatigued to resist. He felt her melt into his touch, though it was undoubtedly without consent.

He looked deeply into furious, if murky cobalt blue orbs.

”Intriguing…” He whispered.

Without warning, he leaned inwards and kissed her, roughly.

Ayala moved her head backwards, then to the sides in an attempt to break the unpleasant intimacy. Yet strong hands cupped her skull and held it fast in place. She felt relentless pressure upon her sealed lips but steadfastly refused to yield. She sighed inwardly in frustration as dizziness once more threatened her, pushing her conscious thought towards dissolution. Her eyes fluttered downwards, and the warming embrace of blackness beckoned her.

Her eyelids rolled upwards as full tactile awareness returned, unconsciousness beaten back for a time being. She was repulsed to find her loss of control had slackened her jaw and allowed the questing tongue of the vessel access to her helpless mouth. Now able to offer slight resistance, she struggled- Realising his good fortune was at an end he pulled away, studying the reaction.

”You have a deep-seated loathing for my opportunistic ways yet you have undoubtedly committed atrocities far in excess of a simple, stolen kiss. Why now do you respond with revulsion? Surely In the much lauded liberties and laws of a just land, you would be shown little compassion or respect?”

Ayala groaned, unable to articulate her thoughts with sufficient structure to reply.

”I am still however curious- A kiss does not particularly shine enlightenment on this emotion, I believe I shall require further interaction.”

Feeling herself lowered downwards so that her bruised back pressed upon the desk painfully, Ayala became dimly aware of a cold hand snaking underneath her shirt, causing her stomach to flinch at the unwanted attentions received- She stared into the pitiless eyes opposite her own, and noted with sobering fact his chest no longer rose, and fell with life-giving oxygen. The very processes of life seemed suspended and frozen. She shuddered as she felt cold fingertips tug at the corner of her brassiere.

Then, grateful unconsciousness overtook, and she knew no more.




Xavi Herriot, ‘SOLIDER’ first class and personal guard to the executive president, strolled down the corridor. His eyes scanned the corridor ahead dutifully as they had done so countless times this hour and would continue to do so for many to come. His body armour groaned slightly as the augmented fibre-bundles that allowed the heavy plates free motivation whirred to life, and action. Pausing, he stopped before the open door to the presidential suite.

Nonchalantly, he observed the destruction within the office- The shattered artwork, discarded -paperwork and obvious signs of struggle. He regarded with indifference the heavy, one-way panting and grunting. He was unable to see cause for alarm in the nightmarish scenario.

Turning away, he continued his rounds. He saw nothing that the vessel did not require him to see. Lacking such strong will and force of personality, he was subverted easily from the true horror being unleashed within the suite. To him and the rest of the Territories, life continued as normal- As modified.



The lights overhead were painful, seemingly far too bright for any meaningful function other than to blind, and disorientate. Dizziness hung about her person like a numbing fog that steadfastly refused to lift despite her mental protests. Slowly, Ayala felt strength enough to raise her head despite the violent headache in progress.

She gazed upon her open shirt- The brassiere in place but the ornately styled buttons of her blouse clearly too complex to warrant being reunited. Her legs remained on the desk only until knee point, where they dangled over the edge, clearly ajar. She could feel the freedom granted only by the unbuttoning of her skirt, though from what little she could see it remained in place.

As her vision cleared, and her health steadied, she became acutely aware that her ordeal had indeed continued beyond her loss of unconsciousness. Sitting up unsteadily, she stumbled from the desk, falling to her knees clumsily. Her limbs felt heavy, laden with a great weight which called upon all her reserves for even the barest movement.

She succeeded on fastening her skirt securely once more, though her stomach tightened at the foul feeling of violation that spread through her being as a knife blade might plunge into her very heart and twist cruelly. She ignored her flapping shirt- Unable to gather the wits to restore it to respectability. Raising her head defiantly, eyes burning with what little self-respect remained, she stumbled towards the vessel, who stood admiring the view of Midgar from the impressive window ahead.

He turned but an instant before her hand came down upon his skull, catching the wrist as it travelled downwards. Tightening the grip, he continued to exert pressure until Ayala dropped to her knees, gasping in a mixture of fury, humiliation and agony.

”I am astounded.” He whispered, stooping until he had almost joined the limp women on the floor. “ You have been violated in such manner as to destroy the your will totally and from you take what previously passed as sparkling personality…Yet you endure, the fierce thirst for revenge and anger fuelling you as your curious reactors draw the Lifestream to likewise manipulate. I believe you are the one I seek…”

Pushing Ayala backwards so that she might with the last of her strength gaze up from the floor, the vessel formerly known as Doctor Christopher Innes stepped backwards- Creating a small space between the two bodies to be exploited in the coming moments.

His arms were held outwards, his face standing together as though he sought to welcome some new dawn as the only one privy to such an event. His head tipped upwards, those same inky-black eyes now focusing on some unknown, beyond the understanding of any mortal that would observe or ponder.

It was his limbs that began to change first- Before Ayala’s very eyes they stretched, lengthening as the distance between shoulder and elbow, forearm to hand increased exponentially as though mass were added from some unknown reality to fuse with the material universe. The flesh grew also, as a sheet that seemed much like rubber in curious elasticity as it simply grew to accept the rapidly enlarging extremities.

Soon, the legs began to mimic and adopted this change- The considerably heavier bones of the Femur finding their dimensions radically enlarged in this shocking and nauseating change. The torso stretched also, gaining more height so that the vessel seemed a doll whose limbs made from simple clay were pulled until a quite unnatural and gangly frame was achieved.

The toes rapidly enlarged, the nails narrowing to cruel talons that hooked over the shredded leather of the workman-like shoes and into the carpeted floor. At this stage the body hair located as per usual chose to transform, individual strands blossoming and widening until of all things, they seemed feathers- A dark, cerulean blue that could boast and mock the night sky for being closer to the shades of the sun than it. These feathers quickly sprouted over the body, obscuring all but the still-mutating claw-like feet and the rending talons that had evolved from deft hands.

A terrible tearing reverberated as the flesh across the shoulder blades tore through unnatural manipulation- two sweeping scythes of muscle, still a neo-natal pink, emerged to harden in the air. They extended outwards many times the distance of the still outstretched arms, before beginning to flap, slowly.

From these scythes, larger feathers sprouted, betraying the structures not as instruments of decapitation, but avian wings. Yet where the previous feathers had been blue, these held no fixed colour or hue- They alternated between electric pink, and shuddering orange. Distorting yellow and natural green seemingly possessed of an urge to cycle through the colours of the rainbow ands then more so, displaying beauty and wonder for any who were so unfortunate to gaze upon.

The skull, as yet unchanged chose now to join the alterations. The nose, crushed by the earlier assault of Ayala tore forwards, expanding radically as it took upon a curved nature not unlike a tapered beak. Below, the upper jaw receded until it had disappeared from view, leaving only its lower counterpart and the now non-existent nose to form new, insane mouth. The eye sockets, home to such unending evil and disdain for Humanity began to enlarge, at the same time moving further from each other to occupy the sides of the head, rather than the dead-centre.

The familiar body feathers sprouted as a crown shortening in length around features such as the eyes to ensure unobstructed vision, though such physical concerns were mostly aesthetic in nature. Finally it seemed as though the growth was at an end, and the creature formerly an uninspiring scientist and unimpressive Human Being was gone. In his place stood a creature three times his height, and incalculable times more menacing.

It spoke, seemingly richer in tone for the shedding of its constricting vessel.

”I am Ni-Kari the Deceiver!” It boomed, the volume at such intensity Ayala found it necessary to cover her ears to avoid damage. ”I am the Architecturex of Fate! I Am the enticer of Men and the keeper of vices!

”It has been long, my dear Ayala. It has been so long separated from this plane and doomed to reside in what you term in your ignorance, Materia. It has been an intolerable age since last I felt the true freedom bestowed upon me now- Our forced union has gifted me the final remainder of the puzzle required to grant me freedom…”

The Architecturex stalked forwards until its long, almost serpent-like neck slithered downwards to carry its enormous maw to within a few inches of Ayala.

..Your soul, Ayala Shin-Ra. With which I shall once more manipulate the accomplishments, deeds and achievements of these people and more. Your legacy will continue forever as part of me- And now alas, we must complete the merging.”

Without warning, or chance to evade, the demon completed his betrayal. His entire form seemed to shimmer as his wings had done- Suddenly losing all physical resolution and instead filtering into a flailing arc of crackling energy. This whipping current found discharge in Ayala, entering forcibly through every orifice as unwelcome fingers might molest detestably.

Ayala screamed- Cried as she had never done so and would indeed never repeat. For the multiple violations, for the senseless end to her independent thought and existence. Even as she felt her being swallowed whole, absorbed and remodelled to better suit new host and master she fought with the resistance of a mortal doomed.

She slumped to the floor, her chest rising shallowly before ceasing altogether. Her flesh paled visibly though her already alabaster tones made this a difficult feat. Many moments passed and for a time it seemed the demon had failed at a frustratingly final stage of ascension. She jerked visibly, as eyelids rolled upwards.

Black pupils regarded the world as windows to unified souls.

Standing, Ayala casually buttoned her open blouse closed, resolving to take a shower at the earliest opportunity to rid this body of various fluids, not all entirely of her own concoction. Crossing to the window so much the focal point of vents rendered, she gazed downwards upon the bustling sectors of the techno-metropolis of Midgar.

The Architecturex of Fate had returned, and it would see Mankind brought to their knees- beginning with the populace of this misguided city.
The City of Midgar
28-02-2005, 01:29
Gregory paused his ascent upon the winding concrete staircase, supporting his portly frame with tight grip upon the nearby banister and freeing his handkerchief with the remaining hand to wipe across his sweat-stained forehead. Ahead the Treznor delegation slowed their walk to a painful crawl as they awaited their guide to continue ahead- Noting the impeccable etiquette displayed.

Straightening he steeled himself to continue, if only to retain what semblance of personal respect remained after his capitulation in the face of what was truthfully a modest climb. Stretching upwards the headquarters of The Shin-Ra Corporation loomed- An insane mesh of the unplanned and random, a structure whose original dimensions were long since lost and instead simply allowed to sprawl randomly.

Finally they reached the reception hall, pushing through ornate glass doors that stood so massively only the motivation of technology could hope to grant the party access. As if to demonstrate the sheer merging of the machine to the concrete they passed underneath a bundle of pipes that rose from the plaza, curving to run a few metres above the doors that admitted them inside before climbing further and disappearing with the multitude of floors above.

The floor was pristine- Reflections from the delegation rising upwards so that even the smallest adornment about their person in turn carried the image further be it buckle, button or jewellery piece. The cavernous roof seemed almost deliberately exaggerated in necessary height, curving upwards so that as many as three floors might have comfortably took residence and still left a generous ceiling.

Rising through the marble occupied by feet, two conduits ran upwards from which smaller piping branched outwards and infiltrated the walls as veins might riddle the surface of the flesh but fade and pass from vision as they sank deeper within. Gregory led the party across, pausing only to exchange jaded pleasantries with employees he either did not regard or could not truly recall the name of. Eventually they reached the elevators clustered at the extreme rear.

”We shall travel directly to the executive floor- I realise your time isn’t best spent frivolously.”

That which had once been President Ayala Shin-Ra regarded the room finally, clasping hands together loosely. The damaged articles of furniture had been removed and the entire suite returned to something more befitting a creature of such high disposition and authority. Stepping upwards upon the raised flooring that stood beside the rather splendid view of Midgar below, the Architecturex cocked its head in curiosity.

The mortal senses were deliciously limited in capability- But five in total and neither possessing that which could grant its owner true mastery of difficult surroundings, or that could be relied upon to resist subversion and corruption with a false will. Through two simple orbs was the beauty and deceptive complexity of the Earth systematically dismantled and rendered down until its diluted form could be understood and duly read by the feeble Human consciousness.

Slowly, Ayala extended a hand until it rested upon the glass. The tingle of cold material reacting to a warming caress caused her to shiver slightly, and the Architecturex found itself veritably fascinated. Slowly dragging the fingers downwards, it revelled in the subtle fluctuations in temperature that resulted from such a meaningless and relatively unthreatening action. Removing the fingertips condensation formed upon them and was duly transferred as Ayala dragged her hand across alabaster cheek.

”How wonderfully crude…” She whispered.

A loud rapping from the sealed doors barring the suite reverberated, and Ayala turned to confront the disruption. Recalling the reminder handed by desk intercom moments earlier she composed voice, careful not to alter the intonation that might arouse undue suspicion.

”You may come in!”

Gregory cautiously entered, immediately finding his attention captured by the absence of a rather valuable piece of artwork that had hung proudly from a section of wall since the completion of the tower itself. He did not question however, as it did not serve one to bring the decisions of Ayala into disrepute.

”I bring the Treznor delegation for your council.” Began Gregory, gesturing that they might enter and take up seating upon the other side of the desk to the slight women whom to all intents and purposes embodied The Shin-Ra Corporation.

Ayala remained silent, waiting instead until the foreigners had crossed the distance to the desk and seated themselves before rising. Extending her arm almost too stiffly she chided herself internally- Such behaviour was poorly executed and unfamiliarity was not excuse for such lax attention.

“Ambassador Grant.” She began with serenity, an accompanied smile laden with hidden promise and gross reward. A smile utilised a thousand times upon envoy, prisoner and lover. None were deemed too exclusive or too unworthy to receive such attention. Extending her left hand she shook with authority the reciprocating Grant, seating herself once more once the pleasantry had been exchanged.

”I am President Ayala Shin-Ra, welcome to the Shin-Ra Territories and their dependencies- I am pleased to welcome you as the first foreign delegation to make contact with my Corporation and I am pleased to accommodate you as far as is possible.”

Gregory finally approached the desk, seating himself to the immediate left of Ayala and placing a silver tray laden with a crystal pitcher and thirsty glasses upon its surface. Once more freeing his forehead from beads of bothersome sweat he remained silent and allowed his superior to steer the conversation as she saw fit.

”It’s fortunate indeed you’ve chosen now to make contact- The Shin-Ra Corporation is constantly looking for new business opportunities in foreign nations and I would be delighted to discuss the possibility of venturing into the Empire of Treznor in the spirit of economic growth.”

Standing, she turned towards the stretching window and gestured.

”I hope your journey was not fatiguing, though Gregory has informed me you completed the majority of it aboard a Highwind airship- one of our most prestigious and luxurious forms of travel. I myself personally utilise one for all official business and much of the non-official variety.”

The Architecturex released a second smile, noting that the demeanour of Grant seemed cast-iron. The man had been in many unfamiliar situations such as this where the initial conversations stood only to establish the pace of discussion and in reality agendas were essentially set before friendly greetings had been offered. It could not truly comprehend the nuances of Human discussion until more time had elapsed- Many lifetimes had elapsed since last the Architectures of Fate walked amongst Men and manipulated their destines for ultimate gain.

”I do hope Midgar found your approval for I do find it a unique city. However I digress from your own agenda which is what truly brings you here- How can I accommodate you, Mister Grant and as an extension of me The Shin-Ra Corporation?”

Gregory fidgeted uncomfortably; his eyes remaining downcast save for the occasional glance at Ayala. He admitted a certain feeling of absurd unfamiliarity crept into his consciousness each time she caught his attention, as foolish as this sounded. He had carried out countless acts of tearful disgrace and shocking violence in her name and stood idly by as entire cities and populations were cruelly altered to better serve her mood yet he felt as though he no longer recognised the women.

Her smile did not seem forced- Indeed welcoming and genuinely caring. Such true emotions had never made themselves apparent before and Gregory simply could not accept such a fundamental change of heart. Neither did he feel so sure of himself as to dare make such accusation public, not that there existed an outlet for such concern. At such a stage he simply remained silent- Not entirely sure of what he pondered but unwilling to dismiss it with the ease he had dismissed acts carried out in her name by his own hand.
Treznor
29-03-2005, 21:09
Grant wipes at his brow, clearly exhausted from the long trek up the stairs. He stoutly ignores the fact that Catherine sits next to him without so much as a hint of exertion on her fair cheeks. "Ah, well Madam." He pauses for breath. "If you'll excuse me, I'm afraid I've spent far too much time behind a desk than is good for me of late." He wheezes for a moment. "I am here to represent the Empire of Treznor for financial and commercial interests."

How odd. Why doesn't she offer me a glass of water? Or better, a sip of brandy?

"My assistant here is armed with all the necessary details." He waves a hand idly in Catherine's direction.

Fortunately, Catherine has worked for the Ambassador long enough that she knows her cue when she sees it. "Madam President, the Empire is interested in investing in the Shin-Ra Corporation. We're looking at seed money in the order of fifty million gold dubloons with an eye toward trade for industrial and military goods. We would maintain status as a relatively minor partner, allowing you to manage your business as you see fit so long as it provides adequate returns for us. You'll have an influx of capital and we'll get investment returns. Your trade secrets will belong to you, but we're interested in any improvements you have with regard to material resources."

She reaches into her portfolio and pulls out a large manilla folder. "This contains the information we've gathered so far, along with our proposals to exploit the potential you've displayed. We hope to use this as a starting point for negotiations on a full-fledged treaty, to include rights and guarantees for both parties."
The City of Midgar
15-05-2005, 22:08
Ayala shifted her gaze to Gregory, and then back to the folder held aloft, narrowing her eyes suitably to convey her order. Almost stuttering forward the stout executive graciously relieved the Treznor delegate of the portfolio and handed it to Ayala, doing so with such urgency and haste as to almost lose balance his balance and topple forward. Not even raising her eyes to address her weary lackey, Ayala snatched the document from his sweating grasp and opened it, her gaze perusing the myriad pages within.

“Your offer is enticing, Mister Grant.” She began, “Though I’m not entirely sure such investment of capital is desperately required by my Corporation. I don’t see so easily what’s in this for you? Our stockholders continue to make gains each year and our products, as well as services are rapidly increasing in their footing in nations such as Iraqstan. We’re nearing completion of our new headquarters in Sirithilia in fact, marking a great expansion of our ability to provide products outside the Territories.”

She continued this monologue, though her eyes had not yet risen from the pages upon her desk. “Yet such a tantalising market as Treznor would hand the Shin-Ra Corporation a lucrative foothold in an economy which itself holds connections to other markets we cannot currently reach.”

She stood, and then gestured to the window behind. “But for a moment, I ask what you think of this techno-metropolis? A company is only as great as its base and the entirety of Midgar itself was planned, constructed and decorated by the Shin-Ra. Why does this appeal to you so? The cynic within me believes you simply seek to utilise your considerable financial clout to quash a competitor whom cannot compete on your terms. What can you say to convince me otherwise?”

At this moment, the group were joined by a remarkably plain woman, pushing a small polished trolley on which atop sat a selection of appetisers and refreshments in the form of chilled water, and other beverages. Pausing before the Treznor delegation she busied herself sating their needs, whilst Gregory once more leapt into the fray to provide Ayala with whatever she desired as a whim at that moment.

“However we neither have to reach a decision now, or imminently. There is much to see of this city Mister Grant, and you’ve surely many questions, which I’ll be happy to answer whenever you care to ask them.”
Treznor
15-05-2005, 23:02
Catherine and Charles exchange worried glances as Grant blusters ineffectively. How could Grant have given something away that he was never told? Or had the Ministry of Intelligence been infiltrated? Either way, their jobs suddenly became much more difficult.

"Madame, I assure you that the Empire has no such goal!" Grant objects loudly. "We're here on legitimate business to invest and seek mutually beneficial opportunities! This is in no way a challenge to your sovereign rights or business acumen!"

Catherine stands. "I think perhaps we're all being a trifle hasty here. As the Ambassador says, we have no ill-will toward you. We simply recognise an opportunity when we see it. But we've had a long trip, and our comrade here is feeling unwell. Perhaps we can continue this conversation tomorrow."