Revival

[Kenpachi Zaraki]

Mister Valentine…

Mocking words flitted through the Prime’s mind, passing like water through a sieve. Once more he was encompassed by the darkness, overcoming and threatening to swallow him. The gunslinger found his arms and legs immobile, as if bound. His senses failed to function, their faculties stolen from him. As the weight bore down on him, he heard the call once more.

Oh, Mister Valentine…

The voice was foreign to the ex-Turk, though it stirred within him a familiar rage. There were but a few occasions on which Vincent had felt such ire; he could not readily recall the last time. Perhaps…?

Vincent Valentine…

The sourceless voice continued to invade his thoughts, stirring such contemptible emotions within his mind. As the pale Prime writhed in the encompassing umber, he felt renewed vigor taking control of his form. With it came nauseating vertigo, a dizziness as one might feel upon awaking from a vivid dream. As the rage bubbled up in his veins, Vincent felt his sense begin to perform, if begrudgingly.

You stir…

All at once, the raven-haired man’s eyelids sprang open, his brain exploding with sensory input. Bleary eyes took in nigh-blinding light from around him, his crimson irises struggling against the strain. Pain tore through his musculature as he struggled to move his limbs, his chest heaving heavy breaths. His body felt as if plunged in ice water, his nerves prickling as numbness gave way to white-hot burning. Agony wracked the ex-Turk’s brain as he struggled to grasp where he had awaken. Though his brain commanded a roar in response, his lungs could offer only a meek groan.

Hello again, Mister Valentine…

Vincent snapped to attention, ceasing his half-hearted thrashing and narrowing his light-scalded eyes on the ceiling above him. As the world slowly came into view, he allowed his heart and lungs to slow and the wracking pain to ebb. It would be nearly twenty minutes before the gunslinger could find meaningful thoughts and words to puzzle together where he found himself. As he took stock of his surrounds he awaited the intrusion of the voice, though it seemed silent for the moment.

The pale Prime lay supine on some sort of table, his limbs bound by what appeared to be soft bindings composed of a leather-like material. From his vantage point he surmised that he was in some sort of medical facility, taking note of the fluorescent lighting overhead and a few nondescript medical instruments on a nearby cart. A glance toward his feet told him that he was stark naked, covered only by thin medical dropcloth. Vincent could only presume that he was in an exam room, though the examiner was nowhere to be seen. The acrid smell of disinfectant seemed to confirm this assumption. The pale Prime’s sluggish mind struggled to work out how he had ended up where he now lay, attempting with great effort to recall what had happened to him. He felt blood-flow slowly returning to his skin as he thought back to that day, now so long ago.

As if in response to his query, the gunslinger felt a sudden surge of pain tear up the back of his neck and into the base of his skull. One thought instantly entered his mind as the pain began to subside: the Abyss. He had no sooner recovered from his apparent death in the Abyss, than he was incapacitated by one of the officials in the infirmary. He gritted his teeth as he recalled this memory, the electricity crackling from the stun baton. Gazing down at his chest beneath his dropcloth, he spied the large, jagged Lichtenberg scar he had been granted shortly before the encounter. The ex-Turk surmised his attacker had abused this previous injury to subdue him.

The question remained: just who had brought him here?

[Kenpachi Zaraki]

The gunslinger lay upon the exam table, mind swimming as he tried to puzzle out how he had arrived in the dimly-lit medical dungeon in which he had found himself. As he lay, staring at the ceiling, he ran through a list of possibilities while his body warmed itself, his limbs now beginning to feel less like blocks of ice.

The Prime hadn’t been in the Omniverse long enough to make too many enemies, that was certain. Judging by the means by which he had been subdued, however, Vincent doubted the attack had anything to do with his actions. He briefly humored the thought of a fellow Abyss participant with a grudge, though he quickly dismissed it. The security in the facility was airtight, Karl Jak would never allow commotion outside of the island. Bearing this in mind, the ex-Turk had to consider the possibility that his predicament was the handiwork of none other than the master of the Abyss himself. Either that, or someone capable of pulling the wool over old Jak’s eyes.

A few moments of introspection later, the numbness and subsequent pain that followed his awakening had finally reached a low point, leveling out at a dull ache. Though he was not at full strength, Vincent was glad to feel that he was capable of moving his limbs once more. He moved to reach a sitting position, tugging against the soft restraints that pinned his limbs to the table. With a grunt he pulled against the leathers, tearing them from their anchors. Now free of the leather bands, he swung his legs over the edge and got to his feet. The dropcloth slid from his skin as he did so, crumpling at his feet. For the sake of his dignity, he donned a lab coat he had found atop a nearby office chair and began his investigation of the room.

Reminds me of Shinra… Vincent mused, noting the set of high-tech terminals perched on the counter adjacent a well-stocked bin of medical supplies. The first of the terminals appeared to be off, though the other he found to have power, greeting him with a login screen. Pausing for a moment, he glanced around the room for a stray clipboard or stack of notes that could provide some clue of how to access the terminal. A smile crept across his face as he heard the slight crinkle of paper from within the pocket of his coat. The ex-Turk quickly drew the paper from his pocket, unfolding the small, index card-sized paper slip.

Username: dhopkins
Password: summer1

Rolling his eyes, the gunslinger typed in the login information and brought up the only open program. It appeared to be a sort of database, though it contained a single file, labeled ‘Divus’. As he double-clicked the file, his attention was suddenly drawn toward room’s exit. From somewhere beyond the nondescript doorway, he could make out the sound of distant speech. And then, footsteps.

Vincent reflexively reached for his sidearm, grasping nothing but a handful of lab coat. His armaments had been taken, likely to the same place his clothes had been stowed. Adrenaline pumped through his veins as the sound of footsteps neared. Glancing at the bin on the counter beside him, the ex-Turk grabbed the most dangerous-looking implement available: a scalpel. The tiny blade gave him little comfort, though it was a good deal more formidable than attacking someone with a pair of forceps. As he prepared to square off with his captors, a thought flitted through his head: Omnillium. Summoning!

Gripping the handle of the medical instrument tightly, Vincent concentrated on the weapon he would require. Summoning Cerberus in all her glory would take too long; what was more, the pale Prime had to acknowledge the possibility that his captors were armed themselves. No, he would need something to cover all bases. Just such a tool came readily to mind and the gunslinger set to concentrating on making the concept concrete. Vincent watched as the scalpel began to extend slowly in his hand, the tool glowing brightly as his omnillium swallowed it up. As he worked he could hear the voices approaching, their footsteps echoing as they neared. By the sound of it, the Prime would not have enough time to complete the summoning process before his guests arrived in the exam room. Thinking quickly, he darted across the room, obscuring himself behind the exam table. He squatted low, concentrating on his summoning as the door’s lock began to turn.

“...He requires the daily observation report.”

“I do not understand his reasoning. This individual has been deceased for months.”

The raven-haired Prime peeked over the table, watching as a pair of men in black suits entered the room. They looked to be in their thirties, both with dark hair immaculately styled in a standard side part. Each men’s accoutrements were identical, from their polished Oxford shoes to their dark sunglasses. They moved with military precision, their movements almost robotic.

“Correct,” one man said to the other, making a beeline for the terminal. Vincent hadn’t caught sight of his face, though he noted the presence of a red necktie, in contrast to the dull blue that his partner wore. “However, the status of X-3 does not matter. We are tasked with reporting data, that is all,” Red-tie finished.

Blue-tie nodded, following his peer to the terminal. “True,” he responded, no sign of emotion apparent in his voice.

Vincent watched as the duo reached the terminal, freezing as they looked upon the screen. The ex-Turk cursed silently as Red and Blue apparently noted the fact that the previous user hadn’t bothered to log off before their arrived. Careless.

As if on queue, the suited men turned toward the exam table, instantly recognizing that the occupant that had once been shackled to it was now squatting behind it, brandishing a freshly-summoned machete. Blue reacted first, making it a single step before Vincent raised his weapon and squeezed the trigger, the gunblade expelling its high-caliber payload into the man’s chest.

[Kenpachi Zaraki]

Vincent barrelled clumsily over the table as his foe fell, darting unsteadily toward the dying man’s partner. Though he had yet to regain full command over them, his tempered limbs moved with relative efficiency of their own accord. His reaction was more akin to impulse than a planned assault; his body had refused to stay down. Fight over flight.

Agent Williams watched with mild surprise as the pale Prime threw a savage elbow into his partner’s gut, eliciting a bona fide cry of pain from the otherwise stoic fellow. He had taken to falling back a few steps, pulling a pistol from beneath his suitcoat as he watched Miller's collapse into a pitiful heap. Without a second thought he leveled his piece at the deranged patient, letting loose a trio of slugs in succession into the Prime’s back. Each found their mark, burning holes through the man’s labcoat as they punched into his pale flesh. The scraggly attacker fell predictably to the linoleum, landing on his side with a crude thud.

“Unfortunate,” the operative monotoned. He holstered his weapon, raising a manicured finger to his earpiece. “Subject X-3 displayed brief signs of life, but ultimately ceased function. Subject to be relegated to cryostorage.” 

The agent lowered his hand, ceasing the communications. His colleagues would be along shortly to clean up his mess. His schedule had not involved the elimination of experiment three; he had no doubt that his employer would not be pleased with the news. Still, he had not broken contract. His assignment was purely to keep the subject on the grounds. Whether the man was alive or dead was immaterial.

“Dismissed,” Williams muttered, stooping to pull the earpiece from his former partner’s corpse. He watched with interest as the color drained from Miller's face, his skin rapidly becoming pallid. The curiosities of this universe never seemed to end. As the man’s corpse began to shrink before him, he allowed himself a moment to admire his reflection in his now-deceased partner’s shades. It was a full second before he noticed the pair of red irises burning in the darkness behind him. 

No…

A beat.

Before the agent’s expert digits could find their way back to the butt of his .50 caliber, Williams felt pain rampage through his gut. He turned his head slowly downward, glimpsing the business end of a coal black machete painted with his own dark red ichor. Desperation spurred his hand to grip the pistol, quickly tugging it free of its holster. The gun hung in the Agent’s grip for a mere second before clattering to the ground an instant later, the pale Prime wrenching his blade upward and through the agent’s chest. 

Vincent heaved uneven breaths, a crimson aura cloaking his form. Blood oozed from the bulletholes that dotted his upper back as he inhaled, the plasma staining his coat a similar hue. Thankfully, though his attacker’s aim was true, the suited man’s bullets were unable to puncture any vital organs; they instead had nestled between the sinews in his back and shoulder, affording the raven-haired man a reminder to avoid such incidents in the future. His thoughts were hazy, fury only barely prevailing over the confusion and grogginess with which he had recently awoken. 

Presently the Turk’s rage began to ebb as he allowed Chaos’ influence to slip away, the aura slowly fading to nothingness. His hands shook as he began to methodically wipe the blood from his gunblade, smearing yet more blood onto the labcoat. Under normal circumstances he would take the time to investigate the computer further, perhap even care for his wounds. He doubted however that he would be alone for much longer. The well-dressed gunman had muttered some variety of message just moments earlier to the communication device that dangled from his ear and Vincent was not keen on awaiting the recipient of said message. Finally catching his breath, the Prime kneeled down and tugged the device from his attacker’s ear, depositing it into one of the large pockets on the front of his labcoat. Chimerical weapon in hand, the ex-Turk quickly left the duo of desiccating agents behind.

[Kenpachi Zaraki]

The gunslinger hastily fastened the buttons on his sullied coat as he exited the exam room, casting a cursory glance down the long hallway in which he stood. His room was located, it turned out, at the end of said hallway. The passage was lit in a similar fashion to that of the room in which he had so recently awoken: barely at all. What meager illumination offered was in the form of fluorescent bulbs, giving the scene an eerie glow. Vincent noted a conspicuous lack of decor in the hallway, the occasional door being the only thing breaking up the otherwise monotonous span of off-white wall. The facility was silent, save for the hum of the aforementioned lights, and smelled faintly of disinfectant and floor wax. 

Where am I? The pale prime wondered, his grip tightening around the handle of his newly-crafted gunblade. The Turk had been awake for less than an hour now and he had already had his life threatened. Not a great way to wake up. He stood still for a moment, blinking away what remained of his fatigue, before beginning his investigation.

Vincent walked slowly and cautiously down the corridor, focusing on summoning a handful of ammunition during the present respite. He kept the blade at the ready as he walked, peering through the small square panes embedded in every identical door. Each room greatly resembled the first with little deviation: a shiny metal exam table in the middle of a room cluttered with innumerable medical devices and terminals. The pale gunslinger was surprised to find no less than a dozen of such rooms dotting either side of the long corridor. What surprised Vincent more was not the presence of such examination space but the fact that each and every one was completely empty.

“Strange,” the Turk muttered, opening the break-loading mechanism on his gunblade and dropping a freshly conjured round into the chamber. He deposited the rest of the summoned ammunition into his pocket, alongside the strange earpiece he had swiped from the now-dead attackers. Vincent was curious as to with whom his attackers had been communicating, though after watching the men essentially deflate upon removal of the device, he was in no hurry to try it on. 

The moments slowly ticked by until the raven-haired man finally reached the end of the corridor, turning the corner and spying a set of brick-colored double doors on his immediate left and a pair of polished doors to what Vincent could only assume was an elevator some twenty feet before him. He crept stealthily past the doors, peering through one of the panes to see a group of a half-dozen men adorn in similar garb to the duo he had just recently dispatched. They stood around a large, circular table, examining what looked to be a collection of various documents spread across the table’s surface. The gunslinger quickly ducked out of sight after a few seconds, mentally willing his body to become transparent. Seconds later, the door slowly swung open.

“Agents Williams and Miller,” a man in black deadpanned, a finger touched to his earpiece. “Status.” He did not await a reply, quickly marching around the corner.

The unseen gunslinger crept stealthily around the oblivious operative as he passed, slipping nimbly into the meeting room as the door snapped shut behind him. The gathered individuals paid no mind to their cloaked visitor, their eyes unable to perceive the pale Prime as he reached the table. Vincent stood nearly shoulder-to-shoulder with the group, staring down at the collection of documents. He scanned the collection quickly, noting countless pages of instructions for how ‘specimens’ were to be cared. 

“What will we report of Subject X-3? Deus will want to know.”

The gunslinger turned to note the face of the speaker, a blonde man with a distinct widow’s peak. His emotionless face was turned toward a fellow, a stack of papers in hand. Vincent took the opportunity to lean closer to the man and inspect his documents, noting the heading 'Subject X-3'. Below the heading was a familiar face staring back at him, confident and youthful. The man wore a dark blue suit with a matching tie, his dark bangs parted over a fair face. The ShinRa insignia was stamped in his lapel, recognizable immediately by the ex-Turk even after many years. Vincent’s breath caught in his throat as he stared down at his own face.

Inches from the blonde agent's earpiece, the gunslinger listened as transmission came through. “All operatives: Subject X-3 has escaped.”

[Kenpachi Zaraki]

How?

The haggard gunslinger stood rooted in place, his thoughts drowning out the sounds of the clamoring agents. One by one the suited operatives filed out of the room, leaving the shell-shocked Vincent staring down at the various dossiers and miscellaneous documents they had abandoned in their haste. Among this sea of paperwork, the ex-Turk spotted a thin stack of photographs. His translucent hands drifted toward the pile, taking up the glossy images.

How?

In the pale Prime’s hands was an extensive photographic history of his service for the ShinRa Electric Power Company. Among the stack he found images ranging from surveillance photos of his work on-cite in the Laboratory with his dear Lucrecia to snapshots of a near-dead Valentine laying dormant in his coffin beneath the ShinRa mansion. Picture after picture, Vincent thumbed through the years of his life he had spent employed by that wretched corporation. As he progressed through his timeline he even found blurry photos of his time with Cloud, the battle against Sephiroth’s remnants and the struggle in opposition to Deepground. A nigh-unbroken chain of photographic history.

The thought that someone or something had procured such images even from a place like the Omniverse brought on a cold sweat. If Vincent understood the laws of this universe correctly, everything in it must be summoned by a Prime or Omni himself. The few times that he himself had called upon Omni’s ‘gift’, it had required great concentration on what was to be summoned. He posited, therefore, that one must know what they’re summoning. That one might reach into some cosmic, interdimensional grab bag and produce such a complete history by accident made little sense to the Prime. 

But that would mean…

As the thought sank in, the gunslinger’s tour through the photographs reached an alarming turn. An image, at first seeming blank. A completely white image save for an intricate, moving fountain, and the shape of a prostrate figure, adorn in scarlet.

The Nexus.

His grip fell slack, the images sliding free from his hands and sliding across the table. Images of a sunny beach, a chaotic battle between a motley collection of combatants in the wilderness, a familiar tattered red cape wrapped around a lifeless corpse, carried down a barren hallway by a group of suited men. 

Impossible…

Distant sounds of polished Oxfords click-clacking against sterile linoleum filtered into the room, though the gunslinger could scarcely hear them. Every sense seemed to dull and cease function as the familiar mocking tone echoed through his consciousness.

Mister Valentine…

[Kenpachi Zaraki]

No sooner had the mysterious words entered his mind than the gunslinger felt a stabbing pain at the base of his skull, his knees buckling as a familiar agony set his nerves ablaze. Agony spread like a voracious wildfire down his spine, diffusing rapidly to permeate every inch of his body. What remained of his dulled senses were promptly extinguished as Vincent flung his head back, letting loose a guttural roar. His body became corporeal once more as his scream echoed down the hallway.

Vincent!

Swallowed up and cut off from the world by a sea of torment, the ex-Turk froze in place. This voice had been different than the mocking, challenging tone he had since heard. This one was familiar and drenched in panic, pleading for his attention.

VINCENT!

Blinded, deafened, and awash in misery, Vincent’s felt the bottom fall out of his stomach as his addled brain finally placed the source of the call. For the umpteenth time today, he was forced to face what seemed to be impossible.

Mister Valentine...come to us, won’t you?

As the malevolent taunting assaulted his consciousness, images flashed before his eyes. Like a theater with a broken projector, stills flashed past haphazardly and at vary angles for but a moment apiece. He recognized a few, though familiar or not, the sequence of images burned itself into his memory like a brand. Several among them stuck out: the sterile hallways of the facility in which he now stood, the bustling streets of Coruscant, a room lined with complex-looking technology, and a young girl, her auburn hair framing pale skin and unnaturally-vibrant blue eyes.

“SHELKE!” the ex-Turk roared, deaf to his own cries. His gray matter, inundated with pain, could scarcely keep a thought in his head, save for the image of the girl. 

“Subject X-3,” came the monotone of a returning Agent. He stood for but a moment in the doorway, eyeing the oblivious, feral Prime. “Apprehended,” he muttered, drawing his pistol at once, leveling the piece at his mark, and firing.

From inside his prison of pain, Vincent felt something alien. An uptick of pain in an otherwise uniform coffin of torment. Numb to all sensation save agony, Vincent sprang sloppily to his feet and turned his attention toward the blips of increased pain on his mental radar. His body reacted without his direction, tapping into his Protomateria and summoning up a cloak of chaotic red energy that enveloped his form. Before the suited man could react to the change, the ex-Turk lunged forward, barreling into his attacker and sending him airborne. The Agent’s trip was short-lived, however, as he came to a stop abruptly against the hallway wall, spraying chunks of drywall onto the pristine tile.

Heedless of the destruction he had caused, the incensed Prime rampaged down the hallway, flailing his chaos-empowered limbs at nonexistent foes. The frenzy of devastation came to an abrupt end as Vincent made contact with the far wall, obliterating the plaster as his superhumanly-enhanced body collided with it. Deep within the gunslinger’s subconscious, he felt the sensation of falling as he tumbled through the wall, plunging toward the streets below. Once more he felt a sharp spike in pain, followed this time by soothing embrace of unconsciousness. He felt the pain finally ebb as he slipped away, cool raindrops intermingling with the puddle of crimson ichor pooling beneath his battered body.

“Shelke...” he rasped, his vision blurring. His eyes blinked slowly, futilely, as he drifted away.

[Kenpachi Zaraki]

“Ah, you’re awake. That’s a relief.”

The gunslinger opened his eyes slowly at first, only to slam them shut as excruciating light burned his corneas. His face contorted in anguish, throwing an arm over his face to shield his throbbing optics.

“Oh, apologies,” came a gentle-sounding voice. “I’m so used to it that I didn’t realize.” 

A few seconds later Vincent noticed the light streaming through his tightly-shut eyelids dim somewhat, indicating that whomever was hidden behind the light had taken pity on him and decreased the intensity. “...Thanks,” he offered, withdrawing his arm. 

“Not to worry my boy. In fact, I owe you an apology for not thinking of my patient,” the voice replied, the timbre of a calm, older gentleman. Vincent heard a chuckle followed by clinking as the man fiddled with his tools.

Adrenaline spiking in his veins, the gunslinger sat bolt-upright, crimson irises focusing on the now somewhat alarmed man at the foot of his cot. He looked to be in his late sixties, bald in all but the sides of his head. He wore a pair of thick spectacles that hung dangerously close to the tip of his nose. In the man’s right hand was a bloody scalpel, matching the discolored rag in his other. Vincent's head pounded as he sized up the elder, taking note of the plethora of used medical supllies on various rolling tables around his cot. The Prime was uncertain what the mad scientist was planning, but he wasn’t about to wait around for yet another experiment to be performed on him against his will. “Don’t,” Vincent nearly growled, locking his eyes in the man.

“Don’t...what?” the man replied nervously, his shaking hands allowing the scalpel to fall loose from his grip and clatter to the floor.

“Back away,” Vincent commanded, fumbling clumsily for something sharp from the table nearest him. The best he could find was a small pair of scissors, which he held overhead as if it were a dagger.

“I’m afraid you’ve got me all wrong my boy,” the man said, fear evident in his voice. He displayed his empty palms to the Prime. “I don’t want to hurt you. I’ve already done everything I needed.” He pointed with one hand at a small steel bowl on one of the carts parallel to Vincent’s cot. “Take a look.”

The gunslinger furrowed his brow, glaring at the man for a moment before stealing a gaze down at the container. Inside, he spied a half dozen metal slugs, misshapen, but unmistakeable. It was at that exact moment that Vincent noticed the thick layer of gauze taped to his back, along with the several halos of pain that dotted his back. “You...pulled them out?”

“I saw you fall out 3 stories,” the man replied, relaxing somewhat as the pale Prime lowered his shears. “You had a heartbeat, so I got you here as fast as I could and got to work. You’re a Prime, aren’t you? An average Joe wouldn’t have survived that.”

Vincent nodded, running a hand behind his back and over his bandaged wounds. “You found me?”

“I wouldn’t say that I found you so much as I watched you find the ground,” the man answered, with the faintest hint of a smile. “My name is Jack Fabre.”

“Vincent Valentine,” the gunslinger responded, placing the dirty scissors back on their tray. “Am I in Coruscant?”

“Technically you are,” Fabre replied. “Though I would hardly call a dog’s arsehole the dog. We’re on Tier 6.”

The explanation meant little to the Prime. “Those suited men, did they follow you?”

“Not a one,” the elder replied, scooping his scalpel from the floor and depositing it in a nearby sink. “Which is good, as the Empire doesn’t even bother to send patrols down to this tier anymore. It took me quite a while to lug your body back here, so they’d have had plenty of opportunities to strike.” He smiled weakly, “I’m not as young as I used to be.”

The ex-Turk nodded, content with the man’s answer. “Thank you, Doctor.”

“Oh, I’m no doctor my boy. At least, not anymore. My office here isn’t the most…legal place to get sewn up.” Jack chuckled, gathering up the rest of his miscellaneous implements. 

Vincent cocked an eyebrow for a moment before dismissing the notion; he didn’t want to know what the man was implying. “I have to go,” he said after a moment. Though his stomach still churned, pain bounced up and down his spine like a superball and he wasn’t sure he even had enough blood left to move his limbs, he had to move.

“Not right now you don’t,” Fabre said, pushing the Prime back onto the cot. “You’ve lost a lot of blood. Just take another nap and let your natural Prime powers work their magic,” he said finished with a wink. “I am glad that you’re getting better, though. All the talking in your sleep was worrying me.”

“Talking?” Vincent repeated, relenting and allowing his head to rest upon the thin mattress. The idea of rest was pretty inviting.

“Yes. You kept repeating your own name and the phrase ‘Help Me’, over and over. It was very concerning.”

The ex-Turk felt his heart begin to race. “Anything else?”

Fabre looked up from organizing his toolkit. “Not really. Just something about the Dataverse?”

[Kenpachi Zaraki]

Vincent sat at the end of a dingy cot, absent-mindedly fastening the many buckles and straps that composed his attire. He was not quite sure why he had opted to summon a set of clothes identical -- tears and all -- to the set he had always worn. He supposed that something such as a simple shirt and trousers might have been less conspicuous and overall easier, though something about the garb was comforting to him. As he tugged the last of the zippers into place and fastened his holster to his thigh, his thoughts drifted back to what the good doctor had told him.

- - -

“The Dataverse, yes.” The old man had answered plainly and without hesitation as he dropped the last of his tools into his med bag. “You were muttering, though, so there wasn’t much detail there.”

Though he had been a resident of the Omniverse for some time now, the name of such a place was completely foreign to him. Etymology told him that in some way technology or information was likely to be involved, but this was far from a complete understanding. “What...is the Dataverse?”

Fabre looked up from his tidying for a moment, scratching at his patchy stubble. “Dataverse, yes. More or less similar to the Internet if you’re familiar.” He gestured helpfully at an out-dated computer terminal. “The kicker is, you can actually go in.”

- - -

Entering a realm of data. Vincent had become familiar with such an outlandish idea when he had met Shelke in Deepground, her technopathy having saved his neck more than once. Whether or not one could Net Dive into the Dataverse as the girl had done back home, such a place seemed to be a good place to find her. At least if she could not be found, perhaps he could use this Dataverse to track her down. Being so intimately connected with technology, she ought to have at some point dabbled in the ‘Verse. 

“Ah, you’re leaving then?”

Vincent glanced up at the kind face of his savior, now wearing a wrinkled flannel shirt and suspenders that supported a torn pair of blue jeans. The bloody lab coat had hopefully been thrown in the wash. “Yes,” the Prime answered.

“Where do you intend to go?” The words were inquisitive, more born from curiosity than contempt. “Surely not back to where I found you?”

The gunslinger shook his head as he holstered Cerberus. “The Dataverse.”

Fabre nodded slowly, removing his grimy glasses and wiping what he could from the lens’ surface with his roughspun shirt. “Chasing whatever’s got its hand up your back, hmm?” He smiled warmly at Vincent’s slightly alarmed expression. “Call it a lucky guess.”

“He talks to me,” the pale Prime stated, getting to his feet. His sabatons shone in the dim basement lightning, their polished surface casting reflections onto the ceiling above. “And I can hear...someone I care for.”

“I won’t pretend that’s something I hear everyday,” Jack replied, stuffing his thin, spidery hands into his pockets. “How do you intend to get there?”

The cloaked Prime blinked. He had more or less skipped the planning phase up until this point; the thought of Shelke’s life being in jeopardy had overridden his typically logical mind. “The upper tiers have many kinds of technology, I’m sure they must have a way of getting there.”

“Nope.” The bluntness of the man’s comment caught Vincent off-guard, his jaw falling slack for a moment before the elder continued. “The Emperor got rid of the Uplink Booths a while back, shortly after the Jubilee. I get the feeling he wasn’t terribly thrilled with anyone having access to a world composed of information. They go to great lengths to keep everyone in the dark in their little utopia.”

“Can you…?” the ex-Turk trailed off as Jack shook his head before the words could escape his lips. He fell silent, his mind groping in vain for any shred of hope. Whatever way he could get there, he’d have to do it.

“There is one way that I might be able to help you,” the doctor said, crossing the room to a cluttered desk. He found a medium-sized legal pad, quickly flipping through its contents while Vincent waited patiently. “Ah-ha, here we are. It’s probably broken beyond repair, but I imagine with you being a Prime it shouldn’t be too difficult to get working.” He tore a piece of lined paper from the spine and handed it to his guest.

“A map?” The ex-Turk’s eyes rolled quickly across its surface, synthesizing the information as fast as his fatigued brain would allow. “What am I looking for?”

“Some kind of fancy Dataverse terminal,” Fabre replied, handing him another piece of paper. “The booths topside might have been converted or destroyed, but I know of a few places where you might find some less savory options on this tier. Immersion Fights have been a hot trend lately, downloading yourself into a game and fighting another idiot with whatever weaponry you can imagine. Allows secondaries to feel like they’re Primes. As you can imagine, the Emperor isn’t too keen on letting the practice flourish. Most of them have been scrapped if they’re known, but I happen to have seen few that might be salvageable.” 

The gunslinger noted a few ‘x’s on the hand-scrawled map, the closest of which being not far from the square marked “Home”. With a nod, Vincent neatly folded up the papers and slipped them into his pocket. “Thank you.”

Fabre smiled, tugging open a drawer and fishing out a small piece of tech. “No need to thank me. Here, have this. It has my contact info in it so you should be able to get a hold of me through email. I confess I don’t have one of those communicators everyone seems to have; I find them to distract me from my work. Still, though, I check my mail often enough.”

The Prime took the object gratefully, depositing the device in another of his many pockets. Vincent gazed at the doctor for a long moment, unsure of how to react to such an act of kindness. In lieu of the usual formalities, Fabre himself took command. Before he knew it, Vincent found himself shooed out the lab’s side door by the smirking scientist. The gunslinger managed to slip another phrase of gratitude before Jack cut him off.

“Find your friend,” the man said, nodding kindly. With that, the door snapped shut.

---

The ex-Turk quickly made his way through the deserted streets, moving toward what he hoped was the location marked on his makeshift map. Vincent could not be sure of which direction he had to go; truthfully, he wasn’t even sure the sketch was to-scale. He cast such thoughts aside as he strode through the ghetto, senses probing the unseen for any incidence of danger. Despite his better judgement, he soon found himself hastily making his way down Sixth street. If Fabre’s map were to be believed, he would find his terminal on this street.

Six-Six-Six. Vincent read the scribbled name of the establishment as he walked, musing at the symbolism behind the title. In this instance, the number of the beast referred literally to the structure’s presence as the sixth plot on Sixth Street of Tier 6. The Prime could only imagine what the decor must be like. He did not need to wonder for long before a particular sign came into view.

6-6-6: The Devil’s Playground

He stuffed the papers back into his pockets as he neared the door, noting the many broken windows that marred the face of the building. A large neon sign lay upon the sidewalk, ruined and shattered. It looked to have been torn from above the doorway, its coils twisted into shapes depicting a female devil performing acrobatic maneuvers around a pole. The door beside it looked to have been closed off by someone (likely the Imperial Police Force), the doors’ metal panels melted together at the seam. With a sigh, Vincent climbed gingerly through the shattered picture window and into the lobby.

Vincent learned quickly that the interior of the building was just as damaged as the outside, with tables upturned and pulverized into splinters and various glassware shattered upon the broken floorboards. The room seemed to reek of alcohol, despite the fact that the carnage looked to be quite old. The remnants of the bar’s stash lay mostly broken, a few lone bottles left untouched to gather dust. The Prime ignored the fire water, instead setting his sights on a small terminal recessed in a wall opposite a large catwalk. A lone pole stood sentinel at the end of the platform as if standing guard over the computer. As he approached, Vincent spied the words “ATM” scrawled across the top in stylized writing. The ex-Turk made to turn away from the apparent dead-end, stopping only as he spotted what looked to be some fragment of lettering barely obscured by the machine’s header. His gloved hand quickly found the corner of the sign, peeling it off with moderate effort.

Test Your Might: Digital Warfare

Vincent nodded to no one in particular, relieved to have found the machine without too much difficulty. As he stood among the splintered stools and shredded carpet, his thoughts casted him back to the bar he once called home, one not too unlike where he now stood, minus the incentive of exotic dancers. The establishment had belonged to Tifa, serving as both the headquarters for her and Cloud’s delivery business and as a hole-in-the-wall watering hole for those who might pass through. The gunslinger, like most of the other members of Avalanche, had spent many of their days in that cantina, recuperating from some particularly vicious fight and reminiscing. The motley collection of warriors had become the closest thing to family he had known in quite a long time. Remembering such times brought a smile to the Prime’s face; even when the world was quite literally being torn apart, the days that he spent standing beside him comrades were some of the best he had yet had. A thought struck him as he reveled in the nostalgia: in the Omniverse, the tavern could yet live again.

Smiling, Vincent got to work.

[Kenpachi Zaraki]

The gunslinger looked upon his handiwork, silently pleased with the new atmosphere he had willed into being. To the ignorant passerby, the place seemed to be different, though only on the surface. The torn crimson carpets had vanished, replaced instead by dingy linoleum tiling as one might find at any garden variety truck stop. Cracked fluorescent tubing above had been replaced with weak incandescent bulbs, most more prone to flickering than truly serving their purpose. The stage and the pole it had bore had also melted away, a few simple round tables popping into existence in their stead, balancing half-filled napkin dispensers and nearly empty condiment bottles. The pair of welded-shut doors had been replaced by an unremarkable wooden door, hinges rusty and loud. Broken alcohol bottles had found themselves mended, though the large variety, curiously, had shrunk to but a few odd dusty bottles of wine and low-quality liquor. The large picture window had ceased to be, the walls encroaching to fill the gap and leaving behind small cracked panes in its place. The air smelled of grease and dust in equal amounts.

No place like home. Vincent had never quite considered any one building to be his home, not at least since before his ‘second birth’. He largely considered himself a drifter, stopping at some odd inn here or there to pass the nights in solitude. It was the ambiance, rather, that spoke to his soul. Memories flickered back into his mind, nostalgia bringing back long-gone battles and restless nights. His sabatons clicked loudly upon the tiles as he crossed the room, extending a hand to tug at the pull-chain of the new neon sign the hung in the window.

7th Heaven

Satisfied with his creation, he turned to the dataverse terminal, its formerly dilapidated appearance now quite polished and usable. Though he could not manage to conjure up any mental image to rival that of the citizens on Tier-1, he figured it was more the intent that mattered when it came to creating in the Omniverse. Fitting with his relatively minimal technological expertise, the console seemed to be quite simple and user-friendly. A few taps on the touchscreen and quick keystrokes brought up the Uplink menu. All seemed to function as normal. For once, good news.

The ex-Turk could not say that he felt certain about any aspect of his half-baked plan, though all signs pointed in the direction of the Dataverse. Whatever individual who had taken it upon themselves to assault his mind had been conspicuously silent since he had awaken back at Fabre’s ‘lab’, though Vincent taking any advice from someone who had been stalking him since before even his arrival was dubious as best. As he pondered embarking, his heart skipped a beat. Nanaki.

The gunslinger pulled the communication device he had been gifted from his pocket, quickly flipping it open and finding Fabre’s contact information already entered. His gloved fingers rapidly tapped out an urgent memo to the doctor, hoping that the man checked his messages as often as he claimed. He dropped the device back into his pocket a moment later, brow furrowing as he paced the creaky floorboards. The raven-haired man had not seen or heard from the burgundy beast for over a year at this point, if the calendar on Jack’s dataverse device were to be believed. Though the ex-Turk had spent a good portion of this timespan effectively dead, he could not help but feel guilt and concern. He did not doubt the feline’s battle experience in the least; back on Gaia the one known by most as Red XIII had been among the strongest of Avalanche. This issue was this universe they had found themselves in: the smiling God seemed to quite enjoy turning things on their head.

Vincent exhaled slowly, taking one last glance at the luminous beacon before turning and making his way toward the staircase in the far corner. He would wait for word from Jack and, if necessary, search for his lost comrade with what little time he felt he could spare. Though he desperately needed to reach Shelke before harm befell her, he reasoned that whoever had taken her was likely using her as bait, as she had been kept alive for this long. He only hoped his assumption was correct.

[Kenpachi Zaraki]

On the other end of Tier 6, the bespectacled scientist shuffled restlessly around his cluttered laboratory. His dingy lab coat had been discarded in favor of an equally dirty tweed jacket and his thick spectacles replaced with a pair of smudged bifocals. His workspace was no messier than it typically was, though something within drove his hands to wander across the many books and doohickeys that cluttered his desks. Shaken from his anxiety-driven trance, Jack Fabre stopped his fidgeting abruptly at the sound of a sharp ping from across the room. His loafers swished quickly across the floor as he opened the display on his outdated laptop.

Email: Vincent to Jack Fabre

Jack pushed his glasses up from the bridge of his nose and nibbled at his bottom lip as he finished the memo. Something about the strange cloaked Prime compelled the doctor to help, though he had no obligation. To Jack, Vincent’s emotional and psychological pain was almost palpable in his words and mannerisms. Though he was no longer a medical doctor, he could never resist the call to assuage pain. Though the elder had little experience with the Dataverse or really anything beyond his hovel in the veritable bowels of Coruscant, he would endeavor to assist. There remained but one issue: how would he find the man’s companion? The individual could be in any of the various locales spread across the Omniverse, and this was assuming the being was still alive.

Fabre sighed, plopping himself down in a creaky computer chair. Though the professor was far from overweight, the broken seat groaned under his burden. Ignoring the chair’s cries of anguish, he wheeled himself across the lab toward a set of metal cabinets. Much like the rest of Fabre’s living arrangements, clutter was abound. He always reminded himself of the quote by the famous physicist from back home: “If a cluttered desk is a sign of a cluttered mind, of what, then, is an empty desk a sign?” Jack smirked as he popped the rusty door of the first cabinet open, beginning to rifle through a tall stack of audio-video recordings. Though recording such material was strictly banned by Emperor Palpatine, there’d be no stormtroopers slogging down to Tier Six to apprehend a tired old man.

As Jack slipped the first of the surveillance tapes into the media player, he heard an unfamiliar chiming from atop one of his less cluttered desks, a discolored oak one a few yards from his seat. The doctor ignored the beeping, dismissing it as another of his odd projects doing somesuch thing. He constantly found himself starting up yet another project every few days, each never to be finished. The man’s mind ran in circles constantly, always hatching some new ‘brilliant’ idea. Such distractions would have to wait, if he were to find Vincent’s companion. “Hmm...Tier Three perhaps?” He muttered the question aloud, though no other stood by to answer.

Briiing, briiing.

Fabre allowed the device to continue its tune for several minutes before he finally dropped what he was doing and stood to examine the troublesome device. He cocked his head as he recognized the widget, scratching his head as he began to puzzle over why it could be alerting him. He scooped the phone from amid the pile of half-organized paperwork and returned to the creaky office chair, tapping a few buttons and opening the display.

Call From: SYNTECH

Jack let out an audible grunt as he tossed the phone back into the sea of paperwork. “Peh, if he thinks I’m ever answering his call again, he’s got another think coming.” The phone continued to chime as he spoke to no one. A moment after the tune finished its loop and went silent, it began to ring once more. Fabre continued to ignore the call for a few more iterations before he finally brought the receiver begrudgingly to his ear.

“Look, if you think I’m going to be doing any more contract work for your little murderfest, you’re dead-wrong.” He ignored the unintentional pun and continued. “I’ve got enough blood on my hands to last a lifetime, so stop calling!”

There was a long pause on the other end of the line before an unfamiliar voice met the doctor’s ears. “...Hello? I’m looking for Vincent Valentine. Do I have the wrong number?”

The elder nearly fell from his seat as he fumbled with the communicator, rising quickly to his feet just as the broken chair collapsed under its own weight. Jack paid no attention, instead absorbed in his conversation with the voice on the other side. “Y-yes, this is the right number. I apologize, I thought you were someone else. Are you by any chance…” He paused, trying to keep his phrasing polite. “...A red lion?”

The reply came instantly, the caller’s voice laced with a mixture of curiosity and excitement. “I’m a crimson beast known as Red XIII to most, yes. Where is Vincent? Is he alright?”

Jack quickly crossed the room to his computer, navigating to his email client and bringing up Vincent’s memo. “I believe he is, yes. He sent me a message quite recently asking for me to find you. As luck would have it, you seem to have saved me the trouble. I’ll send you the coordinates that I gave to Vincent. You’ll find him there, on Tier Six, Coruscant.”

The professor quickly relayed the needed information to Vincent’s associate, assuring him that the man was in fine health and waiting to hear from them. As he said goodbye to the feline, Jack sat at his computer and began to compose message. Though he was unsure how the two would take to his idea, he had a feeling the duo would need all the help they could get.

[Kenpachi Zaraki]

Nanaki could only gape as he stared down at the blank floor of the Nexus, his ‘new’ communicator’s screen dimming and finally shutting off entirely. A long few moments passed before he finally shook himself from his daze. He’d done it. After everything he’d gone through on that hellish island, he’d found his friend after so long. That was, if the mysterious Jack Fabre were to be believed. By this point, even the vaguest whiff of a scent was enough to put the beast back on the trail.

“Coruscant,” the feline mumbled aloud, turning his back on the fountain. The bird had evacuated the area some time ago, leaving him more or less alone. Given, there could very well have been others in the area, but in this moment he was really not very concerned with much else but Vincent’s safety. He thought back to his first day in the Omniverse, to his capture in the Vasty Deep. Those vagabonds had spoken of the city of Coruscant.

“Hello, my beastial compatriot!” The nasally voice of some newcomer split the air like a knife, grating harshly on Nanaki’s eardrums. “Are you a Prime?”

The crimson creature turned slowly toward the source of the commotion, spying the a lanky man in humble armor striding unsteadily in his direction. Upon further inspection this man was more of a boy, and the armor appeared to be several sizes too large for him. “I am,” Nanaki responded. “Do you know where I can find Coruscant?”

The youth’s previously hopeful face froze for a moment as his eyebrows vanished into his bushy brown bangs. “Um, yes, but I think I have a much better fit for you?” Red could tell that the boy likely meant this to come out more as a confident statement than a confused inquiry, but there was no helping that.

“Which way is it?” Nanaki growled back bluntly. He could sense the boy had some ulterior motive, purely by the way that he persisted to speak, even though his sharp nose could smell the fear in the boy’s sweat.

“B-but don’t you think you should consider your options? I d-don’t think you’d r-really fit in well with Stormtroopers, ya’ know?” The lad’s throat seemed to have constricted to the point that his voice was a closer approximation of a whistle than actual communication. The burgundy beast couldn’t be sure if maybe the speaker’s tone peeved him so because of his sensitive animal ears, of it perhaps the boy just had that effect on people.

“I am not interesting in being recruited,” Nanaki stated flatly, taking a few steps toward the boy. “Now, if you know in which direction Coruscant lies, tell me now. Otherwise, please leave me be.”

“I r-really think that the K-Kingdom would help you…” the boy trailed off, his voice failing as his lips continued to futilely mouth his words.

“Coruscant,” the scarred feline snarled, lowering himself into a more threatening posture and slowly stalking forward. “Where.” It was not a question anymore.

“R-right behind you!” the boy cried out, suddenly finding his voice as he stumbled backward, only to trip and tumble backward into the depths of a the Fountain. Luckily for the young soldier, the strange construct was presently taking the form of a shallow pond. He stuck his head cautiously out of the murky depths, a lilypad dragging the visor of his helmet down over his eyes.

Nanaki snorted in reply, not bothering to offer the lad even the vaguest semblance of thanks. He quickly tossed the the various items back into the metal briefcase and somehow managed to wrestle the thing closed, despite his lack of thumbs. It was at times like this that he missed Christa.Taking the handle between his teeth, he turned ‘round and began his dash toward the far end of the Nexus. He could spy what looked like a gate quite similar to the Vasty Deep portal, but this one seemed to have a fair few individuals milling around it. He sighed deeply and quickened his pace, hoping to avoid being accosted once more to join some army or another.

“Excuse me Sir, do you have a moment to stop and talk about Sheev Palpati-”

Before the white-clad recruiter could finish his spiel, Nanaki leapt through the air, vanishing into the portal.

“Well,” one Stormtrooper said to his companion. “It looks like our numbers are going to be down this month.”

A sigh. “Yeah,” the other replied. “Shame.”

   • -     -

Despite Nanaki’s past experiences back home with AVALANCHE facing off against the technologically adept Shin-Ra, as well as his wanderings so recently through the Abyss, nothing could have prepared him for Coruscant. He knew quite well that the various Verses were eclectic and strange when compared to one another, though this was the purest form of culture shock for a simple nomadic creature like himself. The ground beneath his feet even seemed to hum with some kind of technological peculiarity, along with just about everything else he could lay his eyes on. He had a feeling he could easily spend hours wandering around the metropolis and taking in the sites. Now, however, was not the time for sightseeing.

“Tier 6,” Nanaki mumbled to himself, casting his gaze around for some kind of map or landmark. Was he on Tier 6 now? How many tiers were there? He hoped that he would not have to endure countless flights of stairs to reach his destination; his short legs were not conducive to such ascent or descent.

After what felt like an hour of aimless wandering through the immaculate streets of Coruscant, the crimson beast finally resigned himself to asking for directions. Though his senses were keen, he could not catch even the vaguest whiff of Vincent through the aromatic ocean of scents that wafted off of the various people he happened by. For all he knew, he could have walked right past his dear companion by this point. With a deep sigh, Nanaki approached a fancy-looking shop front, ignoring the obnoxious neon thrum of the overhead sign.

“Why hello fine...sir?”

The scarred beast slowly ambled into the boutique, sable claws clicking on the polished chrome flooring. The man who had addressed him had likewise begun to click his way toward him, though with a noticeable degree of reservation. The man stood only around a foot taller than Nanaki’s own shoulders, though the shopkeep hung suspended in the air, floating with the aid of some device strapped to his back that emitted an odd rhythmic clicking. The man’s skin was an interesting shade of blue, his hair a shock of white tied back in a tight bun atop his smallish noggin. A long silver robe rung past his feet, obscuring whatever high-fashion footwear he might have been sporting.

“Might I offer you...a...uh…” The man thought for a moment before continuing, seeming positively baffled. He looked around at the shelves around him sporting trendy new gizmos and gadgets, as well as more expensive enthusiast hardware. Nanaki suspected the man was truly trying to find some interesting widget to hock to the catdog that had just strolled into his store.

“No,” Red replied, cutting the man off before he made things more awkward. The merchant’s perplexed face instantly collapsed with relief at Red’s dismissal of his sales pitch. “I just need to know where I am and how I can get to Tier 6.”

“Oh, why you’re on Tier 1,” the tiny salesman replied, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a tiny capsule. With a quick tap of his finger, the metallic bean sprang open and revealed a luminous three-dimensional map of what Nanaki could only assume was Coruscant. “Tier 6 would be down here. There are many elevators and such that you can take to get down there.” He paused, waiting for a nod from his ‘customer’ before continuing. “I don’t advise going down that low, however. It is less...ideal, the farther down you go.”

“I appreciate the thought,” the burgundy beast replied brusquely. “But I need to go there. Where can I get one of those maps?”

“Free of charge,” the little man replied with a smile, floating down to Red’s level. He quickly popped open the attache and deposited the map before snapping it closed. “Have a wonderful day.” The merchant looked positively thrilled that he had found an item that the beast would appreciate, even if it had been a freebie.

“Thank you,” Nanaki replied simply, bowing slightly before taking his leave.

With case in ‘hand’, Red made his way through the streets and toward what he now knew to be an elevator hub. He supposed something like this would be obvious to others, as a small crowd seemed to be omnipresent around the hub, entering and exiting large metal cylinders before said vessels vanished below the artificial ground. Despite the crowd he quickly managed to find his own, following a few odd-looking humanoids into the car and tapping the large green ‘6’ with his nose. He ignored the quizzical looks as he made his way down, the group among him thinning as they descended further downward, stopping at each floor. Finally only he and a few other rather unsavory-looking individuals remained as the overhead speaker stated “Tier Six” pleasantly. As Nanaki stepped out of the elevator, a familiar scent met his nostrils.

“Vincent!”