The reactor was nearly silent. The only noise that could be heard was the faint hum of the machines which regulated the flow of Mako throughout the labyrinth of pipes and reservoirs. In the distance, the echo of footsteps could be heard as the night watchman wandered to and fro along the metal catwalks, the heels of his shoes clicking out a song of boredom. Deep below the mesh of pipes and machinery, the Mako stewed and flowed, shining a dull, dark green down at the bottom of the reactor. Every so often, small bubbles would rise to the top and pop without making a sound. Everything seemed normal, until, deep within the fluid, a current had formed.
       It spun and spun till small distortions were present upon the surface of the Mako pool. It grew tighter and faster. Now the bubbles that would rise and pop noiselessly had disappeared. All the air and fumes were drawn to the epicenter of the current, if it could still be called a current. It now looked more like a whirlpool. It was as if an unseen force had stuck its finger into the Mako and spun it around, in much the same way a child will spin their straw in a glass of milk.
       The dark green fluid now began to change. In the middle of the whirlpool, the mako shone a bright green, even in the deepest part of the reactor, where no light reached. The bright light came from within the Mako itself. Brighter and brighter it grew, until the whirlpool could no longer be seen. Instead there was an oddly shaped pillar of light emanating from the middle of the giant Mako reservoir.
       The light had begun to shine up to the surface of the Mako, casting shadows along the walls of the reactor. Some men working in the reactor ran along the catwalks to try to get a better look at what was happening. Their eyes shot back and forth between the bright light beneath them and the twisted shadows were surrounding them.
       "Jenkins!" the heavier man yelled at the other, a man wearing large round glasses over his rather small nose. "Get Shinra on the phone and figure out wha--"
       Before he finished his sentence, the light faded away. But along with it, every machine in the plant died. The machines that regulated the flow of Mako stopped their constant hum. The tiny light fixtures along the wall flickered and died. The men were left standing in complete darkness.
       Far down below them, a sound began ascending. At first the men couldn't figure out what it was and they turned their ears toward it to get a better listen. It was laughter. It was a deep laughter. The men quickly recoiled their heads.
       "…What the hell?"
       The men looked around as best they could. A low rumble could be heard and the men swung their heads around trying to find its origin, only to be fooled by the echo which bounced from wall to wall.
       Then below them a tiny red dot appeared. They stared at it as it grew. In a second, their hands had become visible due to the light from the now decently sized dot.
       "Fire!"
       But before any one could move, there was an eruption of flame. The man with the small nose and large round glasses stared down and began to cry. It reminded him of those models of volcanoes that everyone made for their school science project.
       He didn't feel any pain. Just as the flames hit him, the reactor itself overloaded. The shock of the explosion killed him before the flames could.

*****

       Like clockwork, that dream of Eric Gerhard came to him once more.
       Michael Reeve had this dream every year, once a year, and always on the night before the anniversary of Gerhard's death; the dream was always a perfect recollection of that fateful day in Gongaga. Back then, Reeve, along with Gerhard and Tseng, was a Turk. They weren't yet affiliated with Shinra in those days; rather, their reputation was as the best of the best bounty hunters and freelance thugs for hire. Their crisp black suits were feared in many parts of the world, mostly the Eastern Continent, which they called home.
       This particular job involved a gambler who was late paying his debts. The three Turks had tracked him to the wilds of Gongaga when they were ambushed by a group of the gambler's bodyguards. Most of them they took out easily save for one who slashed at Gerhard with his saber before making a run back to his master. Tseng immediately took off after the attacker, while Reeve attended to the fallen Gerhard.
       Reeve, just 24 at the time, was startled when Gerhard waved his hand away, refusing any first aid that the young Turk planned to give him. With much effort, the fair-haired Turk leader pulled himself up on his elbows, and dragged over to the nearest tree. As Gerhard lay against the trunk, Reeve stared down at the trail of blood that was left.
       "Are you sure you'll be all right?"
       Gerhard's blue eyes flashed. "Hell no. My time is up… I think we both know that. There's nothing either of us could do… especially considering that we're out in the middle of nowhere."
       Anger rose up in Reeve and, bending down before Gerhard, he retorted, "Don't dare talk like that." Reeve took off his black jacket, and, using what little first aid knowledge he had, attempted to stop the flow of blood from his boss' chest. Gerhard lowered his head for a brief second, then muttered, "Listen… I want you to do something for me…"
       Reeve turned his attention away from the wound and looked into Gerhard's face-- but finding it very hard to read anything specific.
       From beneath his shirt, Gerhard drew forth a small, arrowhead-shaped crystal strung on a chain of fine mythrill. He took it from around his neck, and handed it to Reeve.
       "Take this, and keep it well."
       Reeve was startled. "But isn't that a heirloom in your family? I couldn't possibly take it."
       "Michael… you and I both know that I have no more family. You and Tseng are my family… you especially. You've been a brother to me, and I only wish I could've done more. The future of the Turks are in your hands now… and I wouldn't have had it any other way."
       With that, a gasp rose up in him, and his muscles grew limp. Reeve took his hands from Gerhard's chest and set two fingers up against his leader's neck. No pulse.
       Saying nothing, Reeve took the crystal necklace from Gerhard's limp hand and fastened it around his own neck. It was at that moment that Tseng came back-- and an explosion sounded.

       Reeve awoke with a start. He was in his office, and had been working late until he dozed off… and had the dream. He knew at that moment that something wasn't right. For one thing, he didn't remember an explosion occurring in Gongaga all those years ago.
       Reeve didn't need to look around for the source of the noise; the light, bright as day, was streaming from his window, from the direction of Reactor #1. A strong stench of burning Mako was in the air, and even penetrated the pollution-proofed offices of Shinra. He stood staring at the destruction for a few minutes, then picked up the phone and started making calls: to Mayor Domino, to Urban Maintenance, to the fire department, and to many others. He also fielded a few calls, including one from President Shinra, and another from Heidegger. It was not until an hour and a half later that Reeve was finally able to hang up the phone. He swore under his breath and stared out at the destruction outside. Reactor #1 had a complete meltdown, and remains of it were still smoldering. The smoke that emanated from the site wouldn't disappear for two weeks after the explosion. Reeve sank back into his chair and shook his head. From the way things were going now, it looked like the trip to Gongaga he was to take with Tseng that next day would have to wait… and that was the last thing he wanted. Gerhard's memory must be honored, he thought.
       Reeve loosened his red silk tie and undid the button on his shirt collar; from beneath them, he carefully drew forth the crystal that Gerhard had bequeathed him. He clutched it tightly against his chest and closed his eyes in meditation. Meditation turned to drowsiness, and he was soon, once more, fast asleep.

*****

       Rubble lay about him everywhere. There were faint cries for help coming from the buildings around where the reactor once stood. Smoke whirled and spiraled into the night sky. Loud popping noises could be heard as explosions still rocked the lower levels of the reactor.
       Amongst it all, a figure stood tall. His body stood out against the bright flames. They didn't seem to touch him. Instead, they danced over his large frame. His head as tilted upward toward the sky, and his eyes were closed.
       Thoughts flooded into his mind: images of battles and deaths. Thoughts of fire, wind, water, and ice. A deep voice spoke to him under it all.
       Suddenly his head snapped down, and the images stopped. Like the wind, he bounded out of the fire in one leap and landed in the street. Even though his build was large, he moved as light and as agile as an acrobat. Quickly, he ducked into a nearby corner as a fire truck pulled up.
       Inside the alley, a rat scurried by his bare foot. He quickly stomped on the back of its neck, and there was a quiet crunch. The rat lay motionless. Looking down at the fallen beast, a small smile crept upon the figure's face. He stared at it a moment longer before turning his head to his surroundings. Across the alley was a dumpster that smelled so bad, even flies were appalled by it. Just underneath it lay a bloody shoe. Scanning further down the alley, his cold blue eyes came upon the back door of an item shop.
       The wooden door splintered as it was kicked in. The figure walked in and rummaged around. An old pair of black boots lay on a table; their toes were covered with steel, and the color ran up to the shin. Also, under a display case there were a black work shirt and pants. They were marked as being the latest fashion from the Upper Plate. They fit tightly, but they would work. Then, hanging on a coat rack behind the door was a full length cloak. It seemed rather tattered; its ends were a bit frayed and it was a faded black, unlike the stark and solid black that was the color of the shirt and pants. Still, the cloak had many spaces and pockets for whatever needed to be carried and a hood for when the weather was bad. It would do.
       "Don't make a move buddy!" The voice came from behind him. He felt something in small of his back, like a sharp pin. Focusing on the window, the tall man was able to make out the reflection of a bent over old man holding what looked like a rather sturdy Scimitar in his hand. Obviously he was the owner of the shop.
       "Just 'cause that reactor done blown up, don't mean my store is up for grabs you god damned--"
       Before he could finish, the tall man turned suddenly and grabbed the handle of the Scimitar. The old man's eyes bulged in surprise as he was pulled forward by his own weapon. The tall man's free hand gripped the old man's neck and lifted him into the air. The Scimitar fell and rattled on the ground.
       "Ack….no…" The old man's face went red, then purple; then all color seemed to drain from it. With a thud, the body hit the dusty wooden floor. Reaching down, the tall man picked up the scimitar and put it under the cloak.
       The figure turned and went out the door. He walked past the bloody shoe, and past the dead rat. Upon reaching the street he looked up to the skyline and stared at the large building in the center of town. It stood out, emblazoned with a giant red square logo.
       His eyes seemed to look straight at the building but in truth, he wasn't even looking at it. The images had come back to his head, but there were less of them. Instead, the deep voices were now stronger. His hands went up to his head and he clenched his teeth.
       "Yes…I will come. Show me the way."

       He closed his eyes and stretched out his hands. Slowly a breeze picked up. It whipped the hair that lay across his brow and whirled the tattered ends of his cloak. It grew stronger and stronger still, until his feet lifted off the ground. In one strong gust, he was lifted into the night sky.

---

Completed January 2002 | Copyright 2002, Dravven and Reeve.

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