Chapter Text
“Stand up straight,” Hojo muttered, bony elbows jabbing into the young soldier’s side. He exhaled irritably through his nose, dark eyes narrowing behind his glasses as he surveyed the spectacle. “And look sharp. They expect you to conduct yourself professionally.”
The sway of shadows tilted against the golden, gleaming lights, the tight press of bodies tangling and weaving together. Coal-gray coats and ties. Cuffs and collars. The elegant sweep of frilly skirts and lace. The smell of champagne. Perfume. Smoke and olives. Heady air.
Sephiroth’s eyebrows creased in hidden misery, caught like a caged animal in a sea of faces, poked and prodded and devoured whole. The party was little more than an over glorified zoo, the voices ringing in his sensitive ears, the harsh wrinkle of laughter stinging the air around him. He looked embarrassed, his head lowered, his pale face hidden behind silver bangs as he swallowed, glaring at his feet. It was really such a shame. He looked quite dashing in his uniform, the crisp black fabric accenting his muscular profile, commanding and regal. But his body language was a different matter altogether, his green eyes flicking desperately about in search of a free corner, an unoccupied respite beyond the cacophony.
Hojo growled and elbowed him again, his voice a poisonous hiss beneath the swell of laughter that echoed around them. “You’re fidgeting. Compose yourself. At least PRETEND to enjoy yourself.”
“Cameras…” Sephiroth muttered, wincing at the bright flash that bathed his vision, ducking his head instinctively. “Do they have to be here?”
“Of course they do. I ORDERED them to be here. Your presence will be a noteworthy highlight in tomorrow’s paper.”
“Make them leave.”
“Hush now. Don’t make a fuss. They want a good look at you. It’s a special occasion.”
“My life must be a series of ‘special occasions’,” Sephiroth replied blackly, staring down one of the more daring cameramen through the bustling crowd. “I don’t see why they can’t just bother the President. Or his brat.”
“That ‘brat’ may very well become your future leader,” Hojo hissed again, suppressing the urge to tighten his grip on Sephiroth’s wrist. “You’ll show some respect.”
Sephiroth did not look convinced, but the weary light in his eyes seemed to be overpowering his defiance. He dipped his head almost submissively when the fresh wave of flashes fell upon them, dark lashes fluttering as he craned his head from side to side. He seemed to be looking for something, nervous lines forming beneath his eyes, his pale cheeks flushed as he tugged awkwardly at his collar.
Hojo raised a brow, a thin-lipped frown forming as he guided the young soldier forward, breaking through the staggering sprawl of bodies. There was something to be said about Shinra gatherings, from the gilded golden columns to the heady reek of alcohol that circulated the tables. Masks and flourishes. Bejeweled furnishings around every ornate curve and corner. Opulence. Indulgence. It perfumed the halls in a cloud, arching and leering, engulfing the assembly from roots to rooftop. Sephiroth tugged uncomfortably at his collar once again, his lips dry, his brow creased. He seemed to instinctively shrink at the scientist’s side, swallowed by the horde, the ever-present storm of bright lights and loud noises.
“Stand tall,” Hojo hissed, yanking aggressively at the teenager’s arm. “They are WATCHING.”
“I don’t care,” Sephiroth growled weakly, his features hardening once more as he glared ahead. “They’ll watch either way.”
“So you might as well make a good impression. Stay alert.”
“How much longer?”
“Long enough. And don’t go looking for a way out. It’s impolite. They need you here. They might be calling you up to make a speech.”
Sephiroth turned slightly, the pointed glare sharpening his catlike pupils, the savage green light flaring in his Mako irises. “I wasn't told there would be a speech.”
“This isn’t your first gala. I expect you to come prepared.”
“I wasn’t told. I don’t care about speeches.”
“Oh, you know how it is. In any case, there will likely be a prompter set up for your convenience. I've already run through a wide selection of different options. There are at least thirty different pre-written responses at your disposal. You have nothing to worry about.”
“You…”
“It's all to be expected for this sort of engagement,” the scientist coolly explained, lazily waving a hand. “Really now, it's nothing to get worked up over. I think of everything. Obstacles arise and I plan accordingly. It's always to be expected with YOU at the wheel.”
Sephiroth’s expression was incredulous, wetting his lip as he looked away with a scowl. He gritted his teeth and shook his head, a heavy heat in his chest, face slightly flushing. “If they ask, tell them not to call me up.”
“Oh, my dear boy,” Hojo's eyes twinkled behind his glasses, his coiled arm tightening around Sephiroth's own. “You of all people should know by now that Shinra never asks.”
The boy was quiet, thick shadows deepening beneath his eyes. He swallowed heavily, raising his chin as he watched the sparkling crowds heave and churn together, painted silhouettes that thrummed against the bitter heartbeat of the night, coming together before breaking apart again. He closed his eyes and breathed through his nose, his expression fading into synthetic apathy, only the faint crease between his eyes betraying him.
“Why…this?”
“Hm? I beg your pardon?”
“I've always understood the fights. The battles. The war. There is a utility there, a reason my presence is required. SOLDIER is Shinra. They are linked together, blood to body. But this…” The boy gestured vaguely at the spectacle, his long, graceful fingers slashing skeptically at the gusting golden air that throbbed across the fray. “It's not real. None of it is real. It's just an illusion, a mask they wear to cover themselves, to hide.”
“Mm. Poetic.”
“Hojo.”
Hojo hummed, faintly amused as they walked along the crowded hall, the noises rising with every footfall as they approached the winding circle. Several of the executives were already intoxicated, laughing and stumbling about, their faces flushed in the heady vapor of sweat-slicked hilarity. Hojo tutted, bemused, adjusting his glasses. “It’s true. It's all a bit of smoke and mirrors, really. A quaint little show. They all know what's really lurking beneath the surface. Behind the mask. They need to fill the void. This is merely a distraction so they don't have to confront it. Gaia only knows what would happen then. Chaos, perhaps. Or maybe business as usual. It’s all relative. Regardless, it really shouldn't concern you, Sephiroth. You're not supposed to question such things.”
Sephiroth only looked perplexed, opening his mouth. “But then--”
“Your duty is to obey. And to entertain such dalliances when they present themselves. You are on the precipice of greatness, your full potential. You must appease them any way that you can. Play up to them. Indulge their stupidity. Smile at the wearisome machinations of their limited minds. It's all politics. That's how you get ahead. That is how you SUCCEED.”
Sephiroth huffed, slightly annoyed as he sharply eyed the scientist, gaze narrowing. “Is that what YOU did? Is that why you're here now?”
“But of course,” Hojo purred, teeth flashing as he raised his chin in the golden light. “Survival of the fittest, boy. Some animals have claws and teeth to aid them. Some animals learn to hide away at the first sign of danger. I prefer the more pragmatic approach. If I have to humble myself and rub a few elbows to make my way in this world, I see no reason why I shouldn't make myself as agreeable as possible towards my colleagues. If you had any brains at all in that thick head of yours, you'd happily follow my example.”
Sephiroth made a face, pulling disgustedly away from the scientist, his sharp features tightening once more as he licked his lip and hunched his shoulders. “I think you're a coward.”
“We all do what we can.”
“You just lie. Like they do.”
“Everyone lies.”
“You more than most.”
Hojo recalled the sharp descent of the needle, the rounded, fragile skin bruising beneath his caressing fingers. Lucrecia had winced at the pain, the heavy throb of new cells entering the body, searching for its favored target, its sacred vessel.
She was beautiful. She had been so pitifully hopeful, desperate, full of longing. Foolish dreamer, clinging to threads, clinging to visions, empty platitudes, favors, flights of fancy.
She was beautiful. She was even more beautiful this way.
Hojo had stroked the curving stomach, the milk-white skin, and prayed.
Sephiroth crossed his arms and scoffed, head lowering as he snorted and scoffed. “I should have told Lazard to assign me to a lengthier mission. I wouldn’t have to tolerate this. The war is a worthier use of my time and energy.”
“Mm. A sentiment I’d gladly subscribe to if not for the fact that they’d bite my head off for it. POLITICS, boy. Personally, I find your indignation incredibly tedious. Your social skills have always been rather lacking, I'm afraid. I am to blame for that as well, I suppose. Charm has never been your strong suit. Not in the traditional sense. I should have been more mindful when taking into account your–what are you looking at?”
Sephiroth was craning his head again, his emerald eyes flickering curiously from face to face across the pulsing crowd. There was a sudden anxiety to his air, his eyes wide and quizzical as he scanned his surroundings. He jolted at the scientist’s shrill question, his expression cautious as he kept his glances furtive, less defined. “Nothing.”
“You're fidgeting again.”
“Oh.”
“I assume there’s a reasonable explanation. Unless you’re about to soil yourself like a child.”
“Are there other soldiers attending the ceremony?”
“You don't recognize your own peers?”
“...It's harder. With the crowd.”
Hojo rolled his eyes, snorting contentiously as he rubbed his chin. “Oh, a selected handful, I suppose. The worthier whelps of the lot. Does the prospect please you?” He squinted at Sephiroth, keenly intrigued. “Are you perhaps…looking for someone specific?”
“No,” Sephiroth answered quickly, more of a snap than a reply. He swallowed harshly once more, reluctantly averting his eyes as he stared down at the floor. “No. Not at all.”
Hojo wasn't convinced, leaning closer, studying Sephiroth's nervous cadence with a hungry suspicion. “What is it now then, hm?”
“I told you. It's nothing.”
“Am I to believe you actually wish to mingle with your comrades in arms? That's a surprising turn of events. Perhaps you're already catching on. A gallant display for a willing crowd, hm? They see a hero, after all. Are you finally embracing the role you were destined to play?”
“I wasn't--”
“They look to you for inspiration. Guidance. You've already exceeded all outward expectations. It's only fitting that you command the role accordingly. It IS a role, after all. They’re still beneath you. But putting on a convincing performance is half the battle. You need to learn to play the game. That’s how you’ll earn their favor.”
Sephiroth was pale, his throat bobbing as he backed away. “But it’s--”
“Excuse me,” One of the Turks had stepped forward, breaking through the jostling party to meet them. He was bald and dark-skinned, his posture tall and formal as he leaned close to Hojo's ear. “President Shinra is requesting an audience with the attendees in the ceremonial chamber. He'd like for Research and Development to deliver a few honorary remarks at the close of the presentation. Will you please make yourself available backstage? He is grateful for your participation.”
Hojo pretended not to catch the gusty sigh of relief that puffed beside him, the prickling vibration of Sephiroth's vengeful amusement ghosting against him like rising gooseflesh. He nodded and dismissed the Turk at once, sharp fingers shooting out to hook into the uniformed cloth of Sephiroth's arm before he could make his escape. “Come. This is a joint honor. And I'd like Shinra's finest warrior to remain at my side for this momentous occasion.”
“I'm not--"
“Come.”
Sephiroth struggled feebly, his movements restricted, too embarrassed to make a scene. He could only allow himself to be led along like a leashed animal, the scientist's grip never loosening. He craned his head over his shoulder, searching the room once more, his face pinching with bitter disappointment. Resigned, he turned his hateful glare back to Hojo, letting the scientist guide him forward into the chamber, step by angry step.
--
“As you well know,” the scientist droned, fingers waggling emphatically beneath the hazy spotlight as he leaned against the podium. “Our general output has produced a sizable shift in successful combat initiatives. We’ve maintained a stronger footing across battlefield divisions thanks to the implementation of our Mako-enhanced line of ranked SOLDIER operatives.” The words were hollow in his throat, his dark eyes dulled as his lips worked, tonguing the syllables in feigned enthusiasm. It was nothing new, nothing they all didn’t already know. Quite tedious, really. Still, he could follow the script. “We’re making marked improvements in our upcoming lineup every day. All thanks in part to the efforts of our finest warrior.”
Sephiroth stood limply at his side, his eyes far away, his gaze hovering somewhere above the bleary line of heads that clustered together beyond the spotlight. Hojo could sense the tenseness in his posture, the heavy lines visible beneath his eyes. He looked almost sickly in the light, a silver cipher that was altogether beyond simple comprehension, simple presence, appraisal. He’d been previously instructed not to appear bored during the speech--now ten minutes in and counting!--and had subsequently traded boredom for muted anxiety. Hojo found the latter more infuriating. But there was nothing to be done. He hoped that President Shinra wouldn't notice.
“I will additionally be taking the initiative to implement a secure new means of sufficient Mako infusion for our incoming recruits,” the scientist continued, his eyes never leaving the boy. He drummed his fingers against the thick wood of the platform, clearing his throat as he adjusted his posture. “I think our current batch of operatives speaks for itself. We’ve produced a fine young crop this year. But science yields an exciting new wave of enticing possibilities!”
Sephiroth was scratching at his arm, his head bowed, hiding behind his bangs again. He squirmed where he stood, his hand instinctively reaching for the handle of his weapon. But it had yet to manifest. And Hojo would not have allowed it.
“There will always be setbacks, of course. The language of scientific discovery is ever changing, ever shifting. But I am confident in where we stand, and in the progress that awaits us in the coming year. R&D is the heartbeat of true innovation, the spark that ignites Shinra’s true potential.”
Presently, Sephiroth twitched again, slowly lifting his head. He was squinting somewhere beyond the crowd now, at the creaking door that had shifted open at the far end of the assembly chamber. Two shadows had slunk stealthily inside, haunting the far corner just behind one of the columns. Hojo heard the excited intake of breath. He tried to ignore it.
“We stand on the precipice of new discoveries, a burgeoning path towards victory. My efforts in Research and Development will shatter all previous expectations as we march forward towards a new era in SOLDIER advancement! A new Shinra! A BRIGHTER Shinra!”
Applause. President Shinra was thumping his fist on the table, Heidegger's braying laughter ringing out through the crowd. Sephiroth's face seemed to have lit up in the midst of the commotion, the corners of his mouth twitching, his eyes glittering with barely suppressed excitement.
It couldn't have been over THAT hollow claptrap. What in all the hells is he looking at?
Sephiroth only seemed oblivious to the maelstrom, disregarding the flashing cameras, the rising tumult. When Hojo spoke again, the words were mutually ignored, little more than white noise against a jostling congregation. Hojo wasn’t even sure if he’d said anything at all, still squinting, tasting the rolling waves of Sephiroth’s excited perspiration. It all but misted the air, invisible plumes. Degrading. Disgusting.
Desperate.
A flash of red shifted behind one of the columns, a graceful flutter of gloved fingers. Sephiroth immediately waved back, his smile growing, his gaze warm with recognition. Hojo watched in silent horror as the two figures inched closer through the cheering crowd, their wiry bodies sneaking past the careful line of Turks, making a beeline towards the rim of the stage.
Gods. It WOULD be them.
Angeal Hewley.
Genesis Rhapsodos.
Hollander's brats.
It WOULD be them, yes. Hojo had been watching them for some time now. He'd once so blissfully believed that they would simply vanish into the background, never to rear their ugly heads in Sephiroth's direction. Reality was a crueler mistress. They were inferior specimens, gangly and stupid with youth. The products of a lesser mind, the products of a second-rate experiment. Rhapsodos was a particularly infuriating creature, bound to his arrogance, full of self-righteous snark and conceit. Hojo had watched him climb through the ranks, swaggering about the halls, book in hand, forever dreaming of worlds beyond his reach, heroic titles he did not deserve. Hewley was a greater mystery, humbler and quieter in nature. Sephiroth had met him first and while Hojo had briefly entertained the burgeoning union strictly for comparison’s sake, the initial intrigue had soured over time. The long summers had passed. War and winter. Death. Trenches and bonfires. Meetings. Silent murmurs in moonlit fields. And new things, growing things. Inevitabilities. By the time Hojo stepped in, it was already too late. The three were close. Close like kin. Bound together. Attached at the hip. Rhapsodos and Hewley. Hewley and Rhapsodos.
And Sephiroth.
And Hojo’s migraine.
They were mere inches away from the stage now. Hojo could see the knowing smirk that played against Rhapsodos’ lips, the suggestive sway of his torso, the slight incline of his head. Hewley was grinning, inclining his head as well, shrugging sheepishly in silent request. Sephiroth only mouthed to them, his expression apologetic, his face slightly pink. He laughed when Rhapsodos mouthed back at him, winking emphatically with a theatrical toss of his auburn bangs. Hewley whispered something in Rhapsodos’ ear. The boy only rolled his eyes and snickered, casting the crowd in a contemptuous sneer.
You are better than this.
Hojo swallowed back the bile. He could taste the acid, the acrid tang scalding the back of his throat. He continued regardless. “I commit my full faith to the collective power of this incredible revolution. I stand before you, proud of what we’ve accomplished together, proud of what’s to come.”
Rhapsodos made a crude gesture with his hands, gagging himself as he stuck out his tongue. Hewley was laughing, vigorously nudging the auburn-haired soldier and attempting to quiet him. Sephiroth only twitched, glancing shyly at his feet.
You are better than THEM.
“I am truly honored to be part of this outstanding program. It is my privilege to work for this department, and to reflect on the incredible future ahead of us.” He was just repeating himself now. He didn’t care. Rhapsodos was reaching for the stage, his hair a crimson halo, Mako irises glowing.
It’s beneath you.
“And so, it is with my deepest pride and highest esteem that I now ask our young hero to make a few brief remarks on the upcoming war effort,” Hojo announced, turning briskly aside and gulping down the lingering venom that dared to taint his tongue. He tugged at Sephiroth’s arm from behind the podium, jerking the boy towards the microphone, his vengeful smile stretching so wide that, for a moment, he was sure his face would split. “Sephiroth, Soldier First-Class! Our most exalted warrior. The HERO of the Wutai War!”
Louder applause. The room was a single vociferous roar now, the walls vibrating, men and women cheering, whistling. Rhapsodos squalled as he was jostled and bumped aside, frenzied bodies clustering closer towards the stage, filling the cracks and creases. Hojo smirked, his dark eyes glinting triumphantly behind his glasses, meeting Sephiroth’s weary stare beneath the golden light.
It’s for your own good.
Hewley and Rhapsodos were retreating towards the far wall, a muted argument drowned out through the swell of voices, the flash of cameras. Sephiroth watched them go, the green of his eyes dulling, his face pale, the shadows deepening at every angle. He glanced at Hojo again. The scientist smiled, rapping the back of his knuckle against the podium, his shifting movements gracefully fluid, smoothly inviting, beckoning.
You should know better.
Sephiroth looked away and leaned for the mic. He cleared his throat, his eyes empty, starlit hair brushing against the stand. Silver silk. Catching fire in the glare. Close enough to touch. To capture. To keep.
Don’t forget.
He hadn’t. For now.
He only sighed, opened his mouth, and began.