Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

At first, there’s nothing.

Then, between one millisecond of oblivion and the next - though how did one measure the passage of time when it didn’t seem to exist at all?- he’s thrust into existence . 

All at once, there’s freezing mud seeping through the clothes at his back and sticking unpleasantly to one side of his face, a clamor of muffled voices passing above and around him, the rumble of a train shakes the ground and drowns out all other sounds until it passes. A drop of liquid (he hopes it’s water) falls onto his cheek, another drips down his forehead. 

His body prickles with phantom echoes of pain, like he’d been grievously wounded in one instant and healed in the next, his nerves still transmitting fragments of those panicked impulses of agony, injuries wiped away so quickly his body hasn’t yet realized he’s been healed.

There’s an afterimage of blue-green light flickering on the backs of his closed eyelids, like it’s been seared into his retinas, and he cautiously blinks his eyes open. There’s no sign of that bluish light, just the black night sky dotted with stars. Though the stars look… strange. They look closer to the earth than stars should be, and some of them blink and flicker, and some are arranged in geometrical patterns, and some are red or blue or green. Okay, those are definitely not stars.

He stares up uncomprehendingly, unable to make sense of what he’s looking at. It looks almost like a piece of machinery, only one that’s so large it spans the entire sky above him, which shouldn’t be possible. 

His mind feels fuzzy and slow, and he’s too exhausted to spend any more time trying to wrestle with the logistics of his current reality, so he gives up on trying to figure out what’s wrong with the sky, instead deciding to undertake a more manageable task: standing up.

He rolls slowly onto his side, then his front, and realizes with dismay that his body feels as heavy and sluggish as his mind, his limbs uncooperative and rubbery. It almost feels like they don’t belong to him, like when your legs fall asleep after sitting for too long and there’s that strange sensation of your limbs obeying your mind without any of the usual sensation of movement. It’s an odd disconnect, and it takes him an embarrassingly long time to get his arms underneath him and push himself up into a sitting position.

He’s in the middle of a narrow, winding street lined with rundown buildings that look cobbled together, the lighting flickering and uneven. There’s people stepping around him, some giving him dirty looks for sitting in the middle of the walkway, but most don’t spare him a glance. 

He manages to struggle to his feet using a nearby piece of scrap metal as a makeshift cane, the thick-soled boots that he’s wearing squelching unpleasantly against the wet ground. His clothing is heavy and cold with the same slimy mud, and for some reason he’s wearing a bastardized hybrid of a tanktop and a turtleneck sweater, but those are problems for later. Right now, he has to figure out where the hell he is. The last thing he remembers doing was choking down a questionable meal and passing out in his narrow bed in his dorm room. 

The more he takes in his surroundings, the more certain he is that this dingy alleyway is nowhere near his campus, let alone in the same city. The buildings are short and appear at least a few decades removed from modern, there’s a dull mechanical rumble in the distance, and the air has a smoky tang of pollution that’s stronger than he’s ever noticed before. There’s a flashing neon sign that catches his eye a few buildings down, and it takes him a second to realize it’s written in Japanese. Weapons. Another sign, this one hand-painted: Repair Shop. 

He rubs his eyes, blinks a few times, but the Japanese characters remain. What the…? This is definitely not the suburban American college town that he fell asleep in. 

A distant clatter draws closer and closer until it’s a roar shaking the ground, drowning out all other sound, and then it passes. A train. A woman laughs loudly, then shouts gleefully at a man down the street. “Hey, wait up!” She's speaking Japanese.  

A huge rat scurries between his feet, its fur matted and slick with muck. He staggers back in disgust, nearly losing his balance until his back hits cold stone and rough wood. He sighs, frustration and a muted panic swirling through him, and tips his head back to rest against the wall behind him. He stares blankly upwards, gaze focusing once more on the strange sight above him. It’s so familiar, so reminiscent of something, like a word balanced at the tip of his tongue, recognition dancing just out of reach in the shadowy recesses of his mind.

One of those lights high above flickers once, twice. 

Oh… 

Wait. 

No, it can’t be.

Just as a slow, creeping realization dawns on him, a robotic female voice rings out, so loud and close it’s like there’s someone speaking right into his ear.

[System activated. Welcome to Midgar! The System hopes you enjoy your experience.]

…………………………

Eight Hours Earlier

…………………………

Y/n closed their laptop with perhaps a slight excess of force, a dull headache throbbing at their temples. They rubbed their blurry eyes, still seeing miscellaneous Japanese Kanji swimming in front of their eyes after hours of studying for the final exam that would take place the next morning. They’d procrastinated studying for weeks now, busy with choreographing routines for their dance class, writing essays for Theology, and taking the long naps that at this point were the only thing keeping them going. 

They stood and opened the small fridge crammed between their desk and their roommate’s bed, wincing at the meager, probably expired contents. They supposed there was enough time to head to the dining hall for some real food, but…

Their eyes were drawn to the PS5 on their bedside table. As an early Christmas gift to themself, y/n had bought Final Fantasy VII Remake earlier that week, and they hadn’t had a chance to play it yet. They knew they should prioritize eating real food instead of booting up the game, but what was the worst that could happen?

Soon, they were entirely immersed in the game, learning to work the controls and fascinated by the storyline. They saved the game and set down their controller after successfully blowing up Mako Reactor 1 with Avalanche.

Y/n deliberated for a moment whether to go to bed or eat a late dinner, and reluctantly decided to have a quick bite to eat. Their pathetic meal tasted vaguely of sadness and rot, and they hastily brushed their teeth to scrub the taste from their tongue before falling into bed, beyond exhausted. 

They knew they should sleep now, but the dread of that impending Japanese exam was almost too much to bear, so instead they pulled out their phone and got to scrolling on TikTok, watching edit after edit of Cloud Strife. They’d never heard of Final Fantasy before last week, and then all of a sudden their entire For You page seemed to be filled with edits of the game. 

As they watched, their eyelids grew heavier and heavier until they were sleeping soundly, a video of Cloud swinging his sword set to an upbeat song playing on loop. 

It had been a normal day like any other. And yet, tomorrow morning never came. 

It turned out that their dinner had indeed been expired- fatally so. 

Y/n had no idea that the next time they awoke would be in a different body, a different world, a different life, all thanks to the mysterious workings of fate, also known as TikTok’s For You page.

Chapter Text

[System activated. Welcome to Midgar! The System hopes you enjoy your experience.]

He startles, turning his head so fast his neck cramps painfully, but is met with empty air, the street vacant save for a scruffy looking cat halfheartedly pawing at a heap of trash.

The robotic, dispassionate voice speaks again, entirely disembodied. [Bound Role: Zack Fair, SOLDIER First Class. Starting Points: 100.]

“Uh, are you Siri?” he tries, voice cracking and hoarse with disuse. There’s no response, but he’s now more preoccupied with the unnerving experience of hearing an entirely unfamiliar voice straight from his own mouth. 

“Hello?” he calls. There’s a pause, and then the System speaks again.

[Hello, Zack. As you progress, please ensure that the score does not fall below zero to avoid receiving punishment.]

He jumps again at the voice practically shouting right into his ear.

“Can you please turn the volume down?” He snaps in that new, strange voice.

[… Yes. As I was saying,] the System continues, its voice somehow managing to bely a hint of irritation while remaining completely monotone. [If the score falls below zero, you will be deported back to your original world.]

The voice is lower in volume by perhaps half a decibel, and he isn’t sure if he should be grateful for the System’s acquiescence or annoyed by its pettiness.

“Wait- my original world? Did I- did I die?”

[Yes.] the System intones rather cheerfully. 

“So, if I fail to gain these points, I die…again? How do I earn points, then?”

[Correct. You must complete Objectives assigned by the System to earn points, and avoid acting out of character, which will result in point deductions.]

“Out of character? How do I know if I’m acting out of character? I don’t even know who I’m supposed to be!”

[Bound role: Zack Fair, SOLDIER First Class.] the System repeats.

“You said that already. I don’t know who that is- I’m in the Final Fantasy VII game, right?” It’s ludicrous, impossible, and yet there is no other explanation for where he’s found himself, with the plate so clearly visible overhead and the way his body doesn’t feel like his own. He supposes it could all be a bizarre dream, but he doubts his mind could conjure a scenario with this level of detail. Still, he tries pinching himself anyways, and is disappointed to find himself in the same situation, now with a sore arm to boot. (He notices with detached appreciation that said arm is quite well muscled, which is nice.)

[Correct.]

Well, that’s great. He remembers that he’d only played a few hours of the game, enough to understand the bare minimum of worldbuilding, but he’d only encountered a few characters. He has no idea who this Zack person is, much less how he’s supposed to convincingly become him. (He wonders distantly, is he possessing Zack? Is Zack going to wake up and fight him for control of his body? Or has Zack been properly evicted and now it’s just him in here? It seems like the latter, but he can’t be sure.)

A ragtag group of children runs past, brandishing crude wooden swords and chattering noisily, reminding him of yet another issue: the language spoken here is Japanese. 

He is- was , he realizes- a Japanese major in university, so his Japanese is decent, but people are going to be able to tell right away that he isn’t a native speaker, and his reading capabilities are poor at best. Maybe this Zack dude was the strong, silent type, and he can get away with speaking as little as possible. 

“Hey, System, by any chance do you have access to Google Translate?” he asks hopefully.

[No.] The System replies haughtily. 

“Fine,” he mutters. Well, wasn’t that a cruel irony. He’d bought the Final Fantasy game to procrastinate studying for his Japanese exam, and on the day he was meant to take the exam he ended up dead and is now reborn in a world where he has to speak Japanese to survive. He thinks now that he would rather have taken the final. 

“Wait, how did I even die?” he asks curiously. He supposes it doesn’t matter now, but he doesn’t think he’d been doing anything particularly perilous.

A passerby gives him an odd look and he realizes that he probably looks insane: covered in filth, wearing an ugly knitted tank top, and engaging in conversation with himself. Oh well, it’s not like he can fall much farther below rock bottom, anyways.

The System replies, [According to my records, you consumed a deadly concoction of expired foods, including strawberries, microwaved rice, and chicken breast.]

Huh. “ That’s what killed me?” he asks incredulously. “No way- I’ve been eating that all semester and I’ve been just fine.”

[Evidently not.]

Well, damn. “Don’t be rude,” he mutters.

The System doesn’t deign to reply. 

…………………………

Zack loiters there, wallowing in self pity until the elderly owner of the house he’s been leaning on opens a window above him and begins to whack him on the head with a broom. 

He staggers away down the street, aimlessly choosing a direction in which to wander. His new body seems to be several inches taller than he’s accustomed to being, and it feels like this body is usually quite strong, though whatever traumas it must’ve recently endured seems to have neutralized that strength, leaving behind an all encompassing weakness that weighs heavily on his shoulders. He can only guess at what happened to Zack before he took over the poor guy’s body (really, did this count as demonic possession? What would happen if someone performed an exorcism on him? Did exorcisms even exist in this universe? Okay, maybe he was getting ahead of himself), but it felt like he’d been hit by a bus and then gone for a dip in a vat of acid. 

Man, whatever this Zack guy had gotten mixed up in is something that he needs to be sure to avoid at all costs. Thankfully, his body seems completely uninjured now, though his brain is apparently taking its time catching up with that fact. There’s still tingling pains shooting down his limbs at random intervals, and his coordination is utterly shot, leaving him stumbling down the street like a drunkard. 

“Mako junkie,” a woman spits at him, taking a few steps away from him and tugging her young son behind her.

Yikes, just how bad does he look?

He grimaces apologetically at her and continues on until he finds a grimy window to peer into, scrutinizing his new reflection carefully. He thinks that that woman had been unnecessarily harsh, because he honestly looks pretty hot. Sure, the face- his face- looking back at him from the glass looks rather disheveled and dazed, but he feels like the universe has cut him a break. He looks young, with spiky black hair, and it’s hard to tell in the murky reflection, but he thinks his eyes are blue.

Yeah, he definitely doesn’t remember seeing Zack- seeing himself- in the short time that he’d played the game. Maybe he’s just a random side character? He hopes so, or else it’s going to be hard to convincingly become him. Although maybe dying made him just a little bit insane, because he definitely doesn’t have his priorities straight- instead of strategizing how he can find out more about who he’s supposed to be, he finds himself thinking that his luck isn’t all that bad. Sure, he died and all, but at least the guy he possessed is, in his unbiased opinion, a solid nine out of ten, even while dirty and unkempt. 

Another cat-sized rat scuttles over his feet, eliciting a high-pitched shriek and interrupting his ogling of his own reflection. Whoops. What had he been doing again?

Oh, right. He resumes his wandering in a random direction, but the narrow streets and ramshackle buildings appear as unfamiliar as ever. 

“System, where am I, anyways?”

[The Sector Five slums.] 

Great. He’s pretty sure that the protagonists of the game are based out of Sector Seven, and he has no idea how to get there from here. 

“Actually, what am I supposed to be doing right now?”

The System chimes pleasantly. [Objective initiated: Obtain Plot Armor: Establish Proximity to Main Characters. ]  

Okay, cool. It sounds like he’s supposed to go to Sector Seven and find Cloud and the members of Avalanche. He’s not sure how to go about doing that, but it’s nice to have a goal in mind. 

He’s making his way over to a group of hopefully somewhat friendly-looking people to ask for directions when there’s a distant boom, echoing faintly from somewhere high above. From one of the plates. The sound is muffled and distant, so he thinks he might’ve imagined it, but a few other people look up as well, a low murmur starting up and rising in pitch and volume as more people catch on and begin to panic.

Someone shouts something about “-the reactor!” and Zack glances up sharply.

Could the explosion have been Avalanche blowing up the Sector One Mako reactor? He hadn’t been sure of at what point in the timeline he’d appeared in this world, but now he’s starting to think that he’s been dropped into the very beginning of the Final Fantasy VII game.

“System,” he mutters, trying to speak quietly enough that he won’t draw attention for talking to himself. He doesn’t really care if they think he’s insane, but he doesn’t want anyone to think that he’s speaking into an earpiece and conspiring with terrorists. Better to go unnoticed until he can find Cloud and the others and figure out what’s going on. “How do I get to Sector Seven?”

The System is silent, though the lack of response speaks for itself. Figure it out.

“Fine then,” he huffs, picking someone out of the crowd at random and marching up to them, trying to appear confident but non threatening.

“Hi,” he tries. “I’m, uh, new in town- can you point me to Sector Seven?”

The elderly man gives him a deeply suspicious once-over, and Zack grins wider, hoping it comes across friendly and innocent rather than deranged. 

He must be successful enough, and the old man sighs and gestures behind him, where Zack can see a wall looming in the distance. “The gate is that way to Sector Six. You’ll have to cross through Six and through the gate there into Seven.” 

He eyes Zack with an expression that seems to imply that he’s stupid rather than dangerous like the man had previously thought, and Zack isn’t sure whether he should be insulted or grateful. He thanks the man regardless, and heads for the gate.

…………………………

Apparently, Sector Six is home to a place known as Wall Market, which proves much more difficult to navigate than Zack could’ve ever anticipated. The winding streets are even more labyrinthine than the alleyways in Sector Five, and every way he looks he’s met with bright flashing signs and shouting shop owners, all competing for the title of loudest advertisement. It’s wonder and horror in equal measure, and most of the time he’s not entirely sure what he’s seeing in the display windows, and he doesn’t think he wants to know. 

He trudges determinedly through it all in the direction that he thinks the Sector Seven gate is, but he makes countless wrong turns and manages to accidentally piss off more than a handful of people. He ends up facing the wrong end of a knife for the second time in as many hours and depletes his meager energy reserves sprinting away as fast as his still shaky legs can carry him. 

“Finally,” he pants, chancing another glance over his shoulder and rejoicing when he can no longer see the knife wielder’s bearded face behind him in the crowd. He slows to a halt and braces his hands on his knees to catch his breath. 

It’s then that he notices he’s being watched. Most people are moving past without sparing him a glance, but there are two young women across the crowded square, both frozen like they’ve just stopped dead in their tracks to gawk at him. 

They’re wearing fancy gowns like they’re off to some sort of gala, one wearing a form-fitting scarlet number and the taller woman in a rich jewel-toned blue dress with a full skirt. The woman in red has light, ash brown ringlets and looks wholly unfamiliar, but there’s something about the tall blonde that makes Zack pause. She’s pretty, sure, but her spiky blond hair and the bluish green of her wide eyes tugs insistently at his memory. Zack can’t work out where he’s seen her before. 

Just then, the System chimes wordlessly in his ear. It’s a pleasant enough sound, so he guesses that maybe it’s supposed to signify that he’s on track for one of the System’s Objectives. Are these women main characters, then?

Zack stands there staring at the pair of girls, and they stare back at him, the three of them frozen in place, until finally the one with the red dress shakes herself disbelievingly and moves slowly, hesitantly across the square until she’s right in front of him.

Her emerald eyes are full of tears, and she’s looking at Zack like she can’t quite believe he’s real. 

“Zack? Is it really you?” she asks tremulously. 

He still doesn’t know who she is, doesn’t know how he knew her pre- body snatching, so he settles on a hesitant, “Yeah, that’s me.”

The girl covers her mouth with a shaky hand, muffling a sob. “How- I thought- What happened? I thought you were dead!” A tear slips down her cheek, and her blonde companion slowly crosses the square to join her, brow furrowed like she’s in pain.

Zack doesn’t know what to do, but maybe honesty is the best policy? Perhaps there’s a limit to how much the System will let him say, but he figures it’s better to tell as much of the truth as possible to avoid ensnaring himself in a web of lies that he won’t be able to keep track of later on. So he says, “I’m sorry, but… can you tell me your name again?”

Her jaw drops. “Zack- what? I- It’s me. Aerith. You don’t… you don’t remember me?” The pain in her voice is palpable, and he feels a stab of guilt even though he doesn’t know what else he could’ve said.

“I’m sorry,” he says again. “I… I got hurt, and now I’m having some memory problems.” Yeah, that seems like a convenient, sufficiently vague excuse.

Aerith’s face crumples, and she looks utterly crushed. “Oh,” is all she says, her voice breaking. 

The blonde woman, who’s been silent so far, is still staring at Zack, squinting as though she’s looking straight into the glaring sun.

“You look familiar,” he tells her. “Do I know you?”

She winces, one hand coming up to rub at her temple. The gesture sparks another faint flare of recognition in Zack, but it’s her- his - voice that has everything coming together.

“Yeah,” he says slowly in a low, decidedly male voice, and Zack feels his mouth fall open in shock.

“Cloud!? Why are you dressed like a girl?” And such a convincing one, at that! Zack hadn’t thought much of it while playing the game, but there’s a delicateness to Cloud’s features that lends itself well to crossdressing, apparently.

“That’s… not important.” Cloud says, his speech slow and pained like he’s struggling through the worst headache of his life. Zack remembers seeing Cloud have weird headaches and hallucinations of some guy named Sebastian or Severus or something pretentious like that, but it hadn’t been explained yet, so Zack is entirely clueless. Is this another of those episodes or is Cloud just experiencing an unfortunate migraine? 

“You… you died,” Cloud says hesitantly, though it sounds like a question, like Cloud’s own recollections of the event are just as nonexistent as Zack’s. Well, this could work in his favor.

“No, I don’t think so,” Zack replies, forcing himself to chuckle casually. He doesn’t think he’s very convincing, but Aerith and Cloud seem to be hanging on his every word, so he continues feigning nonchalance. “I thought I was done for, but I managed to pull through. Not without some fun new memory problems, though,” he adds.

Aerith shakes her head in wordless disbelief, swiping away another tear. He has a sneaking suspicion that they’d had a close relationship in the past, and it feels awful to tear that away from her, to tell her that he doesn’t remember any of it, even if it’s the truth. The System has been quiet so far, so he thinks that he must be doing a decent job coming up with plausible explanations for his odd behavior. Thanks a lot for your help, he thinks sarcastically.

The System is characteristically silent.

Cloud is still massaging his temples, though it doesn’t seem to be helping much. “We were SOLDIERs together, right?” he asks.

Zack latches onto this like it’s a lifeline. “Yes! We were.” Oh yeah, he remembers now that when he’d first woken up here, the System had told him that he was a SOLDIER First Class. Probably an important detail that he shouldn’t have forgotten, but in his defense there had been a lot going on. Come to think of it, he’s dressed nearly identically to what Cloud had worn during the beginning of the game. Maybe what he’s wearing is the uniform of a SOLDIER? That would make sense, though why this weird tank top garment would be the official SOLDIER uniform, he has no idea.

Cloud certainly isn’t dressed like a SOLDIER now, though. Zack is about to question Cloud’s current choice of fashion, since he still doesn’t understand the drastic change in aesthetic, but the blonde asks, “But where have you been? It’s been… months. I think.” He looks like he’s struggling to remember, and Zack really isn’t sure why Cloud is experiencing amnesia that rivals his own, but he’s not one to look a gift horse in the mouth.

He tries not to look too pleased at how well this situation is turning out in his favor as he replies. “Oh you know, here and there,” he says vaguely. “Recovering from… my injuries and all that.”

If Cloud and Aerith had been so sure that he’d died, he must’ve been gravely injured, perhaps even worse than he’d originally thought when he’d first transmigrated. He remembers the odd feeling that made his skin crawl when he’d first awoken in this body, an unnatural sensation that felt hard to describe. He’d been physically unharmed, but there was the lingering shock of a grievous injury that had left him numb and dazed. Just what had happened to Zack?

“Are you here on a mission?” Cloud asks. Man, this guy is just full of questions, isn’t he?

Zack shakes his head. “Ah, no. I had to, um, retire.” He’s not sure if that’s something Shinra allows SOLDIERs to do, and sure enough, the System gives a disapproving little ding but ultimately seems to let it slide. He breathes a sigh of relief when it seems like Cloud doesn’t question this, still wincing in pain from his headache. 

He decides it’s best to try to distract Cloud. “Hey, you never explained what’s up with the ballgown.”

Cloud flushes, the furrow in his brow smoothing out as his headache appears to abate. “I’m… in disguise.”

Zack raises a brow. “I can see that. You make a pretty convincing girl.”

“Shut up,” Cloud mumbles, looking like he’s ready to walk away from the conversation entirely. 

Aerith, who has regained a fragile mask of composure, says, “We’re heading to Don Corneo’s mansion- Cloud’s friend Tifa needs rescuing.”

“Okaaayy,” Zack says slowly. “Why the dress for Cloud, though?” 

Cloud huffs. “Corneo likes to choose a nightly bride, so they only allow women inside.” There's an audible level of attitude in his tone, and Zack can practically hear the unspoken duh .

“Ohhh.” He gets it now. “Got an extra dress?”

The System pings in approval.