Rolling in the 'Deep [Exemplary]

[Kenpachi Zaraki]

Vincent passed quickly through the maze-like halls of the imperial warship, following the dimly lit hallways silently through countless forking paths. At each diversion, the gunslinger veered away from the distant sound of crashing waves and toward the sound of creaking metal, descending any staircase he could locate. If his years of espionage with Shinra had taught him anything, it was that those with valuables often hid them deep. The deeper he went, the more likely he was to find his mark.

Presently the pale Prime had reached yet another bifurcation, this time a pair of identical iron doors. He examined the two for a moment, looking for any signs of recent use. None could be found; the crew of this vessel, being mercenaries, undoubtedly wore gloves to obscure possible printing on the metal. Their newly gifted garb likewise would leave no telltale dirt behind. The Prime crossed his arms over his chest, furrowing his brow. 50/50, he thought, not the best odds.

As if to answer his comment, the ex-Turk felt a sudden coolness on his neck. He shot a glance behind him, right hand bolting to Cerberus' grip. Nothing. Relaxing a bit, he turned slowly to face the way he had came. Another pinprick of icy coolness met his flesh, this time on his cheek. He felt the familiar feeling of water dribbling down his face, glancing upward to spot its source. Cold seawater leaked steadily from a seam overhead, dripping water onto the floor of the corridor. Vincent looked at his feet, spying a small puddle a yard away between the two doors. He smirked, taking a few steps before dropping to a knee before the liquid. The ex-Turk pulled the leather glove from his right hand, reaching the now-bear extremity over the puddle. A soft blue light began to emanate from his flesh, illuminating a yet-unseen set of wet footprints leading from the puddle to the western door. With a smirk he retracted his hand, ceasing the spell, and re-donned the glove. As he made to stand, he caught sight of his reflection in the the puddle before him. The Prime looked decidedly disheveled, his jet-black mane even more messy than usual. After a moment's pause, the pale man rose to his feet, pulling the indicated door open effortlessly. As he continued his trek through the belly of the steel beast, his thoughts wondered.

As he plodded along, the ever-present memories of his 'family' returned, reminding him of why he continued on. He ran his left hand through his knotted hair unconsciously as he passed over the threshold, the metallic fingers of the gauntlet moving effortlessly through the mess. The ex-Turk never used to give his appearance a second thought, though this had changed as of late. He thought briefly of Shelke, and of her constant berating over said apathy.

“Vince, do you want to be single forever?” She would bark, “Comb your damn hair!” For her sake, he did.

Vincent smiled to himself. Despite what he would display to others, he genuinely cared for the girl. Both were products of different experiments by the same deranged man and since being liberated from Deepground, they shared a special bond. As both were immortal and condemned to a twisted, eternal youth and lacked any living biological family, Vincent had filled the role of father figure for the girl. Though his friends were a group of more than competent fighters, as was Shelke herself, he still found himself worrying about her safety in his absence.

“You worry too much,” Cloud would always say.

Too much? He doubted he could ever worry too much. Shinra had taken his family from him long ago, in some way or another. His mother? A vocal opponent to Shinra's pillaging of the planet, she had 'disappeared' shortly after his third birthday. Father? Killed in a freak lab accident under Dr. Hojo. And Lucrecia, the only woman he every loved, defiled and rendered comatose by the same man. An only child and son to a pair of likewise sibling-less parents, he had had no other loved ones left when he himself was targeted by the megalomaniac Hojo. Since his 'second birth', he had found a group of people worth worry about, worth loving. With such a group of individuals in his life, he had begun to forgive himself for his sins. It was a slow process, one that he was not always up to facing, though necessary. Even when his back was to them, they remained loyal.

“We're your friends, Vincent. You can't run from us.” Yuffie would say with a smile, taking hold of his hand. “At least, not for long.”

As Vincent neared another split, he stopped abruptly. Remaining motionless, he could just barely make out the vague sound of conversation some yards away. He took another few steps forward, listening carefully in an attempt to make out words. He was nearly at the corner before he could discern what was being said.

“Hurry up and lock the door. We're supposed to be up on deck already.” One voice implored.

“Oh, shut it,” came the reply. “I couldn’t care less about what the ‘great’ Lieutenant Duro thinks. Imperial swine; I wouldn't be here if the money wasn't good. He can wait.” A slight pause followed, succeeded the loud CLANG of metal on metal. “Sit your ass down, Sola! I'm not afraid to shoot you right here and now. My pay is the same no matter how many of you vermin are delivered.”

Vincent snapped to attention. Tal!

“Yeah, yeah.” A third voice simpered. “Didn’t your babysitter call you? Run along to your keeper.”

“Big words for a man condemned to die,” the mercenary replied. A long pause hung in the air, punctuated by gruff laughter. “Oops! Did I spoil the surprise?”

The Prime heard the sound of approaching footfalls from around the corner, responding by drawing his back to the wall to avoid being seen. Thinking quickly, he recalled his last encounter with the Vultures and his subsequent escape. With no time to wonder how such a technique could be executed, he had to improvise. The gunslinger focused, tapped his mana as he would when casting a spell, and imagined himself blending into the wall; staring down at his torso as he willed himself transparent. As if coaxed by his desperation, the shadows of the hallway swallowed him, rendering him all but invisible. The duo of guards passed by not seconds later, paying no mind to the combatant enrobed in shadows.

Vincent waited for the door down the hall to slam shut before making his move into the holding room. Said room looked to be a converted cargo bay, nearly pitch black and crowded with prisoners. A futuristic-looking door stood between him and the new cargo, in stark contrast to the outdated look of the decommissioned ship. Its frame was a shiny chrome-like metal, housing emitters every few inches that generated bars of glowing energy that stretched from the top to the bottom to separate the guards from the prisoners.

“Tal Sola,” Vincent spoke into the darkness.

A moment passed. “You haven’t left yet? Papa will be angry.” Tal replied, spitting at Vincent’s feet from the back of the cell.

The gunslinger ignored the insult. “Your brother sent me.”

Vincent could see movement, barely able to make out the shape of a tall, skinny figure. The figure stepped forward, the light of the laser bars illuminating his face. He looked indescribably haggard, wearing tattered gray prison clothes and 5 o’clock shadow. The man glared at him, looking him up and down. “Ral sent you?”

The ex-Turk nodded in reply. “He sent me to free you.”

“Tch.” Tal chuckled. “Nice thought, but I’m kinda without a paddle here, if you catch my drift.”

“I’m familiar with the expression.” Vincent replied, drawing Cerberus. “Stand back.”

“Woah! Hey, easy! I didn’t mean to offend!” Tal stammered, stepping back into the shadows. “Kinda silly to kill a man on death row, eh?”

The pale Prime looked quickly around the room, searching for any sort of control mechanism. His eyes finally set upon the welcoming sight of a terminal set in the corner, attached to the door. A cursor blinked on the screen, with the phrase “Input? _____” visible in green lettering. He leveled the firearm at the computer quickly and fired, a shower of sparks issuing from the terminal in response. The ‘bars’ of the cell flickered for a moment before fading away entirely.

“Follow me.” Vincent commanded.