Chapter Text
Cloud, at the tender age of ten, wasn’t quite sure what was going on inside this bright green pit of light. He’d slipped off the mountain and then he was… here, wherever here was at the moment. Not that he had to spend it alone. An older blond man with spiky hair was sneering at someone who looked suspiciously like General Sephiroth. If General Sephiroth had rapidly aged for no reason and developed an attitude problem borrowed straight from Midgar’s resident rock scene.
“No.” Spiky sliced his hand through the air. “We’re not doing this again.”
“But Cloud-” Sephiroth’s lookalike was insisting. Not quite begging. More like Cloud himself when his mother put her foot down on having another sweet.
“No buts! How many times has this happened and none of us got what we wanted?” Spiky was demanding. How many times had what happened? Sounded like bad news.
The lookalike frowned. “Last time was so much closer to an ideal outcome.” Last time with what?
“Killing everyone on the planet because your mother didn’t hug you enough is not an ideal outcome,” Spiky barked. Okay, that really didn’t sound good. “Of all the people to kill when you snapped, why couldn’t you have waited until Shinra had their next executive meeting? All of your life’s problems would’ve been gone in ten seconds of effort and restraint. But you just couldn’t wait.” When had this happened? It wasn’t in any news Cloud had heard about and he knew just about everything about Sephiroth. Not that he'd ever tell anyone.
The lookalike sighed theatrically. “Ten seconds, Cloud? Do you really think I would need such a long period of time to sluice through them?”
“I don’t know, it took you another five years to finally get around to killing the old bastard who ran the place. Consistently. Every single time we’ve rehashed this,” Spiky spat through gritted teeth. “That’s it. Change of plans. Oi, you!”
Cloud jumped and the blond with glowing eyes stared directly at him. “Me?”
“Yeah, you,” Spiky grunted. “Do you wanna kick this guy’s ass?” Spiky gestured over his shoulder at the sulking Sephiroth lookalike.
Cloud bit his lip. “Why?” Why would anyone want to attack Sephiroth?
“So you can go back to Tifa and the rest of her punk friends and tell them how you suplexed General Sephiroth through his desk,” Spiky nodded sharply. “Why be in SOLDIER when you can beat the shit out of the best of them?”
Cloud took precisely seven seconds to contemplate the sheer awesomeness of that statement. “Why are we suplexing him?” Cloud asked, watching the Sephiroth lookalike fold his arms and frown.
“Because none of his idiot friends will before they skip off to have existential crises, leaving him to go completely insane on his own.” Spiky pumped a fist. “We’re suplexing him for his own good and for the good of his future outcomes.” Right. If Spiky said so.
“Maybe I shouldn’t have had you kill the Arbiters,” Sephiroth’s lookalike muttered with what might’ve been concern. “I wasn’t expecting this to happen.”
Cloud glanced between them, feeling more than slightly out of his depth. “So… we’re doing this to help him?” Cloud pointed at the lookalike who was now examining a gloved hand in disinterest.
“Yeah, something like that.” Spiky shrugged earnestly. “Him and a lot of other people. There are times where people need a good ass kicking to get them back on speaking terms with reality.” Weird. Cloud’s mother used to say that about the people around town.
Cloud thought for a moment longer. Spiky seemed genuine enough… if extremely irritable. “Okay. I’ll help.” Even if Cloud didn’t know how exactly he was helping. Spiky looked relieved at any rate.
“I disagree with that assessment,” the lookalike sneered.
“Yeah, well, it’s two against one, you’re overruled. Let’s mosey.”
And Cloud felt himself fade away into a sea of knowledge where Nibelheim burned, a meteor fell from the sky and Shinra’s best and brightest slowly went mad.
Don’t worry, we’ve got this covered. This time we’ll make sure he torches the right people.
Cloud was missing. Tifa’s heart sped up.
“I saw him go over the edge!” Johnny shouted. Over the edge… where all the mako was in the ravine below. They weren’t meant to go anywhere near the mountain and here they were… with Cloud… Cloud…
“Someone, get help!” Tifa peeked over and… there was no trace of Cloud. Only a rippling pool of glowing green below them. “Oh no no no no, Cloud!” Tifa called out and there was no reply. Nothing but the gentle bubble of the pools… then… movement.
Before her eyes, the mako erupted, a thin arm piercing the surface, latching onto the edge of the pool and wrenching itself out. Another arm followed. Together they held onto the edge and heaved. With a wrench Cloud Strife emerged from the sea of green sputtering, wheezing and hacking out volumes of the poison. Flopping onto the bank like a fish, Cloud gagged and coughed.
Tifa stared. “Cloud?” Or was it a monster that looked like Cloud? Playing tricks of them? But even the monsters didn’t like large amounts of mako… “CLOUD!”
Cloud was still coughing, but he turned to look up and Tifa stared. Stared as glowing eyes gleamed back at her. “Tifa?” He gasped across the gap between them. “What… what happened?”
“Cloud, are you okay!? You fell off the edge!” Tifa yelled back and behind her she could hear the voices and footsteps of the approaching cavalry.
“Tifa,” Cloud slurred, “what year is it?”
And Tifa felt her heart sink as Cloud’s head planted backwards into the moisture logged dirt bank.
Sephiroth wasn’t going to pretend he was excited for the disciplinary action of a cadet a mere week into training. It was never a good sign. It was even less of a good sign when his booted toes crossed the conference room’s threshold to be met with Director Lazard, Genesis, Angeal, Tseng and Third Class Kunsel whose still helmeted face was twisted in a wince.
Sephiroth briefly entertained turning on his heel and immediately leaving the men to their fate. Instead, withholding a sigh, he took a seat and clasped his hands. No, never a good thing.
“Gentlemen, I was under the impression that this is a disciplinary hearing for one of our cadets,” Sephiroth began. “Is there any particular reason for why there are so many of us present for what is meant to be a single problematic student?” Or, more oddly, why Tseng of the Turks had the exact same facial expression as Kunsel. Or why Angeal, Genesis and Lazard had a similar facial expression. Or why all of them writhed uncomfortably when the question had been asked in all innocence. Sephiroth had the distinct feeling he was missing out on a crucial detail.
“Ah, sir,” Kunsel began, “maybe we should show you the footage first and let you see for yourself. This was recorded in the cadet cafeteria and well…” Kunsel shrugged and obligingly pressed the play button and Sephiroth’s eyes immediately honed in on what should have been the most inconspicuous cadet in the room.
A tiny blond boy in cadet fatigues was shovelling down a prodigious amount of slop. That in and of itself wasn’t remarkably, but the rapidly forming ring of other serious faced cadets snaking around his seat was remarkable. Remarkable enough for Sephiroth to wonder if he’d be writing a condolence letter for the poor boy’s family.
“Oi you, blondie!” The biggest cadet shouted at the boy’s back.
“Who’s the blond cadet?” Sephiroth asked Lazard under his breath.
“Cloud Strife. He’s only fourteen,” Lazard hissed back. Not that it mattered, because the other members of the conference room were fixated with what Sephiroth theorised to be morbid horror. From Sephiroth’s count, it was twelve against one.
Strife, to Sephiroth's very nearly missed dropping of a jaw, carried on completely ignoring the threat.
“Oi, I’m talking to you!” The cadet screamed again, advancing on Strife.
“And? You’ve yet to say anything worth responding to so far. Are you going to tell me why you deserve my attention or are you going to carry on screaming at me like an imbecile?” Strife’s total apathy floored Sephiroth. Numerous emotions were in conflict, before settling on a muted awe.
“I hope this isn’t for a condolence letter,” Sephiroth murmured to the room.
“Oh, just watch,” Genesis was gleefully nodding at the screen.
“Who the fuck do you think you are?” The older cadet shrieked, his followers beginning to close ranks.
Strife hadn’t even bothered to turn around. “Not interested in your mental deficiencies, Bryant. Take it up with someone who cares.” And Sephiroth’s awe morphed into a sinking dread.
“Fuck you, always thinking you’re fucking better than everyone else!” Bryant’s fist flew and all hell broke loose.
Strife casually leaned to the side, sliding from his seat and hooking the leg of Cadet Bryant. Bryant legs were wrenched out from beneath him with a scream and he hit the ground head first. Strife’s booted foot followed Bryant’s skull to the ground with a decisive crunch. Bryant didn’t move again.
Another fist flew. This time Strife’s food tray met the attacker’s face with a solid impact and spray of blood and slop as the other boy’s nose shattered. Staggering backwards, another surged forwards to take his place.
Next, a leg, which Strife casually intercepted and wrenched at an angle that had the entire room grimacing as the snap resonated from the speakers. Its owner could only scream as Strife lifted him by that very same leg, in spite of his size, and hurled him back into the encircling ring of attackers. All of whom failed to duck appropriately as their comrade fell onto them with his full weight.
This time a weapon, a knife which… Strife caught… between two flat palms. That perked Sephiroth’s interest. “Really? A steak knife? What’s wrong with you people?” It was wrestled from the offender’s hands rammed back into the other boy’s shoulder, who likewise fell back with a cry. Brutal.
Another came in swinging and was summarily drop kicked, with Strife landing on his hands and bouncing back to his feet in an acrobatic feat that had Kunsel whistling appreciatively.
Another with a tray, but Strife gripped him with both arms, bent over backwards and slammed the other boy into Strife’s now unattended dinner. The table buckled and shattered on impact. Sephiroth contemplated the deduction from his budget to replace the table and withheld another sigh.
Three more rushed in to aid their fallen comrades, only for Strife to dive on an unwisely extended arm and flail one whole individual into the remaining two with an absolute minimum of effort. They fell to the ground with a uniform groan.
Of the twelve that had mobilised, only two remained. Two who weren’t daring to approach.
“Please tell me you two are intelligent enough to have gotten the hint,” Strife’s voice betrayed no emotion.
“Yes, yes, we’re good, sorry man!” One of them whimpered and they both fled the room, tripping over their fallen friends as they went out the main doors.
Strife casually stepped over the human and inanimate debris, retrieved another tray, filled it with more gruel and resumed eating at another empty table as if the attack had never happened. The rest of the cafeteria shuffled away from his new location. Then Strife glanced upwards at the camera and Sephiroth glimpsed glowing blue eyes and the video abruptly ended.
Sephiroth blinked and the meeting collectively released a breath. “Gentlemen. What was that?”
Tseng coughed. “It appears that Cadet Strife was the target of hazing, except they bit off rather more than what they could chew.”
There was an understatement if Sephiroth had ever witnessed one. It was more like they’d provoked the resident behemoth going about lunch and been savaged for their efforts. “And have you determined the source of the glowing eyes?”
“He had an accident four years ago near one of Nibelheim’s native mako pools,” Lazard answered. “He was rather upfront during his entry interview about tripping on a trail and falling into a pool.”
Sephiroth blinked slowly. A natural pool… that was practically pure mako. “How is he still alive after being immersed in that much mako?” The mind boggled. Usually those recovered were vegetables provided they were still breathing. Strife was a medical miracle.
“Heh, Hojo wants to know that as well,” Genesis sneered. “Don’t think he’ll get too many voluntary answers from Strife.” The immediate response would’ve been been to chew Strife out for any contact with Hojo. The less immediate response was to wonder how exactly it’d happened when Hojo rarely left his den of depravity.
“He’s been here four days and has already had a run with our illustrious head of science. Why am I not surprised?” Sephiroth wanted to groan with dismay. He truly did. As if he didn’t have enough paperwork. How many complaints were going to be filed for the brawl alone?
Angeal shifted. “It’s more than that, Sephiroth. He ran into Hojo in the corridors and almost tore the professor’s arm clean off when Hojo reached out to stop him from leaving.” While a serious faced person, usually, Angeal was unusually grim. And that meant more paperwork and politics involving people who had little to no acumen with politics. And Strife, while clearly deficient in the socialisation department, didn’t deserve the affliction of a Hojo who’d had his precious ego battered by a small child with a predication for grievous bodily harm with a body.
“You’re leaving out the best part. He threatened to shove it straight back up the good professor if he didn’t “piss off” and mind his own business,” Genesis fairly howled with laughter. “What an inspiration. Fourteen years old and already picking fights with the executives.” Fourteen years old and had already attracted the ire and interest of Hojo of all people.
Sephiroth fought the urge to sink his head into his hands. Why didn’t he refuse? Why didn’t he walk straight back to his office for another coffee? Why? Why did this have to happen not even a week in? Why now when he already had a mountain of logistics paperwork to resolve with the various suppliers?
“And what do you want me to do about it?” Sephiroth asked and the room shuffled uncomfortably. This was Lazard’s area, not his and godforbid company politics if the assault of an executive somehow became an issue. If Strife used ten assailants to wax the cafeteria’s floor without so much of a blink, Sephiroth strongly doubted that he was going to have any sort of valuable impact. Usually the other cadets initiated their own pecking order, but it seemed like Strife thought the very concept itself was beneath him and after that display Sephiroth honestly couldn’t blame him. If one was capable of using a substantial part of their class for janitorial purposes then clearly the class wasn’t worth dealing with in any serious capacity.
“I say give him a medal,” Genesis smirked. He would say that, knowing Strife was going to end up with Hojo’s personal attention for the exemplary act of public service he’d performed for the company. Sephiroth rather more regretted not being there to see it himself. A grown man having his arm snapped by a child. Truly an example for them all.
“He needs to be hidden from Hojo before there’s a retaliation,” Angeal added, glaring at Genesis. Angeal at least was attempting to be responsible even if he was conspicuous in his silence. Obliterating a class worth of fellow students wasn’t the best of first impressions to make and Sephiroth didn’t doubt Angeal having a frosty reception to Strife. Even if Strife’s assailants thoroughly earned what happened to them.
“We’ll be keeping an eye on him for operational reasons,” Tseng offered without a word of useful advice. Ah yes, company speak for “we’ll observe him just in case he attempts to assassinate the president but until then he’s not really our problem”. It was nice of Tseng to be so upfront for once in his career.
“I’d like to be of more assistance, this is unprecedented in our department,” Lazard nodded to Sephiroth. “Strife was defending himself on both occasions, even if the force he’s using is a tad extreme… but at the same time he’s a child and being overly harsh here might cause resentment over a simple misunderstanding.” Which gave Sephiroth precisely zero useful advice for how to deal with Strife. Standard Lazard doublespeak for “sorry, General, you’re on your own, godspeed, the paperwork is up to you” was exactly what Sephiroth didn’t want to hear. Ever. In any capacity for any part of his employment with Shinra.
Kunsel shrugged. “General, I think you need to have a word with the kid. I don’t know what his deal is, but he needs a friendly word of advice before he upsets more than Hojo.” Naturally Kunsel was the only one present who had even a remotely workable suggestion. Yes, Sephiroth was clearly going to have a friendly chat with the cadet, but what on earth was he going to say to the boy? Cadet Strife, in future if you are to maim the the Head of the Science Department, would you be so kind as to gazette SOLDIER’s main offices with the information so every member can arrange a suitable viewing location for the event? Advance notice of at least one month prior to the event's scheduled occurrence would be greatly appreciated by the Department. Hmmm, he’d have to be less obvious about it.
Sephiroth stood, doing his best not to weep at the mountain of paperwork slathering, encroaching, slowly consuming his desk inch by inch. “I’ll arrange a meeting with Cadet Strife to pass on advice on how to adequately conduct himself while he maintains employment prospects with us.”
And hopefully, when it went horribly wrong and Strife maimed an instructor for ill advised comments, Sephiroth could bless someone else with the problem. Genesis sounded suspiciously entertained by Strife’s conduct, perhaps he’d like to oversee Strife’s disciplinary action himself since he had so much free time.