Witness and the Crime

-2-

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         It was two days after the fateful “romantic dinner” with Rufus, and, just as he was told, Zack had received a formal transfer note – and an invitation from Rude to hang out, this time at some small snack bar before noon. Instead of Rude, though, it was Millene who was waving at him from a window table when he walked in, dressed in civilian clothes, a soda bottle and a pizza already in front of her.

         “I was trying to imagine Rude trying not to look suspicious in a bar,” he said, grinning, and sat down in front of her.

         “He can’t, that’s why I’m here,” she said, leaning forward. “Anyway, I have stuff. Your new, double room,” she handed him some sheets, confirming it was located at a higher floor in a completely different part of the building, “and just letting you know all your stuff has been moved there already. The kid, too.”

         Zack tried to look as normal and calm as possible as he leaned forwards to choose a pizza slice and hiss, “Should you be talking so openly about this?”

         She shrugged, nibbling at her half-eaten slice. “Trust me, nobody expects classified information to be leaked out in a bar in broad daylight. It only happens in movies, etc. And it’s noisy enough with these children skipping class, I doubt anyone can hear anything.”

         Zack laughed nervously, trying to block the incessant chattering of a group of pre-pubescent schoolgirls sitting two tables to the left. “Have to give you that. But I thought I was supposed to keep him in sight. Isn’t it dangerous to leave him alone? I still have to be debriefed by the guy I’ll be replacing, check the stats of my new troopers, what they’ve covered in training, all that stuff. I’ve never trained anyone before; starting straight at an elite troop makes me nervous.”

         “Don’t spread this around,” said Millene, “but chief Veld managed to have an old security project approved that you’ll hate to know about. The SOLDIER building is swarming with cameras now; they were all installed these last two days.”

         Zack’s eyebrows shot up. “…I didn’t notice any installation work going on.”

         “We’re that good,” she said, simply. “Don’t worry; there aren’t any cameras inside any rooms. Nobody wants to know what SOLDIERs do at night.” She sipped some of her soda and separated another sheet from her little pile. “We only have to monitor the elevators, stairs, emergency exits and the doors. And every entrance to your floor – principally your room’s door – are connected to the chief’s security network, he’ll be monitoring them personally. It’s better than leaning over the kid like a parasol. At least inside that room he should be able to stay by himself, he asked that much.”

         “Yeah, that seems easier on the poor kid,” nodded Zack, though he was much more thankful for not having to take him along to drinking binges. “Since he seems like he’s introverted and all…”

         “The first thing he did when he got into the room was crawl on the farthest bed and sit on it with his bag,” Millene said, shaking her head with a smile. “He talked a bit, but seemed anxious to see everyone go, so we just let him be with a few warnings. Also,” she handed him the new sheet, now stained with oily fingerprints, “this is his new official profile. We changed his name’s spelling, but it’s still pronounced the same to cause less confusion; we’ll just say it’s Icicle pronunciation if someone asks about it. His “current status” ratings were mixed from different days of his last two weeks of training, so he won’t be found by a database search.”

         Zack glanced at the sheet, chewing his pizza slowly. The same picture he had seen before was now labeled as “Claude Stråv”, 13 years old, Icicle Inn native, enlisted 6 months prior. His stats were good but too poor for an elite troop; the improvement rates between his initial and current stats were between 60 and 80%, which was impressive, but he guessed the low initial ratings were made up to justify his transfer.

         “Corporal Stråv’s transfer is still being processed,” she continued, “so you won’t have to tot him along till next week. That way, you two won’t be transferred to the same troop at the same time; that would be too obvious.”

         Zack just shook his head at that. “This kid won’t survive training with the elite troops,” he mourned. “He’s just too weak. And even if he manages to live through the training, they’ll notice when he can’t keep up with the rates in his profile.”

         Millene smiled knowingly at that. “The rates are not a lie – all his initial stats were taken from his first two weeks of training. He was already lined up for a spot in the Delta troops; we just bumped him up farther.”

         Zack had to take another nice, long look at the list of status numbers.

         “At least he’s not a doormat,” was what he came up with.

         “Nah, he’s a fierce little thing. I think this is all,” she plucked the sheet from his hands, smearing it with ketchup. “You have a new room, a new roommate, new minions— oh, that’s right, new materia,” she took her bangle off, setting it in front of him; it had four glowing materia orbs in linked slots. “They’re already mastered; you should thank Rude for that. And that’s it.”

         She stood up, and Zack stood as well, downing the last of his soda like it was beer. “Just make sure the kid is in your room when he’s not in the training facilities or under your supervision,” she started, like a fussy mother leaving two siblings alone, and Zack had to wonder when they’d finally be done. “All the food and objects that are offered to SOLDIERs are already screened by default, so you have less to worry about. Don’t forget your materia,” she fastened the bangle on his wrist, and Zack rolled his eyes. “And this is really it, I swear. I have to be back in the building at twelve and a half,” she checked her clock, “and I’m already gonna arrive late as it is. Be nice to your new friend!”

         Zack stole a last pizza slice as the Turk asked a waitress for a doggy bag, hurrying out of the bar as a new wave of students tried to squeeze in at the same time. He also had to be back at the building at twelve-thirty, to be debriefed by the transferring SOLDIER who used to command his new troops, and was going to arrive with seconds to spare, most probably.

         Running at full speed towards the main Shinra complex, Zack glanced to the SOLDIERs’ dorms, looming to the side. Was the kid alright? He hoped he had the sense to stay in the room. And how was Zack supposed to treat him? What was he supposed to say to him when they met? It was one thing to have a new roommate, and another thing entirely to have a traumatized roommate with a bull’s eye on his forehead and the means to destroy the career of one of the five most powerful people in the world.

         Maybe he should just talk normally. Or should he be especially mindful of his words? He couldn’t give him special treatment in front of his training mates, that much was obvious. Maybe the best thing was to just be friendly and supportive…

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         “They all suck, all of them. Bunch of whiners,” whined the older man as he leaned his computer chair back on two wheels, feet propped up on the desk. “If they call that discipline, I’ll have to go explode a high school or something. Rid the world of more fucking teenagers.”

         “Yeah, nothing like diminishing the available workforce,” Zack mumbled, scrolling down the list of names for any trooper he might have missed. Ten minutes of “debriefing” was all he needed to figure out Captain Scherling was a complaint machine, and he had to wonder how the guy got to first class. Maybe the admission tests weren’t so harsh back in the start of the Wutai War. Or maybe gravity was finally winning and he was getting frustrated. Zack would rather not find out.

         The debriefing itself lasted less than half an hour, and consisted of general comments on equipment quality, the nature of their usual missions and the more important subjects he should focus on in training. The rest of the four hours he had spent in the frigid, air-conditioned office were focused on nothing but complaints about each trooper and how everything was gay, except SOLDIERs. Zack supposed it was valuable information, if a SOLDIER happened to be deathly afraid of surprise buttsex, but he could clearly see why the brass was in such a hurry to send him to Junon. Scherling was like a bitter old mother-in-law, only younger and with a dirtier mouth.

         “…and that’s because I haven’t even told you about the garbage they want to transfer in,” he huffed, chewing some beef jerky he’d dug out of a drawer somehow. “There’s this fag from the 4^th beta division with earrings, and I don’t care about his stats or results – that’s fucking gay!”

         Zack nodded, distractedly, though he couldn’t see what the troopers’ sexuality or body decoration had to do with anything so long as they did their jobs. The boy in the profile he just opened was said to have broken the same arm three times in the same training maneuver, and that seemed like a problem their commander should care about more than earrings.

         “And there’s this wimp from 8^th Gamma with the gayest hair I’ve ever seen. It’s all curly – curly!” he shook the printed profile in his hand as if it were the real person. “He should shave his head naked before expecting anyone to think he’s a real man.”

         “Your head is not shaved either,” jabbed Zack.

         The man just burst into laughter, tossing the sheet aside. “Hah! I liked that one. But I don’t need to do that. Everyone knows I’m a real man. Principally in Junon, I have lots of friends in Junon. I have lots of friends everywhere. Even Sephiroth, you could say he’s an old bud of mine.”

         Zack found that so hard to believe he couldn’t even think of an appropriate sarcastic response as the man just went on.

         “We fought together in the war. He was still a brat back then, you wouldn’t even believe it. That one is a real man. Now this one,” Scherling shook another sheet – and then did a double-take, stomping his feet back on the floor as his chair swayed dangerously.

         Zack bolted up from his chair, but the other man was already crumpling the sheet in his hands nervously, his skin seeming to have lost just a little bit of its color.

         “Who is it?” asked Zack.

         “Doesn’t matter,” said the man, shoving the crumpled ball into the paper-cutter; the machine made an ugly chewing noise as it tried to process the unfamiliar shape. “Long-haired fag.”

         “Sephiroth has long hair,” warned Zack, glancing at the unevenly-cut, creased ribbons dropping slowly into an incinerator. He saw a flicker of golden in one of them.

         “Sephiroth has already proven his worth,” Scherling said, dryly. “We’ve talked for too long, it’s almost seventeen-hundred hours. I’ll send you a disc with all their documents and the stat input program. There’s a manual,” he fished a booklet from the mess on his desk, offering it without glancing up. “Now go, I have to organize this place still.”

         Zack plucked the booklet from his fingers, staring carefully at his face, but the man’s eyes were averted. He chewed on his lips, searching for something to say, but instead turned to go.

         “Zack.”

         He glanced back, and the older SOLDIER’s eyes were gleaming in a way that didn’t seem related to mako.

         “Don’t stick your head into other people’s business,” he said, voice strangely flat. “Now go.”

         The incinerator was just starting to smoke when Zack closed the door behind him, silently.

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         Zack had already punched in the fourth floor button when he remembered to check his new card-key for his room number.

         513.

         The elevator’s door slid closed with a low hiss, and he leaned against the opposite wall. He’d made his way back to the SOLDIER building slowly, digesting the last few minutes of his talk with Captain Scherling, and wondering if he could risk contacting one of the Turks, or if he should wait to be contacted first. His safest contact was Millene, but meeting her twice on the same day could attract attention.

         Then again, maybe that profile had nothing to do with his charge. Maybe Scherling had recognized his gay ex-lover in that picture and was currently thanking the Gods for having been transferred before they came face-to-face again. Maybe he was working for the culprit. Maybe he had gotten a hold of that experimental cloak.

         Maybe Zack was just paranoid.

         He almost walked out on the fourth floor; now that he thought about it, he was friends with practically everyone in there – would he be able to have anyone over for a visit? It would probably bring up questions if he didn’t, and also, if he could supposedly take the kid out for a walk, why couldn’t anyone go inside if he was there?

         He stepped out on the fifth floor, turning to the right and glancing at the odd numbers he walked by. It was almost six, and that usually meant mess hall for the troopers. SOLDIERs had something closer to a restaurant in the first floor, but taking the kid there so early would be abusing his luck. Maybe he could have something brought up instead… that seemed reasonable. The kid was probably hungry, having been alone in that room since before noon.

         The lock beeped when he inserted the card key, and the door slowly swung inwards as the bolt was released. He pushed it in the rest of the way, and it swung closed when he let it go.

         It was dark inside, and all that came in through the windows was the grayish half-light of Midgar’s dusk; it was enough to show that his new room was noticeably bigger than his previous one. He could see a wide sofa and a TV rack, and some simple patterns on a carpet. There was a phone stand in a corner, and a few pots with fake flowers. He left it as it was.

         There were two closed doors from there; the one to his right proved to be a kitchen, even darker and still smelling of new. A cursory glance revealed a microwave and a tall fridge, but he still didn’t bother turning the light on.

         He opened the remaining door, almost directly in front of the entrance. It was just a little brighter in there, thanks to the half-open blinds, but the diminishing light cast the room in a bluish haze. A step to the right would meet a bed, made with military precision. Beyond it, he could see a wide dresser with many drawers, a few shelves secured to the wall over it. Beyond the dresser there was another bed, and, on it, the person he had been looking for.

         He was sitting cross-legged, a thin, underdeveloped boy with mussed and uncombed hair sticking to the sides and touching his shoulders. He was curved over a duffle bag wrapped in his bony arms, and his chin rested on it; his breathing was so quiet that even Zack’s ears could barely pick it up. He was very much awake, though, his eyes reflecting the bluish twilight as he stared at some nothing on the wall by Zack’s side.

         He gave no sign of noticing or caring for the newcomer.

         “It’s dark in here,” said Zack, his own voice sounding unbearably loud in his ears. “Do you have a headache?” he tried again, in a lower voice.

         The boy didn’t answer.

         “I’ll take that as a ‘yes’,” he continued, in the same soft tone. “I’ll keep the light off, then. That door over there is a bathroom, right?” he walked in, dodging a few small boxes left on the floor. He guessed those were his things. “I’d hate to have to knock at the 515 to take a dump…”

         He had walked past the closet, reaching the open space between the two beds, when the boy finally shifted; in the acute silence of the room, it cut into Zack’s ears almost painfully.

         “You can turn on the light,” he said, in a small, tired voice. Zack thought he really did sound like he had a headache.

         “It’s fine,” Zack whispered, waving a hand vaguely. “I’m already all the way here. There’ll be a light in there anyway, hopefully, that is. I don’t wanna sit on the paper bin by mistake.”

         The kid didn’t laugh or snort, but he laid his ear on the duffle bag, turning away from Zack. “That would be funny,” he said, in the same hoarse whisper.

         “I’m not doing it for you,” Zack warned, groping the wall for a switch. He winced as the bathroom’s light bulb winked on, almost blinding him, and checked back on the kid. His head was turned to the other side still, and he didn’t seem to have moved at all.

         The added light made the bedroom seem a little more pleasant, though; the walls were white, with a small blue tint, and the dresser, shelf and closet were a light shade of brown. The floor wasn’t carpeted, but covered in tiles with geometric patterns in dark shades of blue and green. He could see the creases on the back of the kid’s dark-blue shirt, and his hair, blond as he had seen in the profile picture; it reached past his neck on the back, wavy at the base of his skull where it was probably kept bound, and its tip spread stiffly on the top of his shoulder blades.

         The door creaked a little when he started to close it, and he almost missed what the boy said next.

         “Are they paying you?”

         “Uh, what?” Zack completely forgot about modulating his voice; the light from the bathroom made the room look a lot less like a stifling tomb, and he found it easier to relax.

         The kid turned his head to Zack, still half-buried in the duffle bag; Zack could tell it was plastic, and had to be pretty uncomfortable.

         “To take care of me,” he said, his voice louder; his eyes reflected the bathroom light.

         Zack paused.

         “Dude, I have no idea.”

         He walked into the bathroom, leaving the door half open; the inside was covered in white tiles, with metallic faucets and beige toilet and sink. He took a moment to admire the cushioned seat and the mini-shower for intimate parts before sliding the shower cubicle open to reach the window. There wasn’t a bathtub, but then again that’d be asking for too much.

         “You know what?” he closed the door a little further, leaving just a small space to talk through. “I hope I have an extra in my next paycheck. If not I’ll have to go and ask for a raise. You’ll go with me, and when they complain you can say: ‘You should give Zack a raise, because he’s cool and he can drink milk through his nose’. And we could use the money for… I dunno. Our project for world domination or something.”

         The next few minutes were spent in silence, but, after Zack was done spraying the mirror with the mini-shower, he stepped out to find the bedroom’s light had been turned on.

         The new light cast the room in even lighter shades, and though he could tell the dresser and closet weren’t actual wood, they still contributed to the peaceful, almost homey atmosphere. The boy wasn’t curled on the bed anymore; he was standing in front of the dresser like he wasn’t sure what to do with it.

         It was certainly an improvement.

         The boy turned to him, looking a little dubious. He didn’t look quite as young as in the picture, but his features were still round and soft for a teen. He had high, pale cheekbones and a small nose, and his steep eyebrows made him look a little angry, though Zack could see he wasn’t. His mouth also seemed to curve downwards, but Zack could tell it was natural; his face was perfectly smooth and relaxed.

         The boy motioned vaguely to the dresser with the hand that held the duffle bag.

         “…you want to put your things away first?”

         Zack winced, scratching the back of his head. “Sorry, I swear I wasn’t the one who dumped all these boxes around here.”

         “I was here when they brought them over,” he said. “You have more things, so you probably want to make sure there’s space for them.”

         Zack crouched, sitting on his ankles as he opened one of the boxes. “That’s sweet, but you don’t have to worry. I could fit all of my stuff in three drawers – and keep my underwear all in the same place, just like momma told me to do!” he grinned. “Most of these boxes are just figurines anyway. Look,” Zack raised a figure of the Ultimate Battle Robot Unity, T.Y.R.. “Sometimes I wonder if I’m a compulsive buyer or something…”

         The kid gave a humorless smile. “I don’t have a lot,” he said, and nodded to the dresser. “You want to choose your drawers first?”

         Zack shook his head. “You choose first. This room is all about you, you know. And you already chose the bed first.”

         “Sorry.”

         “No problem. I feel better if I sleep closer to the door, anyway.”

         “I’m a boring person.”

         Zack carried his figurine box to the bed, setting it by the dresser, and put his hands on his hips. “Shouldn’t I decide what I think of you on my own?”

         The boy shrunk into his shoulders slightly, but he had a small grin on his face, and Zack nodded with exaggerated satisfaction.

         “That’s more like it!” he said, finally starting to set his figurines on the dresser shelves. “Your name is Cloud, right?” he paused as the boy nodded. “Let’s find some cool poses for my Ultimate Battle Robots and then ask the dining-hall to bring up some pizza. You like pizza, right?”

         “They bring the food up for you?” Cloud asked, wide-eyed. “Like room-service?”

         “Only if you’re friends with the cooks,” Zack grinned.

         The boy seemed to think hard as he twisted Battle Unit F.R.E.Y into a contortionist pose and set it, perfectly equilibrated, on its head and an arm. “That’s still cool,” he decided. “And I like champignon pizza.”

         Zack patted his shoulder, walking to the phone.

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