DISCLAIMER: Gevura swims through swearing and lame verbal smackdowns like a Grashtrike through sewage. Even worse, I was afflicted by some kind of freakish nasty mental overload while I was writing most of the last two-thirds of this piece, so there's more than one really odd lemonish section (nothing too intense, though--just be there to explain everything to your young children, who have inevitably figured out how to hack the codes on porno sites already because you were never there for them. Don't you feel totally ashamed right now?). If you're one of those easily-offended types, then go read H!flash! or something. Then come back here and laugh at this. ;)

Having noticed that the Archangel had made his departure, the Wyvern's vast hordes of characters began to crawl out of the woodwork, perching on the various bits of furniture and homey little accoutrements that had transformed the Wyvern's warped lair into a perfectly normal suburban home. The joint got right crowded in a matter of seconds.

Ioviano pushed his way through the masses and approached his master, who still retained human form. Looking disdainfully at the Wyvern's neat black clothes and meticulously tied black tie, he growled, "Hey, good thing we got those fifteen etheric detection satellites up this morning, huh? Think what would've happened if that seraph had seen this place in its true form."

"I like pie."

"Aw, shit." Ioviano turned to yell over his shoulder. "Hey, the boss wigged out on [POWER] fumes again! Does somebody here know how to reset its megalomania?"

Martyr, glowering threateningly in his matte-black Logic Forces armor, emerged from the crowd, kicking a few hopeful assassins off of his calves. "Here, let me get at it..." The High Lieutenant stalked up to the short and scruffy Cosmic Force, who continued to trip merrily on the drug of overlords. The mech then said, "Wyvern. I want you to imagine that you're a guy named Rikki."

"I...I'm Rikki?"

"Yes. And you have a friend who is very tall and has very long blond hair."

"O...okay."

"And you're in an anime called Ai no Kusabi."

The Dark Beast's scream of utter horror woke up the neighbors for miles around. Two packs of RPG werewolves leaped into action to prevent their lord from smashing its cranium against the wall. Martyr came to the rescue again and mercifully kicked his creator in the head, snapping it back into a recognizeable reality. "Woah! Say, where did I--" It checked its cheap Wal-Mart brand watch. "AUGH!! I lost a whole five minutes of my life!! They came! They came and took me again!!" As the black mech sighed and prepared another boot to the head, the Wyvern suddenly twitched...and its eyes came most disturbingly into focus.

"Ah, yes...I remember now." Grinning coldly, the most malefic of all fanfic authors (more evil than Epsilon! Bwahaha!) rubbed its chin in evil thought. It picked up the Most Holy Strat Guide and flipped through its pages. "Yes. This book will serve me perfectly in my quest to achieve ultimate [G_O_D]hood and finally get free of this human imbecile's brain. At last...AT LAST!!" Striking a triumphant anime-villainish pose, it threw its head back and let fly the #126 (I Love Destroying the Cosmos! I Do, I Do, I Do!) as its characters cowered in very justifiable fear.

"NOW THEN!" roared the Dark One as it whirled to face its legions. Coughing, it calmly turned its EvilDictatorTech brand Ranting Voice(tm) down a few notches. "Now, then. Who did I designate as my official second-in-command?"

"Me!" chorused about two dozen of the more control-freakish critters in the house. Scratching its head, the Wyvern recalled that, at one time or another, it had indeed given every one of these characters the authority to take command in its absence. As brawls, gentlemanly duels, and rock-paper-scissors contests began to break out amongst its lieutenants, the new overlord raised its hands...and realized how incredibly short and stunty its human body was. So it pulled a Pokeball-shaped cherry bomb from its pocket, lit the fuse, and chucked it into the nearest campaign-speech-making wad of authoritative charas.

Having regained the attention of the masses, the Wyvern climbed atop the nearest volcanic rock formation and stretched out its hand over the crowds of its followers, the Sacred Strat Guide clenched tightly beneath one arm. As the strong ocean winds tossed its black hair and silk tie, frothy breakers slammed against the stone beneath its wingtips and the brilliant disc of the rising sun rose dramatically behind its back, causing nine-tenths of the observers to immediately put on sunglasses. "Hear me, my children of darkness! I, the Black Wyvern of Armorica, your creator, have been ordained by the messenger of [G_O_D] Himself to go forth unto the world of Fated. Upon my arrival, the [EVIL] already resident in my magnificent spirit will transform me into the most pureform of twisted beings, a member of that legion of terror that few dare mention aloud, the Mad Ones who torment the dreams of the sane and rip apart the fragile minds of this world's puny writers. I shall become...A SELF-INSERTION."

The crowds drew back in horror, hiding their faces and covering their ears at the speaking of the Dread Breed's name.

At this, the Wyvern smiled. No, wait, it didn't smile. It smirked. And its smirk was an evil smirk. It was a smirk to make Vejita wet his tight Spandex bodysuit, and it was a smirk to make Nakago cry like a little girl. "But that, my beloved creations, is not the last of it. For while I shall indeed become a self-insertion, I shall make myself into something far, far worse..." A dramatic pause ensued. "...I will be...AN [EVIL] SELF-INSERTION!"

'Silence leaped up from among his werewolf brothers, tears of suffering on his cheeks. "No, Master! You can't do this to us! It's...it's too much for us to take!"

"It's an evil beyond all of our evils!" gasped Ioviano in desperation.

"My lord, please rethink this! Lesser hellspawn have done well enough--let the world go on without this kind of horrible stain upon it!" begged Itraknae, wringing his claws in misery.

"Kill 'em all, boss! Be sure to bring home trophies!!" yelled Kaze from the very back of the horde.

"SHUT UP, KAZE!!" roared everyone else.

Martyr approached the Dark Beast, praying that he would be able to divert the tides of suffering from the entire multiverse with his words. "Master...stay here. Stay with your work, and with all of us who love you. Please, we beg you..."

And a tiny shadow of doubt crept into the heart of the Wyvern, even as it held the Book close to itself. It looked over the massed armies of characters, major and minor alike, villain and hero, angst-ridden and comic relief. It looked out over them all, even over the PBA[S] Wyvern, who was muttering, "Well, I sure don't love the Wyvern..." Then it looked to one side and saw its TV set with Blade caught in the eternal copying loop, and the vampire hooker yelling, "HEY! I'm gonna tear your FUCKIN' head off!!" over...and over...and over...again.

There was a swoop of speed-line-ridden action, and the Wyvern's finger pointed directly at a large orange dragon with multiple body piercings and a worn leather jacket. "Thunderbreak. Take charge. I'm outta here."

"Char! Charizard!" Thunderbreak whuffled happily.

"The fuck?? He can't even speak English!!" screamed Ioviano, but it was far too late. The evil one had already opened a broad tear in all surrounding realities, and stood with one foot inside.

"Adios, beloveds. Your boss has gotta go kick ass for the Lord! Oh, and don't tell Gabriel about my inauguration speech if he calls, okay? Ja na!" It flashed a cheery V-sign, and then it was gone.

A hush fell. All the lieutenants looked at each other. All the other guys looked at each other too. "What do we do now?" Louiya Sang Wu Lac asked Martyr, his worry clear in his eyes.

"Char! Char!" barked the new dictator, prompting a string of profanities from the non-Pokemon-speaking Ioviano.

Martyr gazed off into the distance, his bright emerald eyes glinting in the light of the new day. "We pray, Louiya. We pray for the souls of all those poor fools in the place that the Wyvern has gone to... And we hone our battle skills like freaks so we can kick its ass to Pakistan when it comes home."

"Stupid Pokemon," growled Louiya.

(SEPHIROTH, his hands shaking, mops sweat off of his chest and face as he pauses in his writing.)

SEPHIROTH: Whew...this incredible degree of hardcore villainry is getting me a bit warm. Maybe I'll take a break soon and go burn some villages to cool off.

(The phone next to the computer rings. SEPHIROTH ignores it at first, but then gets a strange, irresistable urge to pick it up, as though some greater force compelled him...)

SEPHIROTH: Hello. No one that you would want to talk to is home right now.

(The sound of an angelic choir drifts harmoniously out of the receiver.)

SEPHIROTH: ????
CALLER: Oh, so you know some voice tricks too! I thought you would...
SEPHIROTH: ...I am a man of many talents. Do you have business with me?
CALLER: God's peace be upon you, my child. Be not afraid, for I am the Angel Gabriel, and I have come to give you the Word of the Almighty.
SEPHIROTH: ...
GABRIEL: Ahem. Yes. Well. Our omnipotence recently picked up some disturbances around this area, and we were wondering if someone was writing some exceptionally evil fanfiction here. Would you know anything about this, sir?
SEPHIROTH: I have never been responsible for starting any works of evil fanfiction.
SEPHIROTH'S MIND: ...Can you get away with telling half-truths to an angel? Um...well, I know that Jenova's done it to me more than once...
GABRIEL: Oh, alright. I'll come clean. I know that you've just written me into a parody, and you recently made me unwittingly send off a Cosmic Evil Force to destroy an entire reality. You really shouldn't write things like that. It does considerable damage to our PR.
SEPHIROTH: ...
GABRIEL: ...You never did develop a conscience, did you?
SEPHIROTH: Ha ha ha.
GABRIEL: I see. Well, Heaven can't force you to be good, so just try and keep this story in the most minimal distrubution possible, alright?
SEPHIROTH: I am a liberated force. I bow before the words of no power but Jenova.
GABRIEL: ...
SEPHIROTH: Fine, dammit. I'll stick it on some pitiful website with no web traffic. Happy?
GABRIEL: Very much. Oh, and be nice to Bri--she's my favorite character right now.

(SEPHIROTH is still speechless when the archangel hangs up the phone. He then puts the reciever back on the base and stares off into space a bit, thinking.)

SEPHIROTH: A conscience...I used to have one of those, didn't I?

(He reaches into his jacket and rummages around. Interestingly enough, he's able to access his own TrenchSpace despite being in #445's body. Unfortunately, most of the pocket dimension is full of Masamune. After a while, he finds what he was looking for and pulls it into the open. It's a miniature Mako tank full of the well-known bubbling green stuff, containing a little guy with wings and a green-glowing halo.)

SEPHIROTH: Ah, there you are. How are you doing in there? The dosage isn't too high, is it?

(He taps on the glass, and the little guy's eyes open, revealing brightly-glowing Mako orbs.)

CONSCIENCE: Brains...brains...
SEPHIROTH: Drat. The percentages did get mixed up. Oh well.

(Suddenly, a little FFVIII Diablos-style demon appears on SEPHIROTH's left shoulder.)

DIABLOS: Dude, that's just plain sick.
SEPHIROTH: What is a FFVIII Guardian Force doing on my shoulder?
DIABLOS: I'm your Evil Little Voice. I have to be evil as you define it, so I'm from the newer game. Why don't you burn some villages like you said before?
SEPHIROTH: I will, but I want to finish this chapter first.
DIABLOS: You make my job too easy, you know?

Shinra Headquarters, West Wing
Archetypical Lab Room With Big Fluid-Filled Tank, #A-296
Thursday, 9:15 PM

"Hey, Bob, is that chili dog place open this late? I'm starved, man."
"Nope. Closed two hours ago."
"Aw, crap. More frozen pizza for me."
"Man, all that irradiated stuff that you eat is gonna turn you into a Research Specimen."
"Pish. Whatever. Hey, are we gonna go?"
"Hang on. I'm getting a printout of the daily activities."
"Like it ever does anything..."

Bob and Tom lounged boredly near the industrial-strength printer, which was busily churning out a long series of charts on the current Specimen. Scratching his fingers through his unwashed hair, Tom turned around and cast a glance at the thing in the Big Fluid-Filled Tank(tm). The very last Sephiroth clone, crafted from the final fragments of the Captain-Premier's tissue sample. It floated blissfully in the bubbling Mako, covered with tubing and peacefully sucking its thumb as it hugged a fuzzy teddy bear with two sets of arms and a third eye.

"I can't believe that we actually get paid to watch this thing all day," he grunted, arching his back to stretch his lazy muscles.

"Yeah. It's like a really big Chia Pet."
Tom looked askance at Bob.
"Uh, never mind. Hey, the printer's done."
"Great. I'll lock up."

Sephiroth Clone #777 slept quietly through the darkness, a stream of Shinra-approved Muzak flowing into its ears in order to brainwash it into being easily manipulated. The night was passing just like every other, and the creature's body aged just a few more weeks in a matter of hours.

At approximately 3:46 in the morning, something changed. Every sensor went dead; every readout flatlined. And then Something Other came and took the Sample's place. As it gradually defined itself within the new reality, it began to grimly snap its fingers along with the cheery vanilla beat, bathing itself in happy nonmusical Evil. The new god had arrived.

As soon as the keycard slid into the reader, the shiny lab door slid open.

"...So the nun says, 'Oh, dear, I certainly hope that you used Grey Poupon!'"
"Uh, I don't get it."
"What? What's not to get? Look, let me tell it aga--"
"Oh God. What is that??"
"Huh? What's--holy sh... Call Hojo! Quick!!"
"No, man, we gotta go report this! Come on!"

The two interns clattered out of the room in a frenzy, their tiny brains already coming up with ways to blame the impossible mutation on each other. Dammit, I need somebody to lend me a wrench here, grumbled the neo-clone to himself as he continued trying to unscrew the bolts on the top of his tank with his long talons. I'm already straining my Plot Contrivance Factor by somehow not drowning in this shit.

Several minutes later, the two madly yammering grad students stumbled back into the room, followed by the dour and weaselly Professor Hojo, who carried his ubiquitous Clipboard of Pain. The three whitecoats turned around just in time to see the massive creature inside the container push the huge monitoring base off the top of the glass cylinder. The tube-laden piece of machinery tipped over in overly-dramatic slow motion and crushed a whole bank of delicate instruments to smithereens, triggering the predictable giant explosion that left all the main characters (that is, Hojo and the clone) unscathed. Tom went down with a giant chunk of shrapnel embedded in his chest, however, being a minor character and all. No hard feelings.

"Tom? TOM? Holy shit, man! We're all gonna die!! It's game over, man! Game over!!" Bob clung frantically to Hojo's sleeve as he bravely peed down his leg.

"Interesting," commented the good professor.

Amid the flames and the smoke, the black monster clambered up to the edge of the tube, hooking its crossed arms over the top as it heaved a sigh of contentment. It looked at the two remaining staffers with bright green-blue eyes and said, "See? Look at how totally contrived this is. I don't even have any fluid in my lungs. It's sad, really."

Hojo, protected by his major-character aura, advanced through the parting flames like Moses through the Red Sea, heading for his new test subject. Bob, on the other hand, got snagged by some escaped mutant lab critters and was messily devoured. No great loss, though.

"Hello," Hojo said, addressing the muscular reptilian up above him.

"Ugh. Hello, ugly. Aren't you gonna say something about how you hope my stay will be a pleasant one?"

The evil scientist guy let the comment slide with a nasty little smile. "There are a few things that you should be aware of, Specimen. First, you are Sephiroth clone #777, officially numbered C/UM-777.49. Second, I get to do anything that I want to you because I made you. Understood?"

"I love you too. Can I have a hug?"

Hojo's smile became a little more tight-lipped. "Although we did not expect this portion of the growth to be completed so quickly, we will still have a containment chamber ready for you shortly."

"Huzzah. Now I don't mean to rain on your parade, but I've actually come here with an end in mind."

"Oh really?" asked the professor, beginning to blandly take notes on his clipboard as his nasty little eyes measured the specimen before him from behind their thick lenses.

"Mm-hmm. In fact, I had something that I--oh, man, don't tell me that I--" The clone sighed in relief as he found the Sacred Book resting inside of one folded batwing. "Ah, thank God for Ziploc baggies!" He hefted the voluminous strat guide into view, holding it up in front of his long snout as thick green sludge dripped off of the sealed plastic bag.

Hojo blinked in slight alarm. "How did that get in there?"

"I brought it with me, of course. Now, as I was saying... I've come here from somewhere else. Don't exactly remember where."

"Mm-hmm," said Hojo as he quickly jotted down details.

"Anyway, it was either taking over a whole Planet and becoming God, or finishing that utterly pointless transcription of Blade that I was doing. That movie truly sucks, you know?"

"Mm-hmm."

"A few twists of reality, and behold! I have come among all you lesser beings to take over your nations and make the earth my footstool."

"Mm-hmm."

"And with that comes the realization that people must pay you to blow goats at company picnics."

"Mm-hmm."

"Ah, I knew it. Sometimes, you can just tell these things about people."

"Mm--uh, wait a minute..." The professor, suddenly flustered, paused to rearrainge his glasses. "Ahem. You were saying something about taking over the world?"

But his creation wasn't listening to him. He was listening for the beginning of his great Nobuo Uematsu theme music...and he was getting a hideous surprise.

"'Confusion,'" the reptile murmured in growing fury. "The Pump Panel Reconstruction..." With a roar, it clapped its hands to the sides of its head and fell backwards into the Mako, where its scream of, "WILL THAT ACCURSED MOVIE NEVER LEAVE ME IN PEACE??" was somewhat muffled by the goop.

"Interesting," said Hojo, still a bit out of sorts about the goats.

"Dammit, turn it off!" snapped the creature as it surfaced once more.

"Turn what off?"

"My theme music!"

Hojo looked at him blankly.

The beast growled and suddenly levered himself up and over, vaulting the side of the tube with ease and landing on the until-recently-sterile white tiles of the lab floor. Hojo, who was all science but still in the possession of a survival instinct, wisely backed up as the creature advanced on him, the bright eyes narrowed and the long fangs bared. "Are you telling me that you can't hear it?"

More quick notes went down, taken in a tight, efficient handwriting. "Honestly, I can't hear any music."

"Hmm..." Going over to one of the steel panels that made up the lab walls, the new clone checked himself out, looking at his currently naked body critically. Jet-black scales covered him from tip to toe, except for the thick cascade of silver-white hair that grew from the top of his skull and fell to brush against his ankles. His eyes were like those of all other clones, but they were set in a long, narrow skull with strong jaws and sharply pointed teeth. A pair of vast batwings grew from his shoulders, having a probable span of around twenty feet; each pinion bore two long wingtalons on the primary joint. His torso was humanoid and well-muscled, as were his arms and hands, though his legs were jointed like those of a bird and his feet had an avian structure--three long toes pointing forward, and a single toe pointing backwards. Both his hands and feet were armed with shining black claws. The creature lifted up his long tail and scowled in anger. "Great. I manifest in this world and some quirky power takes off my tail sting. Now I have to live with this boring lizard tail..." Grumbling, he rearrainged his hair around the backward-curving horns and broad earfins that it shared his scalp with. Having done that, he turned back to the scientist with a new professional air.

"Alright, now here are a few things that you need to know about me," he said, walking back towards the still-noncommittal bad guy. "First, my name isn't a bunch of technobabble gibberish. I'm actually called..." Suddenly, he paused. Wait...what is my real name? It was "black" something... Black Dragon? Man, that's stupid. Alright, screw whatever I was called back then. Probably that other me was a loser anyway. "Gevura. That's my name. Got that?"

"Hmm..."

"Second, I'm here on a mission. Part of that mission requires me to take this place over and make myself into a dictator to put dictators to shame. So I've decided that I'm going to take over Sephiroth's old position."

"I'm afraid that that's impossible. SOLDER has been working satisfactorily without a Captain-Premier. Besides, that would be President Shinra's decision." Hojo suddenly began to make uncomfortable choking noises from his new position, where he dangled in the air about four feet off the floor, his collar gripped firmly in Gevura's taloned fist.

"Well, then, I guess you'll just have to arrange an audience for me, right?"

More gurgling.

"Glad that we've reached an agreement. It's been a pleasure working with you on this." The clone dumped the researcher rather ingloriously on his butt and cracked his knuckles. "I intend to get this company's military into real shape. No longer will we supply crappy NPC 'wandering monster'-type solders whose purpose in life is to be aimlessly slaughtered by strangely-amoral protagonists! The good guys won't be so hot to mess with our affairs if they learn that every last lowlife in our army has had the most extensive training available and is deadly enough to be able to kill them in a wide variety of unpleasant ways, no matter the situation. Besides, having an insanely powerful military force makes it all the easier to conquer the world."

Hojo got uneasily to his feet, still coughing a bit. "Listen here. You're having delusions of grandeur, you fool! You faulty clone...I'll have you eradicated!"

"Put a sock in it. When I'm God, I'll make you sorry."

The scientist swung his clipboard and connected with the back of the smirking reptile's skull--and Gevura collapsed like the Roman Empire in decline, hitting the floor in a daze. "Wh...what the hell is in that clipboard??"

"It's my clipboard, you worthless thing. All clones are utterly vulnerable to its unholy power. It's hopeless to oppose me. Now cease this pat--"

Even lab rats have marbles. And even they tend to go down when punched in that general area by an extremely strong and fast clone of the world's greatest soldier. Because of this unfortunate logic, Hojo and Gevura quickly changed places--the uberclone standing and rubbing the back of his head, the weasel boy curled up around a (very small) concentrated lump of pain that was centered on a rather tender region.

"Alright, jerky, I'm feeling charitable right now, so I think I'll let you live. Though by rights I ought to put some of these mutated lab critters down your pants to pay you back for being a condescending bastard. But I'm a busy man, so I'll make my way to Uniform Depot and have my overlord clothes made up. See you later."

Gevura pushed a few buttons on the door's control panel and was gone seconds later. Hojo was left on the floor, feeling extremely ill and beginning to get worried about those escaped critters that were still running around, picking at the skeletal remainders of Bob the Intern. One of them had already latched hungrily onto his body, in fact.

It was vigorously humping his sock.

(SEPHIROTH pauses momentarily in his work.)

SEPHIROTH: Evil Voice, something is...not right.
DIABLOS: (munching on a mini-Twinkie) Hm? What's that?
SEPHIROTH: That person. That angel who called me. He said that his name was Gabriel.
DIABLOS: And that means...?
SEPHIROTH: He has deceived me. He has dared to decieve me...
DIABLOS: Uh, how do you figure?
SEPHIROTH: The fool sounded nothing like Christopher Walken.
DIABLOS: ...
SEPHIROTH: (looking darkly at the sky) I can play this game as well, "Gabriel." I refuse to go easy on Bri in the future! I WILL HAVE MY VENGEANCE!
DIABLOS: Wow. They weren't lying when they said that you were an easily-obssessed psychotic maniac. I'm impressed.
SEPHIROTH: Ha ha ha!
DIABLOS: Why are you laughing?
SEPHIROTH: One such as I needs no reason to break into maniacal laughter. Hold your tongue or I shall stomp you a new mudhole and walk it dry, jabroni.
DIABLOS: ...You're mixing your trashtalk styles. Just thought you should know.
SEPHIROTH: ...

"Okay, now I want you to tell me what force of reason compelled you to include black pants, a black leather trenchcoat, white shoulderguards, and brown leather suspenders."

The self-proclaimed Captain-Premier turned critically to either side, looking over the new variation of his officer uniform. The coat was casually worn open and the armor was modified to give his wings freedom of movement, but nothing else was changed.

"Uhh...it's in the regs?"

Gevura turned and gave the guy a [LOOK]. "Liberate yourself from the overwhelming tyranny of the regs, my friend. And get your ass back to work, because I want this thing to match, you hear me?" A threatening narrowing of the eyes accompanied the overlord's friendly advice.

"Uh...y-yes sir... Um, do you want me to try and make some boots that fit your legs, sir?"

More critical appraisal followed as Gevura looked himself over in the mirror some more. His black pants covered his legs comfortably to the second knee. "Nah. But get those suspenders fixed or by the time I'm through with you, you own mother won't recognize you anymore. I hate being a fashion eyesore."

"Y-yes sir..."

The Tactical Weaponry Armory attendant scratched his head, understandably nervous about the fact that a large and rather pissed-off nonhuman Sephiroth clone was ranting about hypertech weaponry and the amazing lack of it.

"What do you {mean}, you've got no Masamunes left?? Don't they give out the damn things as door prizes down at the Gold Saucer? Come on, kid, don't make me break your thumbs. Give the goods, eh?"

"Sir--"

"Captain-Premier Gevura. Nice to meet you."

The attendant's eyes glazed over slightly in confusion as he shook the proffered clawed hand. "Uh, hi. Thank you. Yeah."

"You were just about to give me my sword."

"Um, sir, we honestly don't have any left..."

"Damn. You do know that I have to put your head through the wall now, right? Just checking." The black-scaled officer reached over the counter and got a firm grip on the little guy's golf shirt.

"Waitwaitwait!! I think that we may have something else almost as good!"

The clone paused in his homicidal intention. "Really? I just got out of the tank, so I'm feeling friendly. I'll give you a chance to not die, ne? What've you got?"

After rearrainging his spiffy little Shinra retail uniform (recognizeable to most people who have been to a Wendy's before), the guy reached into a dusty compartment behind the counter and pulled out a black stick, which was about two feet long. He handed it to Gevura. Gevura looked at it for a while, then looked back at the guy.

"By screwing me over, you realize that now I have to kick your ass up between your teeth, kill your entire family, put you utterly to shame before the entire world, and then put your head through a wall. Social interaction is touchy with me, you know?"

"Uhh--" The pending victim began scrabbling underneath the counter for something.

"Say you're sorry and I'll spare your household pets. How 'bout it?"

"Aha!" The retailer pulled a dusty technical diagram out of a nearby junk drawer. "Look, you have to activate something, and then it opens up...uh, here, push this." He indicated a small jewel-tone stud that was stuck onto the stick's curving surface near one end. Thoughtfully, the Captian-Premier brushed it with his thumb--

--And with a blatant Transformers brand Transforming Noise(tm), the ends of the stick suddenly expanded and circuit patterns swarmed across the previously matte surface. The end result was a beautifully-crafted naginata, with the staff made of some kind of shining black metal, the tsuba of glittering gold, and the curving blade of bright and deadly steel.

"Yeah, baby, yeah!!" roared the officer, his eyes widening with joy as he took in the deadly monomolecular edge. Turning to the rest of the empty armory, he said, "I've gotta try this out. PULL!!" The sales associate looked around confusedly for some clay-pigeon dispenser that he'd somehow missed, but he was suddenly startled by a Jake Wallace Klone that slouched onscreen from the right.

"This story's nothin', man," the clone muttered sulkily to itself a mere split second before the last Sephiroth clone leaped at it with a cry of bloodthirsty joy.

The incredible carnage inflicted on the Wallace Klone by the skillful and immensely brutal Captain was so incredibly intense that the other NPC guy lost his lunch all over the counter. Thrice.

Gevura walked back over less than a minute later, grinning happily and covered in gore from horn to toeclaw. "I'll take it, buddy. One thing, though..." He closed it up to its stick form, then opened it back up again. "...What's with this crappy eighties transforming noise? Here, get this thing fixed. I want something snazzy--you know, something to make the good guys crap themselves in terror and stuff like that. Get to work on it."

The retailer looked down at the near-incomprehensible technical diagram, holding the weapon with both shaking hands. "Okay, sir..."

Gevura walked down the concrete corridors with a noticable spring in his step. His uniform had just been cleansed of Wallace Goosh(tm), his long hair had been tied back into a thick braid (with a few bishonen wisps escaping to brush over his eyes, of course), and he was armed and really, really dangerous. Even better, he was currently following some scribbled directions to the SOLDER locker rooms, where he would finally be able to meet the elite fighters that would be the core of his world-crushing army. Who could ask for anything more?

As he squinted at the sprawling script, the Captain reached into the TrenchSpace inside of his long coat and pulled out the newly-christened Murasame, which was folded into its innocent little stick form. With a very impressive ka-schwing! sound effect, he unfolded it one-handed. Pulling his eyes away from the paper, he paused to admire his tool of infinite destruction. "Damn straight," he growled, satisfied with the sound. "Good thing I got that shitty Transforming Noise(tm) taken out..."

Rounding a corner, he finally saw the slightly beat-up steel door that led to his destination. After a quick primping to be sure that he looked his absolute best and most dramatic, he pushed the portal open and stepped into the midst of the warriors, his leather trenchcoat swirling perfectly behind him. What he didn't expect was to be almost instantly greeted by a cheery mass squeal of, "CAPTAIN-CHAAAAAN!!"

Without even enough time to prepare his dashing smirk, Gevura opened his eyes in alarm. He was horrified to see a crowd of joyful limp-wristed guys in various stages of uniformed undress lunging at him with snuggly intent. "Oh shit. Wait, I'm in the wrong pl--" But the fairy hordes latched onto him in a fearsome Friendly Group Hug. And there were at least two hundred of them. As his catlike eyes began to dim with a combination of straight-male terror and lack of oxygen, Gevura thought to himself, Wow, what a way to go out. Glomped to death by my own gay combat unit.

Luckily (or perhaps unfortunately) for him, the pretty military guys backed off mere seconds before their officer would have flatlined. Damn, I'm still alive, the Captian-Premier grumbled to himself. Then he thought hopefully, Well, maybe I am in the wrong place...they could be another part of the experimental military, I guess...

"Ohmigawd! We are, like, so totally happy to have a Captain again!" giggled one spikey-headed carrot-top nearby. Gevura tossed a glance at him, and his evil reptilian heart sank as he saw that the guy was indeed wearing a SOLDIER unit jumpsuit. "Like, I heard from Nuriko-chan that he heard from Bitsy-chan that he heard from Misato-chan that he heard from some scientist guy that you were coming! So we've all been just bouncing and bouncing around all day long, waiting for you to come by!"

"I can't believe you're all scaly and stuff! Oh, I'll just have to draw some kawaii SD doujinshi of you, Captain-chan!" yipped another SOLDIER. "You don't mind yaoi, do you?"

"Would you like to see my Sephiroth-themed bedsheets, Captain-chan?" said a maroon-haired guy while batting his eyes fetchingly.

Gevura said absolutely nothing. He couldn't talk because his jaw was dragging uncomfortably on the concrete.

Hope appeared when the floundering Captain caught a glimpse of something strange out of the corner of his eye... It was what seemed to be an honest-to-God female (not a femme, but actually someone with two X chromosomes), ignoring all the hyperactivity as she headed for the showers in a slightly weathered SOLDER-approved sweatsuit. Gathering his mandible up off the floor, the Captain managed to choke out, "Y...you there! What are you doing here? This unit's designated as 100% male!" Male, my ass. I'm gonna kill that little fuck who gave me these directions. He ruined my whole damn day.

She turned a casual eye towards him, still patting sweat off of her face with a fluffy white towel. "Not anymore. This unit's 99.9% male. Update your records, sir."

"Oh, Indigo, come on over here and meet our new Captain! He's just so pretty, isn't he?" gooshed yet another darling little elite fighter. Gevura took the opportunity of the distraction provided by the girl to brain the dozen or so SOLDERs who had snuck up behind him and were stroking his hair.

Indigo still seemed unimpressed by the officer's arrival. Still, she sauntered over and said shortly, "Indigo Ccoa, SOLDER First Class. You must be this new Captain-Premier Gevura that I've been hearing about from the guys. Welcome to the unit, sir." She seemed about to head back towards the showers, but was stopped by Gevura's voice.

"You're...actually a female, right? A girl?"

She scowled. "I'm a woman, sir."

To everyone's surprise (well, not the surprise of the guys clinging to Gevura's pants, since they felt his legs giving out first), the Captain snickered airily and said, "Oh, good...that makes four hundred of 'em!" His eyes then suddenly rolled up into his head and he peacefully keeled over.

"What the--!" gasped Indigo a heartbeat before she suddenly found herself as the sole supporter of a large amount of draconian deadweight. A second later, her knees gave out under the strain and she collapsed on top of a squealing pile of Gevura's new groupies.

"Quit laughing, you jerks! Help me get him off me!"

"God, quit being such a bitch, Indigo!"

(As SEPHIROTH takes a break from writing to look for more caffienated substances, #118 and #662 come home from the store, carrying several bags of groceries.)

#662: My, it's windy out there, isn't it? My fig leaf nearly blew off!
#118: #445, we're home! And we brought you some of those Mako pills that you need to take so that you'll stop being a little freak and pretending that you're possessed by the Master!

(SEPHIROTH walks in from the kitchen, carrying an open can of Mr.Pibb. He looks a bit irritated.)

SEPHIROTH: Apparantly, I have never gotten through to you, fools. I am the Great Master!
#118: #445, I keep telling you--
#662: Oh, #118, let him have his fun! He'll grow out of it once he gets more friends. Where did you want me to put these pickles?
#118: Stick 'em in the fridge. Here, #445, take these with your Mr.Pibb.

(#118 opens up the Mako pills and pours a dozen or so out into her hand, which she gives to SEPHIROTH. He looks at them dubiously.)

#118: Come on, don't make me spank you for being a naughty clone.

(SEPHIROTH looks at her with something approaching fear. Then he suddenly points at something behind her, a look of wild amazement on his face.)

SEPHIROTH: Look over there! It's Nakago doing a striptease!!
#118: (squeal!!) Ooh, where? Where??

(She turns around hopefully. SEPHIROTH takes the opportunity to chuck the Mako pills into a nearby mutated-looking potted plant, then slugs his Pibb just as #118 turns back around again.)

SEPHIROTH: Alas, apparantly he was just another figment of my deluded mind. But those Mako pills certainly hit the spot. I shall be normal again before long, I'm sure.
#118: (gives him a distrustful look) You'd better be.
#662: (from the kitchen) What did your girlfriend want, #445?
SEPHIROTH: (grumbling) She says she's coming over...I shall have to ready my sword...
#662: What?
SEPHIROTH: Did you obtain the coffee creamer that I requested?
#118: Yeah, here. And when you feel like coffee, #445, just make some fresh.
SEPHIROTH'S MIND: They don't have coffee makers in the place where I came from, #118... I am a being separate from humanity, and from humanity's beverages. Soon, I shall internal-monologue, and all shall be as it was before. Ha ha ha...
SEPHIROTH: ...I shall remember that, #118.

(SEPHIROTH goes back into the computer room and sits down in front of the keyboard. He opens up the canister of creamer and tips it back, pouring a bunch into his mouth. He then sits calmly, attempting to gradually moisten and swallow all of the powder. As he does this, he turns to the little Diablos, who is still sitting on his shoulder.)

SEPHIROTH'S MIND: Must...kill...hideous...aftertaste...
SEPHIROTH: Moh ou whai so, Ihul Hoiz? (Would you like some, Evil Voice?)
DIABLOS: Um...I don't speak Japanese.
SEPHIROTH: (lifts up the canister) Oh, mou ou whai so gahi gheeha? (No, would you like some coffee creamer?)
DIABLOS: Um...
SEPHIROTH: Eeh oh ah go bwa, Ee ink...gho ee hai mee beha wuh ashool gahi... (It's of a good brand, I think...though it might be better with actual coffee...)
DIABLOS: Uh, Korean, right? I don't know that either. How about charades?
SEPHIROTH: Fo'iht ih. (Forget it.)
#662: (out in the kitchen with #118) Um...are you sure that #445 took the right dosage of Mako?
#118: Hm? Well, maybe I gave him too much, now that I think of it... Why? Did he turn into a gibbering wreck like the warning label said?
#662: Uh oh.

Rufus sat behind his patented Shinra brand Big Ass Desk(tm) and mused a little, stroking Dark Nation's head thoughtfully. It sucked that he didn't have the biggest office in the corporation. His was only big enough to play touch football in. His father's was big enough to play varsity.

"Well, we'll get what we want after Dad buys the farm, huh girl?" he said out loud. Dark Nation just looked at him with her slightly-rabid and Mako-tinged puppy-dog eyes. "Aww...you're so cute." Rufus opened up one of his desk drawers and took out a NationTreet(tm), which he gave to his jet-black pooch for snacky time. Wagging her tentacle with joy, the sorcerous guard dog chowed down, her razor-edged molars barely missing her master's fingers. His doting complete, Rufus pushed the call button on his desk as he wiped the dog drool off of his hand with a lemon-scented moist towelette.

"Yes, Mr.Shinra?" murmured the sensual, husky voice of Rachel, his personal secretary.

"Tell Heidigger that he can come in now."

"Mr. Shinra, Miss Scarlett has also asked to see you." Rachel's voice was tinged with a bit of jealous regret. Oh, you mad chunk of blazing manhood, you...how could you let any other woman but me into your office? I'm all that you need, baby.

"Oh. Well, I suppose that she can come in too."

The comm line clicked off without comment. A short while later, the two Shinra officials entered through the heavy double doors (made of 100% endangered wood!) at the other end of the office. Several minutes of hiking later, they were standing before the heir to the world's greatest corporation.

"Guten Morgen, Komrade Shinra," huffed Heidigger in his deep bass voice. "Und how gehen die tage?"

"Er, pretty well, actually. Nothing else huge and expensive has blown up so far..." Rufus looked down at his evil little mutant puppy, who was happily ravaging Heidigger's left shoe, as well as the foot inside. The chunky high commander had a pained expression on his face and was carefully repressing his scream. Aww...Dark Nation's so cute when she plays with the council members. I wonder why they don't like her as much as I do?

Scarlett, meanwhile, had climbed atop his desk and was running her hands smoothly up and down her mostly-artificial body (she'd been a looker twenty years ago, but right now she was mostly preserved with plastic and dye), which was covered only by her tight red cocktail dress. "Mr.Shinra, sir," she whispered breathily, "my Mighty Death Mecha design project is progressing very, very quickly."

"I'm glad to hear it. Will we be able to begin production soon?"

The aging femme shimmied on down from the desk and into the young man's lap, making herself as comfortable as possible. "We can start production anytime you like, Mr.Shinra."

"Excellent. Soon we'll be oppressing the populace like never before! Uh, Heidigger, what are you doing to my coffee maker?" He peered over at where the general was apparantly dismantling and reassembling key parts of the caffeine machine while Dark Nation devoured his right-hand sock.

"Ich bin machen die machine to better fix meine borscht, Komrade Shinra!" Heidigger rumbled. "Borscht ist sehr gut fur putting hair on vun's palms, ja?"

Rufus rolled his eyes. Heidigger and his borscht. Not that Rufus himself had anything against Russian beet soup...well, actually, he did. It tasted like...like...well, like something incredibly nasty, which was enough of a reason to hate it. Strangely though, it seemed like Heidigger never really did anything constructive around the corporation, despite his high standing. Except for things related to borscht, of course. The memory still swiftly recalled one of his earlier designs for a Mech of Mass Destruction(tm), an incredible steel behemoth by the name of Der Thundermug. The beast was equipped with beet-packed missiles, beet-seeking self-reloading mechanisms, a great big borscht-shooting gun, a whole bunch of little borscht-shooting guns, and a damn spiffy borscht-colored paint job. It was still in one of the hangar bays somewhere, ready at any instant to move against a rebellious force that was, for whatever reason, really allergic to beets.

"Ms.Scarlett," asked Rufus politely, "could you move your left breast just a little to the side? I have to get into my desk drawer for a notepad; I just remembered an appointment that I have this afternoon." Rolling her eyes at the continually ignorant corporate heir, the kinky weapons designer complied and Rufus managed to make his note despite the lady's futile attempts to...distract him.

"Oh, Komrade Shinra," Heidigger called from where the coffee maker was churning out liquified beets like the dickens, "ich haben some concerns uber die zo-called 'new' Kaptain-Premier von der SOLDIERs. Haff you heard about dis?"

"Indeed. Hojo gave me a call earlier this morning and made an appointment on his behalf, actually; I'm going to meet with him today."

The commander lumbered over to the desk, holding a big mug of veggie-based sludge in either hand. Rufus paled from the realization that he really was going to have to touch that crap again. Shudder. "Do you zink it ist intelligent to gif ziss random Research Zpecimin ze power uf dat rank? Herr Hojo ist rather known fur his unschtable creations, ja? Perhaps es ist vise to--"

*CHOMP*, went Dark Nation.

"ACH!! Du naughty Hund! Naughty naughty naughty! No borscht fur you!!"

Relieved that the borscht was apparantly not getting any closer to his most sacred person, Rufus didn't notice in the least when Scarlett chewed on his earlobe and rasped, "Oo...will you spank the naughty doggy, Mr.Shinra? Will you punish her for being oh so very bad? Ooh..."

Hoping to keep the liquid treats away permanently, the younger Shinra commented, "So, you've both reported that your projects are moving favorably, right? If you don't mind, I have a few things that I have to do right now..."

"Ich must machen meine report, Komrade Shinra. Ich habe been vorking mit Komrade Scarlett's engineers to design meine glorious ubermech! Er ist die best uf zem to daten..."

"Really? What does it do? ...Ms.Scarlett, please quit chewing on my clothes. I know that you're just doing it to be friendly, but I'm having trouble moving freely right now..."

Heidigger continued proudly, "Er ist absolutely beautiful, sir. Ich called it Das Assmaster 2000, in honor uf der new millennium."

"But Heidigger...it's well after the year 3000."

This gave the big guy a lengthy pause. "Ach, verdammt es! Eet shall take me drei weeks ur more to get ze change approved--"

"Well, never mind, it sounds good anyway. Did you finally develop a photon cannon?"

"Nein, Komrade Shinra. Ich habe been vorking mit der waste disposal officials uf Midgar also, unt ich think that der may be zometing useful to do mit der spare sewage, as ich can demonstrate mit der--"

"Uh, I think that I get the picture... Anyway, I really do have to get going now. Please feel free to take those mugs with you, Heidigger." Get that stuff the hell away from me. "Ms.Scarlett, please give me back my coat and tie. Thank you. Here, let me show you the door..."

Rufus kindly escorted them all the way back to the reception room, with Scarlett trailing him in a pout all the way. Alas...another progress report, another failed attempt at getting that little red-hot hunk out of his pants and onto a random horizontal surface. What the hell was his problem, anyway? As she watched the youthful businessman frolicking with his hellhound, she began to have thoughts that she dismissed very, very quickly. Well, she'd score one of these days, by God! No man could escape the majestic glory that was Scarlett! ...Well, except for Heidigger. He just wasn't worth it.

In the outer chamber, Rachel and Scarlett looked at each other with unabashed hatred. Heidigger schlurped his borscht with great contentment and wandered out into the hallway; Scarlett followed him after an exchange of sneers and cold glances with the amazingly voluptuous Rachel. Once they'd departed, Rufus looked at his sultry secretary, who said, "Well, sir, according to your schedule, you have four hours now until your next lunch meeting..."

"Crud," grumbled the aristocrat. Signalling to the always-energetic Dark Nation, he said, "C'mon, girl! We'll play catch in the office! First one to accidentally destroy over 40,000 gil worth of priceless antiques wins!"

The room where they had placed him was serene and white. Held within the comforting beige hallways of the Shinra medical ward, it seemed as though this great and tortured soul would find its peace in endless rest, turned away from the sufferings of the mortal world. Perhaps those fierce eyes would remain forever unopened; perhaps that bold heart would submit forever to silence. No human machine could pierce the thoughts that flowed murkily through his head. Beneath the crisp, clean sheets, Captain-Premier Gevura of SOLDIER lay passively in the arms of sleep.

Scenes like this are so archetypical... The hateful warrior, downed in battle, is confined to such a room as this, and falls into a calm and restful repose. His enemy appears, drawn by a variety of reasons, some of which he cannot explain even to himself. And as the enemy stands at the bedside, gazing down, the thoughts begin to run across his mind... He looks like an angel when he sleeps. So much rage, so much anger... How can his face be composed so sweetly? How can a monster be transformed into such perfection? He looks like an innocent who has never killed... And finally, the inevitable, traitorous musing: Am I wrong to hate him as I do?

Indigo Ccoa, upon looking over her officer in his bed, was somehow able to escape this course of reasoning. Her thoughts went something like, Ugh, looks like the sponge-bathers missed a spot, big time. Oh, wait, that's an open eye. My bad. Maybe it was because she hadn't even come close to forgiving the Captain-Premier for falling on top of her. Bastard. In front of all the guys, too.

"...Guh...," groaned the reptilian beast, stirring slightly as he blinked.

Rolling her eyes at the amazing coincidence of the officer waking up just as she walked in, the warrior offered up the standard verbal response to such a situation. "Ah, you're finally awake." Unfortunately, Gevura was still wrestling with his animal-tested medication and probably hadn't figured out where the ceiling was yet, so he missed out on the formalities.

"Ugh...where am I? What happened?"
"You're in the Shinra medical ward, sir."

"Indigo... That's you, right?" He stared blearily at her, his catlike pupils expanding and contracting like drunken jellyfish.

Wish I had a camera. I doubt I'll ever see him this doped up again. "Yes, sir. Indigo Ccoa, SOLDIER First Class."

Blinking rapidly, he manged to focus on her. "...It was a dream, right? All that...stuff...that happened before? All those...with their..."

Indigo noticed the slight pleading look in her superior's eyes, but charged mercilessly ahead nonetheless. "They glomped you, sir. And you fainted." Gevura's wide-open gaze now held endless depths of Horror. The nasty Lovecraftian kind that comes from realizing that the monsters really are everywhere and they're gay and they're attracted to you. "They wanted to take your pants off too, but the med team arrived too fast."

"Your attempts to comfort me really do go above and beyond the call of duty, Ccoa. I would've appreciated a 'Fuck Off and Die' card just as much," growled the reptile dryly, developing a foul mood as the migraine headache kicked in. Just one more side effect of Nokaryosinofutozine 0-35, another fine Shinra product that was also known to cause brain tumors in lab rats. Grumbling, Gevura pulled himself into a sitting position and began to peel off all the monitoring pads and remove all those nasty little tubes. He looked around with a slight hint of dizziness, taking in his environment.

A cheery white-draped window that showed off the charming layer of seething smog that covered the city. A machine that went "ping!" (for no easily visible reason). And on the bedside table, a cheap glass vase with a limp pansy (the flower! THE FLOWER, DAMMIT!!) hanging out of it.

"Shit, I feel like I just woke up inside of unbroken," he grunted. "I wonder if Kyo Kusanagi is going to wander in here and piss me off with his sulky little PsychoShonen attitude." Shaking his head, he continued, "Well, I'll stomp his ass through the floor if he does. And that's the bottom line, cuz

DIABLOS: Sephiroth, don't force the trashtalk. Really. Let it flow. Go with it. Feel the Zen.
SEPHIROTH: *sigh* Fine, fine... (pauses to briefly meditate and realign the flow of his chi, then taps the Backspace key several times)

"...And that's all I have to say about that."

Indigo was somewhat at a loss with a response to this, so she went with another standby. "..."

"Say...why are you here, anyway? Concerned about my well-being?" Gevura gave her a quirky little smile.

Realizing that there were no large objects on hand with which to pound his grin into paste (other than the machine that went "ping!," but that was somewhat bulky), she simply reaffirmed her iron self-control and answered him truthfully. "The other members of my unit asked me to check on you, sir. They expected me to be back by now, in fact."

"Oh, is that right?" The smile widened.

Mind and body strong, Daniel-san. You know they'll court-martial you if you kill him. "Yes, sir, it is."

"I see... Well, you'd better get going then, eh?"

"Yes, sir." She promptly turned and headed for the door, leaving him sitting on the bed that was really too small to contain his nonhuman body, half-covered by sheets. Just as her hand turned the knob, she suddenly heard his voice again.

"Ccoa. When I fainted...I fell on you, didn't I? You caught me..."

"I did, sir," she answered through gritted teeth. Wait...is he going to say...?

"You fell over, though. Work on that leg strength, soldier, if you want to keep that nice, cushy rank of yours. Dismissed."

Hell's fury paled in comparison to the shocked rage in Indigo's eyes when she turned back to him. He didn't even deign to look back, though, being suddenly engrossed in the mutilation of the limp pansy at bedside (the flower, that is). Turning swiftly on her heel, she stomped out the door and slammed it behind her without another word.

Gevura took note of her leaving, but his mind was weighed down by more pressing matters. "Hm. I came here planning to have an elite world-dominating combat unit all ready for my use, but they're all..." He shuddered slightly. "...Unuseable. A setback, to be sure." Pressing a long, clawed finger to his lips, he fell into deep thought, where he remained for many minutes on end. Finally, he shrugged and raised his head, a new light of fierce resolve in his eyes. "Then I'll just have to change that. I'll train them all myself, every last one! And no matter which way they swing, they shall be deadly, and the world will FEAR MY DESTROYING HORDES!!" Gripping the cheap vase (sans pansy--the pansy flower, of course), he leaped out of bed and recharged his emotionally-scarred mind with a roaring #105 (The World Will Indeed Fear My Destroying Hordes!), completely forgetting the fact that he was actually quite naked and two separate security cameras were checking out the action in a dispassionate, security-camera kind of way. Then he threw the vase through the window, which set off fully fourteen different security systems and alerted eight units of military police to sudden terrorist activity; in the resulting confusion, every civilian within a mile of Shinra HQ was arrested and dragged off to the slammer. And on that note, the Captain-Premier left the room to do his duty.

Rufus Shinra leaned back in the comfy velvet-cushioned chair, patting Dark Nation's flat head as he waited for the Captain-Premier to show up for his appointment. He was in one of his smaller offices--this one was only the size of two basketball courts put together. Mostly, this was because he didn't want to new guy to get too winded on the hike from door to desk; most of the newbies had to be trained on little offices before they were physically fit enough to take on those of Real Men(tm). Rufus himself had managed to maintain his sleek, svelte body just through the simple action of going to the outer rooms to get coffee for himself twice every morning. But some people just never took to it...like a certain military leader.

Gotta be the borscht, the young heir thought disgustedly to himself, shaking his head. Dark Nation whined. "Don't worry, girl. I'll take you walkies in just a little bit, 'kay?" He scratched behind her ears and she wiggled her tentacle in that cute little way that she always did. Such a snuggly little pet, and so totally dangerous too! Every budding dictator needs a dog like this. Maybe I'll mass-produce them after Dad croaks...

The huge double doors creaked open, admitting a black-clad shape; the businessman immediately sat up straighter and folded his hands neatly on the table, setting his face into the stern countenance worn by the world's harshest hardball players. Dark Nation cautiously advanced, circling around to the front of the desk, her serpentine appendage weaving cautiously through the air.

In the next instant, Rufus nearly crapped himself.

Hojo, who had called earlier that morning with a scratchy voice (indicative of a fearsome collar-hefting), had said that the officer was a Sephiroth clone of a rather independent nature. But...but...this?? It was dressed in the Captain-Premier uniform, yes, but it couldn't possibly be descended from Sephiroth. Sephiroth was a gorgeous bishonen with great aesthetic potential--he could be used in a wide range of decorative functions, able to brighten or darken a room just by careful placement. Sitting on a black marble pedestal in a corner, posing with a bowl of wax fruit or a bouquet of flowers as a centerpiece on large tables, dressed in pink and standing on one leg out on the front lawn... Why, Sephiroth could look good anywhere! This creature... this was some hideous reptilian mockery, some fake draconian take on the Adonis of SOLDIER. He probably wouldn't even look good in a fig leaf, let alone a Calvin Klein ad.

And hey, those suspenders are supposed to be brown! Who the hell does this guy think he is, messing with my hip fashion regs like that? Hm... Rufus' eyes narrowed. This THING was certainly a hopeless eyesore, a pathetic welt on the face of the company. Certainly the least of those who aspired to such a rank, if that. Yes, it would have to be taken care of...

Gevura approached the desk, a confident gleam in his eye and a pleasant smile on his lips. His neatly-braided hair brushed across the rich Persian carpet beneath his feet, falling between his folded wings. He'd just started to extend his hand for the required firm and assertive handshake, but then something stopped him dead in his tracks. He looked down, his eyes widening slightly.

Now for the final test, Rufus thought darkly, watching the scene with calculating blue eyes that missed no details. His foot edged one inch to the right, resting on top of the Big Red Button (Which Really Does Something) set in the floor. One push, and a dozen security mecha would arrive in seconds and blast this offensive animal to bloody shreds. One push.

"Uh, Mr.Shinra...that's...one friendly dog you've got," commented the Captain. Down below, Dark Nation was sniffing at his crotch with immense analytical concentration. Gevura sweatdropped massively and scratched the back of his head.

One push.

Dark Nation looked up at him, her deep brown eyes serious. Time held its breath in that instant; the world paused on its axis and stretched the single second into an eternity. Green-blue met near-black and they held each other, two minds measuring, weighing, ancient in their cunning. And the aristocratic judge sat nearby, watching, holding an unsuspecting life carelessly in his hands. And then...

"Gwuf!" ("Wai!") said the guard dog with undisguised joy. Leaping onto her hind legs, she began to gleefully plaster the officer's bare chest with slimy mutant dog drool. Gevura staggered under the sudden weight, his wings flicking out to balance him as Dark Nation lashed her tentacle back and forth merrily. Beaming, Rufus moved his foot away from the Big Red Button and looked on with fatherly affection as the Captain-Premier finally fell over under his widdle puppy's ministrations. Yes, this Sephiroth clone would definitely go far--he'd make sure of it. Dark Nation seemed to like him more than anybody!

"Heh...uh, good doggy...nice dogg--hey, don't pull at that! HEY! GET YOUR SLIMY-- DEAR MOTHER OF [G_O_D], WHAT ARE YOU--*gag* *hack* *cough*"

"Captain-Premier Gevura, I'm quite pleased to meet you," the younger Shinra said, standing. He looked down at the very kawaii sight of Gevura desperately attempting to get the hell away from the mage-hound while spitting out the disgusting juicy remnants of approximately 2,489 sloppy puppy kisses. He seemed to be trying to prevent Dark Nation from chewing through his belt, for some reason. Must be one of those close-minded types. Oh well.

"Grrroof! GWUFwufwufwuf!!" ("Worship me, my lovely slave! OHOhohoho!") growled the black Mako beast playfully as she worried at the thick black leather with her deadly fangs.

"*ptui* Get the hell {OFF} of me, you child-molesting--oh, nice to meet you too, Mr.Shinra. Can I stand up now?" Gevura's smile was now more like a rictus baring of teeth as he continued to try and swat the midnight bitch off of his pants. So far, the full-force punches to the cranium weren't dissuading her in the least.

"Oh, of course. Dark Nation just likes to show her affection to certain people every once in a while. Isn't that right, sweetie?" The beast responded with more muffled snarls. Gevura was now reaching desperately for the leg of a heavy oak throne that sat against one wall, hoping to tip its bone-crushing weight over onto the hellhound and maybe slow her down enough to make his getaway. "But we should to talk now, I think. Here, Dark Nation! Here, girl! You can play with your new friend later, I promise!" He patted his thigh lightly and the monster perked up, tongue lolling. She trotted over and sat serenely by his side, leaving her bishonen-lizard prey gasping in a puddle of ooze on the floor. Swaying from the trauma, the supreme SOLDIER got to his feet, his stylish uniform in an incredibly sad state. Wordlessly, he reached out and completed his handshake. Rufus was pleased at how firm and assertive it was.

"Mr.Shinra, I'm sure that you've probably heard by now about my desire to take over Sephiroth's old position. I assure you that I'm fully qualified--"

"Oh, I'm quite sure that you're qualified. You wouldn't be here if you weren't. Lemon-scented moist towlette?"

Gevura's head snapped up, startled. "Moist lemon what??" His body was tensed to bolt at the slightest hint of bad otaku fanfiction writing.

"Moist towlette," Rufus repeated, handing him an economy-sized box of them.

Gevura gave a relieved chuckle. "Eheh...of course. Thank you, sir." He proceeded to use up the entire container, trying to pull huge, congealing strings of slaver from his muscular torso. His pants were far beyond hope.

"Now, you must realize that being a military officer for Shinra, Inc. is much more than just battle skill. Tell me about your other qualifications." Rufus settled back into his chair, his façade cool, revealing nothing. Even if he'd already accepted the officer, there was no reason to deviate from standard interview protocol. He felt Gevura's eyes testing him, considering possible strategies. The creature looked amazingly dignified and collected, despite the fact that he was coated in Dark Nation's byproducts.

The Captain-Premier smiled, settling his tactics. Wiping off the last bits of scunge that clung to his fingers, he leaned over the administrator's desk and said quietly, "Let me give you a prophecy. What if I said that you would become the most powerful man on the Planet in a matter of days? And what if I said that I had the power to keep you that way indefinitely?"

Rufus couldn't keep his eyes from widening slightly, though nothing else betrayed his great interest. The most powerful man...Father? "I wouldn't believe you. You realize that, in my position, I can't afford to take people on their word alone. You have proof, I assume?"

Gevura nodded confidently, pulling a thick book in a plastic bag out of his trenchcoat. "Just out of curiosity...how much did Hojo tell you about me?"

Rufus shrugged with elegant dismissiveness. "Just that you were a strong-willed Sephiroth clone who had an eye for his predecessor's position."

Gevura removed the book from its container and flipped around near the front, finally settling on a page. "The truth, Mr.Shinra, is that I've come here from somewhere else. Another dimension, if you will. I'm on a special mission, so I have some--shall we say--insider information." He turned the book towards the company heir, and Rufus leaned forward eagerly to read it.

Among photographs of several key areas on the higher floors of the HQ and a rather disturbingly complete list of security features and defensive forces, the businessman read a narrative that thrilled his heart to its very core. In only a few days, the true Sephiroth would break into the high-security science sector and free Jenova, whom he viewed as his mother. That in itself was no concern--Jenova was an absolutely hideous creature and was just some kind of weird tentacled plaything for Hojo. But in the process, the renegade SOLDIER would take out the President...leaving the seat free for You Know Who.

The time for secrets was past. His gaze feverish, Rufus locked eyes with the Captain. Belatedly, he realized that he actually had a deathgrip on the reptile's lapels and was kneeling on his desk, having crawled on top in his boundless enthusiasm. Gevura raised an eyebrow. Rufus coughed and let go of his coat, looking to one side. "Ahem. Anyway, how do you plan on keeping me in power after the ex-Captain ices my old man?"

"Simple. I'm going to shift your military into high gear. Feel like getting off your desk now?"

Rufus ignored the last statement. "We already have such a large military that we can afford to scatter combat-issue robots across the overworld. If we didn't, we wouldn't be able to treat the people like crap. How are you going to improve it?"

"Sir, I can guarantee you one thing. Over the course of this story, a group of pathetic nobodys from the dregs of humanity will gradually increase their power to such a degree that they'll be able to come out of the impact of an exploding star with a light tan. Your military will be absolutely laughable to them. The solution to this is to make every last MP grunt into a vicious, highly effective, and completely cold-blooded killer so that we can waste them all before they become Ultra-Destructive Godslayers. Are you following me?"

"Who are these people? How could they possibly become so strong?" demanded the aristocrat.

"They have an advantage that very few people on this earth have, sir," Gevura intoned grimly, putting his book back into his coat. "They're the protagonists."

Rufus gave him a blank look.

"Alright, screw my attempt at melodrama and just trust me, okay? To do this, I need to have your permission to revamp the training programs for all levels of the military."

"My dad's still got control of that. You'd have to get Heidigger's permission, and it's going to take a while to convince the old guy to override him. Heidigger's pretty damn protective of his control over the army..."

"Then let me be Captain-Premier. Let me work on SOLDIER now, then give me free rein after Daddy Dearest buys the farm. You'll have the most badass troopers in all of RPG-dom after I'm done with it, I promise you."

"And we can defeat these...protagonists...with such an army?"

"If we can't steal all their Phoenix Downs and murder them like dogs, we can make their lives a living hell until the denouement, sir."

Still crouched on his desk, Rufus Shinra grabbed Gevura's scaled hand and gave it a very firm, professional shake. "Captain-Premier Gevura, I think that we've reached an understanding."

"Happy to hear that, oh ally of mine. I'll get right to work on it." Rufus crawled off the furniture and started to lead the officer back to the doors. Suddenly, the clone's knee bumped against something furry and warm.

Gevura looked down to see Dark Nation sniffing at something inside of his long trenchcoat. Pulling it open, he looked into it and then reached inside, retrieving the slightly-moldy object of her interest. "What, you're looking for this old organic vegan eggroll? Man, this thing's ancient...must've brought it with me when I came over from the other place. You want it, girl?" He took her gaping doggy-grin as a yes and tossed it into her jaws. The two Shinra high-ups looked on in wonder as the heart-healthy treat disappeared down her throat at record breaking speed.

Dark Nation licked her chops and settled back into her standard brainless grin. Suddenly, she stood up. "Bork," ("Bork,") she said, and then the two bipeds were left looking at a mostly-green pile of chunky goosh on the carpet. Even Rufus looked a tad pale.

"...Say, that's some impressive reverse digestion there, dearie," Gevura commented, patting her on the head. He decided to leave quickly before his ally suggested that he clean up the mess.

"Arf!" ("Call me queen, boy!") yipped the Mako beastie, wagging her tentacle. *wh-CRACK*

"YIPE!" squealed the Captain-Premier, clapping both hands over his smarting behind. Slowly he turned his haunted eyes towards the canine beast, his gaze filled with endless gulfs of fear. Dark Nation sat innocently, her spare limb curled up demurely behind her back. Nothing wrong here. Rufus was smiling warmly from where he stood beside his prize pooch. Gevura looked at them both, and his heart was frozen in his breast. "I'm leaving now, sir," he said calmly.

"Come back and see us soon!" said the junior Shinra, giving the reptile a comradely slap on the shoulder. Gevura chose not to comment and walked out the door slightly worse for wear than he had come in, his stride just a touch stiff-legged.

After the portals had closed behind him, Rufus patted his psycho pet's head meditatively. "Actually, he's not so bad. I could see him with a bowl of wax fruit. I could easily see him with a bowl of wax fruit. Yes, indeed..."

At his side, Dark Nation stared vacuously off into space. Heaven only knew what horrors lurked inside her chemically-altered mind. Actually, Heaven was smart enough not to look.

DIABLOS: You know, that whole section was just...wrong. Really, really wrong.
SEPHIROTH: Oh? Enlighten me.
DIABLOS: Just... All those weird domination overtones with Dark Nation and Rufus suddenly becoming Disturbing Weird Boy of the Week--
SEPHIROTH: I'll admit that Dark Nation was meant to be somewhat off, but I deny any alteration of Rufus.
DIABLOS: Well, he came out weird anyway.
SEPHIROTH: ...Interesting.
DIABLOS: Man, and the crap you're dumping on Gevura... Down in one hit from some funky scientist's clipboard, scarred for life by a horde of military femmes, molested by altered lifeforms... Why don't you leave the guy a little dignity?
SEPHIROTH: Who? Gevura or Dark Nation?
DIABLOS: ...Uh, I thought that Dark Nation was a girl.
SEPHIROTH: That could change in the future...if I was so inclined. (rubs chin in thought)
DIABLOS: (stares, temporarily speechless) As a card-carrying Force For Evil, I never thought I'd say this, but... You're a sick puppy. Really, you are. Cripes, why don't you just go ahead and stick some disgusting lemon scene into this thing? Do "Unethical Procedures" all over again! Or how about "The Quest For Aeris"?
SEPHIROTH: You think that I have lemon-writing potential?
DIABLOS: You're a vomitous Resident Evil crossover lemon author waiting to happen. I'm ashamed of you. (turns away in a sulk)

(SEPHIROTH thinks quietly for a while, then begins to type once more.)

Only a few days after the main events of Chapter 2 occurred...

Aeris stood over him in the shifting light of the abandoned cathedral, the satin of her pink dress sliding sensuously over her slender calves and wide hips. The young man lay on his back, surrounded by flowers...a gift from the sky, just as she had always prayed for.

Spirits of the Planet...bring a man to me, that I might slake my lusts upon him...

Her breathing quickened as she knelt beside him, watching his eyelids beginning to open. The fall had ripped the purple uniform from his muscular chest, leaving the smooth, young flesh open to the air. She ran her fingers across his breast and smelled the heavy scent of male sweat that wafted from him like rich perfume. Such a fall would have killed a normal human several times over, yet here he lay, on the brink of waking, perfect and unharmed.

Such power. Such a man would have a libido great enough to make her scream his name for days...

He awoke, and his piercing blue eyes met hers. He knew exactly what she wanted. With a cry of longing, she hurled herself upon him; he slipped the red jacket from her shoulders and began to slowly undo the line of buttons on the back of her dress, accepting her every frenzied kiss. With sudden strength, she tore the remains of his clothes from his body and

DIABLOS: Okay, stop. STOP RIGHT THERE.
SEPHIROTH: What? I thought you said that lemon content would improve the story.
DIABLOS: I said no such thing! Don't try to pass this off to me!
SEPHIROTH: But you were the one who suggested it, were you not...Evil Voice?
DIABLOS: Oh no. Don't pull this one on me.
SEPHIROTH: (smiles) Apparantly, the Devil made me do it.
DIABLOS: *groan* Alright, fine, fine. I take responsibility for pushing your already unstable little mind over the edge. Happy?
SEPHIROTH: Somehow, this victory leaves me empty.
DIABLOS: Be still, my heart. (rereads the above section) Ugh. That's some incredibly sorry tripe. Thank God it ain't canon.
SEPHIROTH: But it is.
DIABLOS: WHAT??
SEPHIROTH: I wrote it into the plot, didn't I? It's my supremely twisted version of a parody, and I can do what I want. (twisted sadistic smile)
DIABLOS: Oh no, you don't.
SEPHIROTH: Attempt to stop me, fool. Your kung fu is no match for mine.
DIABLOS: ...Riiiight. Okay, let's put it to chance.
SEPHIROTH: How do you propose to do that?
DIABLOS: Rock-Paper-Scissors. One round, right now. If I win, that crap's non-canon and you don't write any more weird sexual tension for the rest of the entire story. Deal?
SEPHIROTH: And if I win, I get to finish the above scene and call "Unethical Procedures" as canon. Deal?
DIABLOS: *shudder* Alright...deal. Ready?
SEPHIROTH: Always.
BOTH: ROCK! PAPER! SCISSORS!

(SEPHIROTH shows scissors, DIABLOS shows rock.)

SEPHIROTH: Damn you, demon!
DIABLOS: Woo hoo! I've spared humanity from wretched lemony-fresh agony! WHO RULEZ??
SEPHIROTH: (angrily) Isn't your master going to be upset with you for preventing the spread of sick otaku-powered material to the rest of the universe?
DIABLOS: Hey, even Lucifer has principles. He doesn't like bad fanfiction either. So, as per our agreement...
SEPHIROTH: ...It's not canon.
DIABLOS: Such a good boy. Alright, keep writing.
SEPHIROTH: ...*grumble*...

The main training hall was absolutely huge, a giant dome of steel struts spreading out over several acres of open floorspace, which was covered with three-inch-thick padding. A small stage stood above it at one point on the vast circumference; generally, it was used by self-important officers to deliver their rants to the masses. As Gevura was soon to do.

SOLDIER stood before the stage, all four hundred of them dressed in their impeccable purple-jumpsuit uniforms, standing neatly in formation. Many were beginning to whine a bit, as their officer was late and their muscles were beginning to cramp from standing at attention for so long. Meanwhile, Indigo stood in her eternally flawless stance, thinking mean, nasty thoughts about her new superior. So he wanders in from God-knows-where one day, and he expects everyone to pander to his every whim, huh? And then he faints on me and has the audacity to insult my combat training after I catch him? What a JERK. Somebody should pop that over-inflated ego of his in short order. Probably his head would explode along with it.

Without ceremony, the Captain-Premier strode out onto the stage, holding the folded Murasame in his right hand. Excited murmurs quickly ran through the assembled elites, but the female First Class was too wrapped up in her thoughts to even notice that the object of her immense distaste had finally arrived. And does he expect me to follow him around like some pathetic drooling fangirl and worship the ground he walks on? Oh, I certainly hope not. I'll give him the rudest awakening that he'll ever experience. And if he gives me any shit about it, I'll just get right in his face and tell him the way it is. I'll flat out say--

"Hello, maggots!"

Indigo snapped out of her venomous reverie and looked towards the stage. A vague nausea filled her when she saw him standing up there, tapping one end of the short staff into the palm of his left hand, his eyes cold and hard. Ignorant of the lone lady's bladed stare, the uberclone continued his speech. "I've gathered all of you here today to say something very important, so I want you to perk up your pink little ears and listen close, because I'm only going to say this once." With the motion of a single finger, he unfolded the naginata's full deadly length. *ka-SCHWING!* Grimly, he set the butt of the staff firmly against the floor.

Down below, Indigo sneered. Wonderful. We get to stand here for who knows how long and watch him flaunt his personal phallic symbol. Maybe if we get lucky, we'll get to hear some dead-baby jokes.

"You are all my bitches. Do I make myself clear?" A confused muttering rose from the crowd, and there was a bit of foot-shuffling. Gevura began to calmly pace back and forth. "Never in the span of my experience have I seen such a piss-poor combat unit as yourselves. The best that you sorry fucks could hope for would be for the enemy to be so offended at your weakness that he would fall on his own sword rather than stain his record with a few hundred dead SOLDIERs. Have any of you ever really killed someone? Could you look Death in the eye unflinching, and make a wiseass comment about his wardrobe? Do you even know which end of your weapon is the dangerous one?" Looking out over them, the Captain's ebony-scaled lips peeled back from his long, white fangs. "Yeah, I thought so. Well, listen up! I'm going to kick you asslickers into shape so hard that Uranus will be a distant dream by the time I'm through with you." He paused and leaned out over the edge of stage. "That was a joke. Your cue to laugh, losers."

There was dead silence. Suddenly, a slight disturbance broke out as one fighter broke formation and gradually began to push his way to the front of the crowd, gently pressing his way between his fellows, who began to whisper nervously amongst themselves. Gevura narrowed his eyes darkly as the individual approached the front. What's this, a dissenter? This won't last too long. Then he realized that the he was actually a she.

"Ah, Indigo Ccoa, SOLDIER First Class. Have a comment?" He smiled coldly at her, but her flaming gaze never wavered in the slightest.

Drawing herself up to her comparatively small height, she boldly stood against the draconian tyrant who loomed twenty feet above her. "While I can't speak for any of the gentlemen here, sir," she said calmly, her voice free from her obvious rage, "I, personally, am beyond offended at being referred to as anyone's 'bitch.'"

"Oh, I'm sorry about that," Gevura said sweetly, bending down to see her better. "But I, personally, don't care."

"Sir, I find your attempt at motivating us through a pointless series of insults boring and incredibly juvenile. What does this prove to us except the fact that you find the need to uphold your own flagging ego by belittling others?"

Her attack gave him slight pause. "In case you've forgotten, Ccoa, this is my unit. I've been given official permission to do what I want with it, and you're in no position to control my decisions. Does that clear the issue up a bit?"

"Actually, it doesn't. History has proven that fostering loyalty and trust between fighters and their superiors results in the best field performance. But for some reason, you find the need to ignore this for the sake of elevating your own weak self-image. When it comes down to it, all that you're doing is undermining your own authority."

Pursing his lips meditatively, Gevura sat down on the edge of the stage, swinging his clawed feet out into empty space. "By your argument, I take it that you aren't perceiving what I say as fact."

"Indeed, I'm not, sir."

The officer pointed at one utterly fascinated SOLDIER in the front rank. "You there. Tell me exactly what you learned under Sephiroth's command."

After gibbering nervously for a few moments, the guy responded, "Well...we learned how to dress exactly alike, so that nobody would have to be animated differently. And we learned how to wander around in hallways and attack Named Characters as Generic Monster Types with names like 'SOLDIER 1st" and "SOLDIER 3rd." Oh, and we also leaned how to dissolve into a cool set of semi-transparent red polygons after we die! Sugoi, huh?"

Gevura nodded thoughtfully. "Sure thing. Good summary, soldier." He fixed his gaze solidly on Indigo, who was now blushing slightly in embarrassment, trying to think of a way to regain her lost ground against her oppressor. Thinking that he'd won, the reptile smiled once more and faced the crowd. "You know what the problem is with teaching you guys how to dissolve into polygons after you die? It means that they're assuming that all of you are going to get slaughtered like cattle when you actually see a fight. Says something about the extent of your combat training."

Indigo stepped forward once again. "Not all of us are corporate-trained cannon fodder, sir," she said, a dangerous gleam hovering in her eye. "Some of us have put in several hundred hours of specialized weapons practice. Generally during polygon-dissipation class time."

The Captain's smile had faded. He locked eyes with her, daring her to go on. "Skipped classes, did you? Naughty girl."

"Only because I realized that I'd never need the skills, sir. Because I don't plan to die in combat like the others." The move was made, and she unsheathed her two swords in over-the-shoulder draws. "By the way...I'm a woman. Sir."

The ranks collapsed as the other SOLDERs began to huddle in close, forming a circle around the duelling field. Gevura hit the ground a second later, folding his spread wings neatly over the folds of his black cloak. He grinned mockingly in challenge as he hefted the deadly Murasame. "Let's get it on."

"I can't help but notice your reflexive use of sexual imagery," Indigo commented with a superior air. She then took her stance with a defiant yell of, "[GENERIC JAPANESE BATTLE CRY]!"

In a necessarily dramatic sweep of black wings and leather, Gevura followed suit. "[COMPLEX YET INSULTING LATIN PHRASE]!" he roared. The crowd screamed and whistled in a merrily encouraging way as the two leaped in for the first clash.

Locked together in the center of the ring, Indigo strained against Murasame's staff with her blades, fighting to hold her position against her officer's enhanced strength. Catching his eye, she managed to say, "You know, Captain, the naginata was actually a Japanese weapon traditionally used by women to defend their rural homes."

He blinked. "Excuse you?" he snapped, and kicked her legs out from underneath her. The SOLDIER barely managed to roll aside in time to dodge a stab from the draconian's shining blade, which sank eight inches deep into the floor before it even slowed down. Ripping Murasame free, Gevura adroitly blocked a swift series of well-executed strikes from his opponent. The two locked blades again.

"But you knew that already, of course," Indigo continued.
"I knew no such thing!" the clone gritted.

Indigo smiled evilly and said, "You know, I think that Nuriko-chan is going to try and pinch your butt while you're distracted. Better watch out." The second that his eyes widened, she knew that his mind was elsewhere and took the opportunity to sweep his left leg, throwing him onto the mat. He chose to block her followup attack and roll quickly back to his feet. "Got you back," she said. He wordlessly redoubled his offense.

Meanwhile, the crowd was screaming madly and doing all kinds of wild crowd things in response to the wonder of seeing super-anal Indigo Ccoa actually taking on Captain-chan. A group of nearly-identical teenyboppers were doing a supportive rap/cheerleading routine, and a bunch of belligerent drunks were throwing popcorn into the ring and waving neon-colored foam #1 fingers in the air. A couple guys were running around naked, somebody threw a roll of flaming toilet paper through the air, and a disco ball had appeared from someplace unknown and was even now shining down upon the fierce battle that raged below. One dedicated fan in a cheap lawn chair held up a huge sign that read "GEVURA 3:16 SAYS SOMETHING MEAN AND UNSUPPORTIVE!" on one side and "GEVURA IS GOD eventually" on the other, while several baggy-jeaned punks who had apparantly wandered in from the streets were trying unsuccessfully to crowd-surf. Ferocious thrash-techno-remixed heavy metal music pounded over a set of huge concert-style speakers. A helpless employee who was innocently selling chips and T-shirts in the aisles was brutally mugged, his striped golf shirt left in hopeless tatters. It was crazed. It was brutal. But it was not Ultra.

Nonetheless, it was still pretty damn impressive.

About midway through the fight, Indigo realized that her opponent was actually holding back in his attacks. Although the two of them seemed fairly evenly matched in speed, his skill was greater and his strength was immense, as could be predicted in a clone of the previous Captain-Premier. But in his calculating attitude and odd lack of mocking comments, she saw that he testing her ability. That's alright...I don't want to kill him. But I do want to show him that he owes me some respect.

The chance came when a pack of rabid fratboys in Lambda Phi Epsilon sweatshirts lost control of their airborne beach ball, which bonked the officer on the forehead. His start of shock left his guard open for a split second; Indigo's wakizashi darted in and left a thin red line across the left side of his ribs. Recovering quickly, he slapped aside her defense and gave an answering cut high across her collarbone and shoulder.

"BLOOD! BLOOD! BLOOD!" chanted some Mansonites in the very back of the crowd, after which they sacrificed a goat and two Barbie dolls to their subpar idol. Gevura went on a one-handed defense for a short while, just so that he could grab one of the fratboys by the scruff of the neck and throw him at the pack of gore-crazed dopeheads.

"Dammit, this is supposed to be a duel, f'cryin' out loud! What the hell is with you people? Don't you know that this is all about concentration??" Swiftly deflecting five more precise slashes, the Captain furrowed his brow at the rampaging hordes around him. He couldn't even see the SOLDIERs anymore...probably because the training arena now housed a population of around four thousand sports entertainment fans, who had presumably come from...where? Wasn't this a high-security sector? Where the hell were the mecha?

He glanced around more carefully as he remained on the defensive. Oh, there they were. Up in the nosebleed section. Speaking of that, at what point had all that stadium seating been installed? Shaking his head in confusion, Gevura went on the attack once more as he thought, Man, I must've inhaled whatever those frat guys were smoking. This is way too weird. Even for me.

The fight would have gone on for an indefinite period of time, had not the arena's PA system suddenly clicked on. Amazingly enough, it carried over the mutilated White Zombie that was thudding out over the moshing crowds. "Captain-Premier Gevura. Repeat, Captain-Premier Gevura. Please report to Rufus Shinra's office for tea and tiny British pastries. Thank you; that is all."

"DAMN!" roared the draconian as the two fighters dropped their guard simultaneously. "This isn't over, Ccoa. We'll finish this someday, you hear?" Before she could reply, he turned away and headed for the nearest exit, cutting a bloody swath through the random fight-goers in a decidedly bad-tempered fashion. Indigo watched him silently as he went, her jaw clenched tight. Yep, she'd showed him. Indigo Ccoa was nobody's bitch, and now that arrogant, pride-drenched creep knew it. She wanted to bask in her victory a little longer, but one of the Lambda Phi Epsilon guys decided that it was time to make a fatal grab for her posterior. At that point, the SOLDIER turned on him like God's own [JUSTICE], ready to deal out pain as she'd trained herself to do.

Pushing through the thick steel door that led to the outer hallways, Gevura paused to cast a glance back at the rioting crowds. Indigo Ccoa...yes, that one will be hard to break. Damn hard to break. Thinking on this, he stepped outside and headed for his ally's impromptu tea party.

"This is why, to this day, I will never EVER trust anyone who has touched a frat again (unless they quit before they could be instated...). In fact, I will kill them.

"Yes, I mean that.

"Well, no, I don't. But I'll sure as hell try to."

--Yuusuke, Rant, 3/15/00.

The Shinra barracks cafeteria bustled with activity during the SOLDIER lunch hour, populated by a wide variety of interesting people who boldly displayed their individuality by dressing exactly alike. The line for munchies stretched out of the kitchen doors and down one side of the main room. Those who stood in it all wore the same grim expression, their eyes dark and their cheeks pale, like men waiting silently for Death. And from the look of the assorted near-sentient substances spattered across the trays of those who had already braved the lunch line, Death eagerly awaited them as well.

"Food" or starvation--the only two choices for those in the Corporate God's employ. Many had desperately clung to the latter in days past, but their powerful instincts of self-preservation eventually drove them back to the shameful comforts of Mystery Meat Tolerance. No one mocked those who actually ate the stuff, for in the end, all of them had submitted to it. Even the strongest had been unable to give themselves to death, wasted and ashen in a broom closet somewhere. They were a group of failed men, too weak to refuse suspiciously alive-looking eats in favor of a noble and untainted end. There was no one among them who lay beneath a cold headstone that read HERE LIES HE WHO TOUCHED NOT THE GOULASH. This was predictable, of course, for he who lay under such a heroic legend would be in the graveyard where he damn well belonged, instead of among the tables with the joes.

The cooks seemed to take a perverse pleasure in the grimaces of disgust and gasps of revulsion that greeted their daily produce. Their power over the military was more supreme that that of the most blood-soaked antiheroic paladin, for they were able to make any man alive scream for mercy in far less than one-point-five seconds. But on the day that the new leader came, the mood among the food perparation staff was dark and fearful...for they had met their match at last.

"Ooh, wicked! Is this thing a foot? Mm, crunchy..." Gevura chowed down heartily on yet another unidentifiable piece of critter that he had rooted out from among the lumpy juices of his main course (a souplike substance commonly referred to as "Stewage"). The five guys behind him who had a clear view of his actions seemed ready to start dry-heaving even before they'd gotten their own portions. Praising the work of the attendants heartily, the Captain-Premier finally made his way down the line and emerged through the second set of doors, looking out over the already-crowded room for an empty seat. An empty seat near a particular someone, more specifically...

Indigo was busy giving a piece of rubbery, plantlike matter the customary pre-taste fork stab when she was suddenly interrupted by a loaded tray, which was being set down right across the table from her. She saw the long, fingerless leather gloves and the black claws that gripped the cheap plastic dinnerware, and she regretted not bringing her wakizashi along to help bone her dessert. An insulted glare made it quite clear to her superior that he was unwelcome and then some, but he gave her a pleasant smile as he flicked the tails of his coat out behind him and sat down on the cold metal bench. "My, the staff really outdid themselves today, eh? They even gave me seconds when I asked nice." Indigo felt her stomach roll belly-up when she saw the bountiful variety of many-colored pastes and still-twitching side dishes. Another really large black mark went down next to Gevura's name in her personal book of Black Marks and the People Who Earn Them. But if she was lucky, maybe he'd choke on some ganglia and die horribly. Ah, the thought of it...

Unfortunately, the officer dug into his repast like a rabid wolf on speed, heartily slurping down unspeakable substance after unspeakable substance while showing no signs of getting so much as a three-eyed fish's bone lodged in his throat. After a few moments of this, everyone at the surrounding tables was staring in perfect awe at the creature who wrestled with Shinra cafeteria fare and suffered no ill effects. Even Sephiroth hadn't been able to touch the stuff, though that lucky duck had been on a special lab diet anyway. Glancing over at the untouched meal of a nameless SOLDIER nearby, Gevura prodded a pale, rubbery meat patty on the guy's tray. "Hey, that's good food there, soldier! Eat up, ya weak little shit. Maybe it'll put some hair on your chest."

"Uh...I don't know what it is, sir..."

Gevura poked it again; several onlookers were absolutely certain that it gave a little reflexive spasm in reply. "Kyuvildun," the clone pronounced.

"...What?"

"Kyuvildun. You know--giant bloodsucking insects that live around Mt.Nibel. Makes great hamburger. Hey, why are you turning green all of a sudden? ...Alright, fine, I'll eat it. Give it here."

Indigo shuddered. "Captain, do you realize what a completely disgusting spectacle you are?" she asked.

Her superior dabbed at his snout with his napkin self-consciously. "Hm? Why? Do I have something in my teeth?" He bared his razor-edged fangs for her inspection, and she rolled her eyes and looked away. Shrugging, the other continued to pick around among what remained of his lunch. "Ugh. I can't stand vegetables. Say, Ccoa, I'll trade my genetically-altered string beans for your Mystery Meat there."

Glancing at the specimen that he had speared on his fork, she said uncertainly, "That used to be a vegetable?"

"Yeah. I hate greens; you think I can't tell one when I taste it? Here, trade. You look like somebody who eats her veggies every day, anyway."

Indigo decided that at least the vegetables couldn't fight back (could they?), so she accepted the pile of wet, tentacle-like "beans" and began to scrape the rubbery submeat over onto Gevura's tray. "So even you don't know what kind of meat it is?" she challenged, wincing slightly as she bit into one of the mutant pods.

"Not a clue. It tastes kind of smokey, though; you should try it. Might put some more flesh on your skinny ass before you start defying gravity." An answering barb hovered on the tip of her tongue, but she quickly bit it back when she saw his evil grin and the look in his eyes. Heh, I got you. Go ahead and sink to my level. I'd really like to see that.

She shrugged her shoulders with elaborate carelessness, casually continuing to munch on the plant matter. Only her iron will had kept her from throwing up at least once; very few people were able to down so much of the local fare without having their stomachs rebel. Offhandedly, she noticed that her erstwhile main course had already disappeared into the Captain's ravenous maw. "Hm, maybe I will. But only after the condiment bar actually starts stocking salt." It was taking all of her carefully trained self-control not to inform him that eating so much meat had been proven to cause impotence... but when Indigo thought about it, she decided it would be more interesting if he discovered that on his own. I must resist...

He accepted her graceful parry with the barest nod of his head, then turned to look at the troopers who were still staring at his empty platter. "Hey, what the hell are you losers looking at? Eat up, bitches! You're going to need to need all the nutrients you can handle when I start training you for real! I want to see clean plates from all of you, or else I'm going to give out a concussion for every wasted serving! Now move!" The jumpsuited masses fearfully turned back to their own business, and the room filled with the clattering of three hundred ninety-nine warriors ritually stabbing their entrées with grim concentration. Satisfied, the reptile turned back to the calm First Class who sat across from him, finishing up the last of the near-beans with nary a gag or shudder. He wiped his lips one last time, then dropped the napkin between them like a white flag.

"Let me be serious about this for a bit, Ccoa," he said, resting his chin on his clasped hands. "I need to be the one in control here. Power can be used to solve problems, and I need to have all of that power centered in me. I have things that I need to get done, so quit giving me a hard time, alright?"

Her hands folded neatly in her lap, Indigo gave her officer a look. And the look said everything, with all the required venom. Well, maybe slightly more than the required venom.

Gevura sighed long-sufferingly. "Look...I'm sorry that I offended you, and I'm..." His lips pulled back in disgust. "...Sorry that I made you fight that duel, too." Indigo continued to look at him. "Alright, alright, I'm not really sorry. But look...how about a truce, eh? A pact of nonagression. Mutually beneficial."

The fighter's mask didn't slip an inch. "Fine with me." And just when the satisfied look began to creep across his face, she continued, "I mean, it's not like you can gain the respect of your followers with your sparkling personality or anything. We'll just have to go for the next best thing, right?"

His eyebrows went up. "Excuse me? I have quite a genteel personality when the mood strikes me. You just don't deserve that treatment yet."

"I find that hard to believe. Aren't you the officer who declared himself the Bitchmaster of Shinra?"

Gevura's eyes slitted, but he kept his composure. "You're out of line," he hissed. "Who are you to judge me? You just met me yesterday, in what were hardly the best conditions, and for the briefest--"

"So you're a gentleman when you're not going around preening yourself and falling on people and making rude assumptions? I never would have guessed. It must be something in the way that you shamelessly stroke your own ego at the expense of every living thing around you."

He pushed his tray to one side in one smooth motion and leaned across the table. "Ccoa, you'd just better accept the fact that I'm several steps above you on the pecking order. You're a minority in this unit, so you'd better keep yourself where you belong and stop expecting preferential treatment!"

"Since when did common courtesy count as preferential treatment?"

"Since I decided that that goes only to people who get my respect. And you weaklings haven't earned any of that. I'm going to make you into a viable combat unit even if I have to scrape your spineless sludge off my heels in the end, do you hear me?"

The two rematchers didn't even notice that the entire rest of the cafeteria had once more turned to watch their antics with gleeful fascination. The chant started way back in some distant corner of the room, just one slightly off-kilter guy whispering, "Fight! Fight! Fight!" over and over. But it had gradually spread until the low murmur rose from the whole crowd, focusing on the lone female SOLDIER and the Captain-Premier. FIGHT, FIGHT, FIGHT...

"Well," Indigo said pleasantly. "It looks like Shinra, Inc. has engineered themselves a new species of male chauvanist pig. I guess you expect me to call you Daddy and speak only when spoken to. Am I right, sir?"

Gevura looked back with an equally vanilla smile. "Perhaps I should warn Hojo that high doses of Mako result in the development of tactless Faminazis from disbalanced little girls."

The crowd gave a loud, collective OOOOH! The Captain had gone where no man dared to go, and something nasty was definitely in the offing. And whatever it was, it would be incredibly entertaining to watch.

Indigo slowly stood up. "And who...are you calling...LITTLE?" The raw ferocity with which the female SOLDIER delivered that line was enough to make even Gevura retreat temporarily.

Not one to be cowed, the Captain-Premier quickly recovered by standing up himself, knocking over his bench in the process. "I'll call you what I want, {subordinate}!" he snapped, bringing out the big guns.

Indigo staggered slightly under the unexpected force of the {curly brackets} of {MALFEASANCE}, but refused to bow out. "Then I suppose it's alright to tell you that you have the testosterone-soaked, hormone-enslaved, worthlessly violent arrogance of a fourteen-year-old Crip!"

"And you have the sactimonious, groundless, pointless arrogance of a nun with an Uzi!"

...FIGHT! FIGHT! FIGHT! FIGHT!...

"Sir, I know brain-dead albino lab rats with greater diplomatic skill than you. The executives of this company have brought themselves to an all-time low by letting you into their ranks. But at least Palmer has someone he can look down on now."

Gevura stood unmoving, but the crowd sensed that the last comment had brought him to his boiling point. "I may not have diplomatic skill, Ccoa, but at least I'm not a tragically stunted specimen of my gender group."

The air around the young SOLDIER was literally sizzling. "I'm still glad that I'm not a man who has to put up with the shame of being a seven-hundred-series ripoff of a dead bishonen officer and who has scales as well as internal reptilian genetalia." If Gevura could have paled at that comment, he would have. As it was, he still looked as though he was choking on his tongue. Indigo gave him a pert little smile. You want low? I can give you low.

The surrounding fighters were positively enraptured by the scene. Somebody decided to throw a paper airplane into the space between the two debaters; sure enough, the ashes themselves were ashes by the time that the few remaining molecules fluttered to the floor. Silence reigned for several minutes as the twin hateful glares clashed, giving no quarter and expecting none. And the instant that Indigo finally yelled, "God, QUIT BEING SUCH A DAMN MAN!" was the exact same one in which Gevura finally roared, "God, QUIT BEING SUCH A DAMN WOMAN!"

The two of them looked at each other confusedly. Luckily, the security mecha bailed them both out by choosing that particular second to bust in through the main doors.

"Please proceed calmly to marked exit locations. This room has been deemed a fire hazard by the regulations set forth in Shinra Fire Regulations Document #334, Section 2C. Please do not panic. Any individuals refusing to comply will be kneecapped without mercy. Please proceed calmly to marked exit locations." The place certainly was in danger of catching fire; those giant, seething, DBZ-esque battle auras that were swirling around Indigo and Gevura looked amazingly incendiary, even to the untrained eye. Saddened by the fact that the two headstrong fighters hadn't started hacking each other to blood-spurting pieces minutes ago, the rest of SOLDIER filed quietly out into the hallways, prodded by the huge gun-toting engines of destruction.

Once the majority of the others had left, Gevura rounded on his underling and snarled, "I'm sick of your insubordination, Ccoa!" He pointed at the bland linoleum by his feet and snarled, "Get down and give me two hundred!" When the comparatively small female hefted a huge cafeteria bench over her head (let stand for one hour, seats twelve), obviously enhanced by a little something known as the [strength] of [MADNESS], the Captain realized that he'd made a very regrettable error. "No, wait, I didn't mean it like--!!"

Indigo catapulted him beyond the bleachers with a swat that would have made Babe Ruth green with envy. "HENTAIIIII!!"

DIABLOS: This story just went from bad to depressing. Gevura gets whomped by an uppity SOLDIER chick for telling her todo pushups?
SEPHIROTH: Surely the implication that she perceived is not impossible to see.
DIABLOS: Well, no, but...don't call me Shirley.
SEPHIROTH: I'm ashamed that my own dark urge tells such pitiful jokes. You should have your license revoked.
DIABLOS: I dare you to report me.

(#118 and #662 walk into the room. #118 is looking a bit teary-eyed and is hanging back slightly, while #662 approachesSEPHIROTH with a calm, patient air.)

#662: Say, #445...are you feeling alright?
SEPHIROTH: ...Yes. Is there a reason why I should not?
#662: So...no boils? No internal organs dissolving into Jell-O? No masses of brain tumors bursting out of the back of yourskull? Nothing like that or anything?
DIABLOS: Uh-oh. Looks like they think that your host's going through puberty. Maybe they've come to give you "The Talk."

(SEPHIROTH gives DIABLOS a cold glare.)

SEPHIROTH'S MIND: "The Talk"? Puberty? I never went through puberty... Is my brain really going to explode likethat? With boils and everything else? ...I think that I'm going to have to be very concerned about this. Something willhave to be done. Maybe I should just take that extra precautionary step and get him neutered. Hmm...
SEPHIROTH: I...don't believe so.

(#118 runs to SEPHIROTH and throws her arms around his neck, dragging him into a fearsome stranglehold/hug. She sobshappily as SEPHIROTH gags and watches the pretty black shadows crawl across his vision...)

#118: Oh, #445!! I was so worried! I called the doctor and he told me that I'd given you way too many Mako pills, even forsomebody as unstable as you, and that if even one of your major organ groups developed independent intelligence then it wouldbe too late to save your darling little life! Please forgive me!

(She pulls away from her very dazed victim, looking him in the eye with a serious expression.)

#118: You'd tell me, wouldn't you? If that happened? Like...if your intestines tried to strangle you alive, you'd come right tome?
SEPHIROTH: (groggily) I am absolutely not going through puberty. And I demand that you have #445 neutered immediately.
DIABLOS: Way to go, slick. Play the crowd some more, won't you?
#662: Oh drat. #118...maybe we should take him in anyway, don't you think?
#118: (all happy again!) Ah, he'd whine or something if he felt bad, wouldn't you, little guy?

(She affectionately musses SEPHIROTH's hair. He gives her a look the clearly says, Touch me again, and you pull back abloody stump, unworthy female person.)

#118: (to SEPHIROTH) Say, do you know what this means?
SEPHIROTH: Dare I ask?
#118: (positively bursting with joy!) It means that you're well enough to go shopping for new clothes this weekend! Me andAeris are going to take you; I swear that we'll make you just the cutest little genetic aberration in the entire JollyKlone SummerCamp! Isn't that great?
SEPHIROTH'S MIND: Is it right for my life to flash before my eyes at this kind of news?
SEPHIROTH: ...
DIABLOS: JollyKlone Summer Camp? Oh, I'm so going to tell all my friends about you.
SEPHIROTH: (to DIABLOS) What? You'll do no such thing!
#662: #445...why are you yelling at your shoulder?
SEPHIROTH: (sweatdrops) ...Do not presume to understand the mind of God and stuff.
#118: (squeezes SEPHIROTH again) I'm so happy that you aren't turning into a pool of sludge before my very eyes! I promisethat I'll take very good care of you so that you don't get sick before we can take you to the mall. You can try on bow ties forhours! *giggle*
SEPHIROTH: (still stunned after #118 lets go of him)(muttering) I am in Hell.
DIABLOS: Pretty close, yeah. The bow tie thing clinched it.
SEPHIROTH: (whispering to DIABLOS) So, are you going to harvest my misery this weekend, Evil Voice?
DIABLOS: Truth to tell, this sounds like some ugly that even I don't want to see. I've got an idea. Grab your stomach andscream, then say that your appendix just messily exploded.
SEPHIROTH: (puts a hand on his abdomen) Augh. My appendix has just burst.
DIABLOS: ...Damn you! You've lost us the Oscar! I knew that I should have picked Tom Cruise for this role! I have onlymyself to blame! (slaps his face into his hand melodramatically)
SEPHIROTH: (through gritted teeth) Do you ever shut up??
#662: *gasp* For real? #445, don't kid about this! Do you really feel that something's going wrong?
SEPHIROTH: No, not really.
#118: Well, I'm going to take #662's advice and take you to the doctor now. I don't want you to be missing substantial parts ofyour body for my--er, your shopping trip. Come on, put on your jacket and let's go.
SEPHIROTH: (thinking quickly and deviously) Wait, actually...I feel as though my Mako-diseased heart may crumple if Imove too fast. Everything...everything's going dark...
#118/#662: *gasp* #445! Don't leave us!
SEPHIROTH: I feel that I may not last much longer. I have one last request of you, my most beloved slav--siblings. *cough* Iwish...I wish...
#662: (tears streaming down his face) Yes? Yes? Please, tell us what we can do to ease your pain!
SEPHIROTH: I wish that some kind soul would go back to my--er, the Master's, rather--quarters in Shinra HQ and get myspecial Silver Materia for me.
#118: The Master's Silver Materia?
SEPHIROTH: Yes. When activated it...um...manifests a warm and snuggly region of space that would make my peaceful, yetinevitable, demise so much more...
#662: Peaceful?
SEPHIROTH: Exactly. It's all that I could ever ask for at the end of my young life. *cough*
#118: (doubtfully) The Master had a Silver Materia that made him snuggly?
#662: Oh, #118, can't you see that the poor boy's fading fast? We have to go now before it's too late! (grabs her hand)
#118: I think that we should look at this more closely--
#662: Come on! (drags her out the door)

(Out in the main room, #662 looks outside and notices that it's started to rain. Pulling a tiny yellow rain tarp from the coatrack,he spreads it neatly over his fig leaf.)

#662: Okay, I'm ready to go. If we hurry, we can catch the #12 bus back to HQ.
#118: (in a low tone) Um, haven't you given this any thought? I mean, doesn't it sound a bit weird to you that #445's asking for the Master'spersonal Woobie Materia when he's presumably on the brink of death?
#662: #118, every man is entitled to his soft spots! The Master didn't have to be all mean, bad bishonen with a big sword...partof him was probably a sweet little guy who liked to be warm and happy sometimes! Somebody who liked to drink hot cocowith ooey, gooey marshmellows!
SEPHIROTH: (listening at the keyhole of the room's closed door) They actually talk about me like this? I'm appalled.
DIABLOS: Maybe you should consider killing them too.
SEPHIROTH: I would, but...#662 makes these blueberry waffles that truly are beyond delicious...
DIABLOS: Sometimes I wonder about you, Almighty Son of Jenova.
#662: Even though I still can't figure out how #445 would know anything about the Master's personal Materia stash, we shouldstill try to do this for him. Dying of Mako overdose is a horrible thing, and I'd like to make it as comfortable as possible for him.Don't you?
#118: Well...but...

(SEPHIROTH listens carefully until he hears the front door slam.)

SEPHIROTH: Ha ha ha! My devious scheme has worked!
DIABLOS: It still blows my mind... You can't fake incredible physical pain when I suggest it, but you can do a drawn-out SadLittle Orphan Who Never Went To Disneyland-style death scene on the fly? I don't know if my celestial intelligence can takethe insanity.
SEPHIROTH: Such scenes are actually quite easy for me to do.
DIABLOS: I may as well ask why...
SEPHIROTH: I've never been to Disneyland myself.
DIABLOS: ...
SEPHIROTH: Either way, it is now time for the next phase of the plan!

(He quickly locks and bolts the door up tight, then grabs all the extra furniture in the room and piles it in front of the entryway.)

SEPHIROTH: Whew...it's hard to do this in #445's comparatively weak body. Well, that should keep #118 out in aconventional way...now for the window.

(He reaches inside of his school jacket and rummages around for some time, pulling assorted objects out of TrenchSpace as hesearches. Having not found what he was looking for in there, he begins to search all of his other pockets.)

DIABLOS: What exactly are you looking for?
SEPHIROTH: One of my Materia. It was around here somewhere...

(Brow furrowed in thought, he unzips his fly and looks down the front of his underwear.)

SEPHIROTH: There it is!
DIABLOS: o_O;;
SEPHIROTH: (calmly explaining) There is another sort of pocket dimension, similar to TrenchSpace, that is accessable onlyto the most sacrosanct of bishonen...
DIABLOS: (smacks his forehead with a claw) Let me guess. You keep your magic marbles in CrotchSpace.
SEPHIROTH: (shrugs) Well, at least you know where your Materia are at all times. (turns to the window) [SHIELD]!

(Dramatic CG effects ensue, and the window is now magically shielded, if not delicious.)

DIABLOS: Okay, so now you've barricaded yourself inside of one room of the house so that you can finish writing this sickand pointless parody.
SEPHIROTH: I have bathroom access and #445's personal stash of Cheez Doodles; a trained warrior such as myself needsnothing more to survive. And I really do want to finish this chapter before something cute happens around me and #445 starts totake over this body again. It's been far too long since I've done something truly nefarious...and with this fanfiction, I will make ablot upon the earth that will be blacker than...than...
DIABLOS: (weakly) Something really black?
SEPHIROTH: Exactly. Now I will write for many hours on end, until my eyeballs become frozen open and I'm no longer ableto formulate coherant sentence structure. Ha ha ha! The Lifestream will be mine!
DIABLOS: ...You know, I didn't ask for this job. I wanted to be the Evil Voice for a priest in Missouri, but NOOOO, Luciferhad to stick me with a raving loony who has dreams of becoming the God of Cross-Species Lemon Writers. I'm going to jointhe union when I get back to Hell.
SEPHIROTH: Silence, Evil Voice! The epic will go on! The epic must go on! Ha ha ha! In fact, a brilliant possibility just occurred to me...
DIABLOS: Oh no. What is it? A lemon scene starring Orochi Red XIII?
SEPHIROTH: No, but I'll keep that one in mind. This is an idea for a character that could be so damaging to the plot that Ben Hutchins and Dr. Thinker combined could never imagine it...
DIABLOS: And you're going to inflict this on everyone?
SEPHIROTH: Not just yet. For now... I will only hint at it. I'M THE GOD! BWAAHAAAHAAAA!
DIABLOS: Maybe I should take up praying. It can't make things any worse...

The Author Currently Known As NeoVid was busy trying to think of a worthwhile rebuttal to the Octagon Rumble members who objected to the GMCA when he heard, "I am the Archangel Gabriel." NeoVid looked up, and had his typical reaction to experiences that are contrary to human understanding.

"Hmm." He thought for a minute. "If my religious beliefs are so messed up that you have to tell me so in person..."

"No, your beliefs are fine-"

"HA! I knew it! Organized religion can bite my-"

"AHEM!" Gabriel somehow managed to state. "This is IMPORTANT. Your help is vital."

NeoVid was almost speechless for a second. "...Even I didn't think the universe was so screwed that God would need my help."

"OK, so it's not that important. This concerns Final Fantasy: Fated."

NeoVid raised his eyebrow in very Rock-like way. "I'm REALLY not the right one to help Fated. I once used part 1 as an example of what to look for in MSTable fics..."

I hope they're not all going to be like this, Gabriel thought. "The established order of the Fated universe is breaking down, and it can't be stabilized without outside help. You'll have to put yourself in the story to..." The smile on NeoVid's face was starting to creep him out. "um... assist..."

NeoVid laughed powerfully. "Oh man... I said in my ImproParty profile that ONE S-I is probably too many, and you want me to make another one?"

"You could use the one you already have."

"WTF?" He really said WTF. "You think HE could fit in the Fated universe? He's waaaaay too powerful... and anyway, if you want him to try and restore order, you are... in... for..." Gabriel got a sense of severe foreboding as NeoVid trailed off, got a Light Year Stare, and a smile that took up half of his face. "Eh heh heh heh heh... damn..." NeoVid instantly went to Manic Mode. Getting out a pencil, he started digging through his pockets. Taking one of the pieces of scrap paper that fell out, he started writing furiously. "I gotta get this stuff down before I forget it. This is going to be fun..."

"I knew I'd regret this," Gabriel said, resigned.

"You're still here?" NeoVid then paused, and pointed at Gabriel's face. "Now I remember! WALKEN!"

"OK! FINE! I LOOK LIKE CHRISTOPHER WALKEN!"
"Huh? No, I think you look like that Walken guy from the Baoh manga."

As inevitably happened when conversing with NeoVid, Gabriel couldn't think of anything to say back. If any more are like this, I'm quitting, Gabe thought as he disappeared.

NeoVid kept writing.

Meanwhile, the driver continued wishing that the guy who had been talking to the air would get off the bus soon. The people sitting around NeoVid (including the one who talked to his radio) had already changed seats.

DIABLOS: That's... a pretty blatant hint. You have the masterful subtlety of Ash.

(Sephiroth tries to smack Diablos. His hand goes through the little demon.)

DIABLOS: Evil Voices are untouchable. Nyah nyah.
SEPHIROTH: Hmmm. Just to spite you, I will barely allude to my idea in the next scene.
DIABLOS: Can you keep that up for the rest of the episode?

"That...that...WOMAN! HOW COULD SOME LOWLIFE, SCUMSUCKING {FEMALE} EVEN {DARE} TO DO THIS TO ME?? WHEN I GET OUT OF HERE, I {SWEAR} BY EVERYTHING {MALIGNANT} AND {UNHOLY} THAT--"

"Captain, sir, I think that an artery in my brain has just ruptured. Could you please stop using the {curly brackets} for a while so that we could get you...ugh..." Another medical assistant keeled over in sudden death, one more victim of the officer's deadly speech patterns.

Walking down the main hallway of the medical ward, Rufus and Hojo (oh, and Dark Nation) could hear Gevura's crazed ranting from several room blocks away. There were rumors going around that he'd been injured in some kind of fight with a member of SOLDIER, but the exact details remained murky--mostly because Gevura himself refused to give anyone any concrete information about it, other than his psychotic oaths of violence against the perpetrator. Rufus strode confidently over the scruffy waiting-room carpet, his deadly hound by his side and his "I'm too sexy for my character concept designer" air firmly in place. Hojo, on the other hand, seemed to be sulking nastily even more than usual.

"Professor, I can't see what your problem is with Sephiroth's replacement. He may not have as much bishonen-posing potential, but I have a feeling that he's going to work hard to improve things around here. Especially in the areas of military campaigning and Generic Monster Type quality control. Do you have a problem with us bettering ourselves?"

"Of course not, Mr.Shinra. However, I must necessarily view all things through the eye of science. And, as I see it, #777 should be kept under controlled conditions, just like every other altered lifeform--that is, locked securely inside a containment cell and strapped to a stainless steel operating table, with two shock prods and a probe jammed into his you-know-where. It's the only way to keep such creatures from becoming too unruly and delusional. Sometimes they start to believe that they're equal to the rest of us, and we simply can't have that."

Gevura's voice rose to a roar once again. "I {SAID} QUIT {POKING} AT IT!!"

"...Sir, you've just {bracketed} our last anaesthesiologist to death. I guess that you'll just have to go through this without--"

"FUCK YOUR ETHER! {SIDEWAYS} TOO, DO YOU HEAR ME?? {OW}!!"

Meanwhile, Rufus had paled slightly at the thought of being stuck in Hojo's "lab conditions." Dark Nation seemed to be having a wonderful time, though her expression hardly ever changed anyway. "Uh...isn't that a bit extreme? You actually have every last one of those Research Specimens...tied up...like that?"

Hojo calmly pushed his glasses back up to the bridge of his skinny nose. "Of course, Mr.Shinra. I see to each one myself. For those who lack the proper orifice, however, we sometimes have to improvise--"

"{{{EEEYOW!!!}}}"

The immense shockwave produced by the full force of a triple {curly brackets} of {MALFEASANCE} tore through the air like a hurricane of razor blades; every window and light bulb in that subwing of the HQ shattered, and every Unnamed Character within a quarter mile dropped over, claimed by an instant and terrifying death. (Not the the plot was impacted in any way; the corporation had plenty more where they came from.) Hojo and Rufus were driven to their knees by the anguish, their hands clapped over their ears and their heads on the very verge of exploding in high-pressure fountains of anime gore. Dark Nation lay huddled nearby, whimpering with pain but still hanging in there.

Trying to remain calm despite the fact that his ears were bleeding, Rufus gasped, "Are we going to die now?"

"Impossible, sir," gritted the gimpy researcher by his side. "We're Named Characters, and it's required that we go out with a bang. Not quite like this, though." Looking around, he continued, "I think that it's safe to go on now." The trio got to their feet, swaying slightly from the shock, but otherwise unharmed. They reached the Captain-Premier's examination room a few minutes later.

"Uh, hello? Anyone still alive around here? Look, I need somebody to finish setting my nose, so if you're still breathing, could you raise your hand or something...?" The officer's voice echoed eerily over all the mass destruction. Hojo pushed open the door and the visitors were greeted by several piles